December 30, 2009

Fasten your seatbelts

I wasn't a big fan of Malev Airlines until recently, to be precise until 30 minutes ago, when I found out that my flight from Budapest to Warsaw has been cancelled. I figured it was crazy enough to be running around from one airport to another on New Year's Eve, yet they managed to surprise me and make the end of this year as memorable as it gets. They're sending me home via Helsinki. I'm so excited and pleasantly surprised (it's the first time in many many years that things with the airlines don't go according to plan) that I'm not even going to file a complaint for not being informed about this change and having to discover it myself. Luckily, I tend to become a control freak every now and then and double check everything, from the tiniest pieces of jewelry I have to pack to the flight schedule.

December 24, 2009

Mix 'em up

I've decided to go pro and take a bartending course.
Starting January 18th, this will be my new classroom. Adding up to the valuable knowledge acquired in the tent.
This is the best Christmas present I could come up with to celebrate my gorgeousness.
I've started counting down the days.

December 9, 2009

Top 3 Poznan

Last week I had to go to Poznan, which is just your average Polish city, neither better, nor worse than other Polish cities. Once I took care of the business aspect of my trip, true to my pub-crawling calling, I started wandering the streets searching for that one place I'd associate Poznan with, much in the same way I associate Cracow with Alchemia, Łódź with Łódź Kaliska, Kato with the tent and so on. Finding it wasn't that difficult, I don't know if because of the red walls, Lenin's bust staring from the window or simply because of the name: Proletaryat. There's tons of stuff inside the pub, from old radios and propaganda posters to flags, medals and portraits, pretty much resembling one of those museums of communism where the owners collected everything and anything they could get their hands on, as long as it was a reminder of the epoch.

However, a pub alone will not convince me to go back to a city that didn't make a very strong impression upon me. But a pub like this + Baudelaire + organic food might do the trick. Poznan is the only place I know, until know, where you can rent a room called Flowers of Evil.

Or perhaps Room with a View. Or Portrait of a Lady. And, according to the owner, this is only the beginning of Artrooms.
The third reason why I'm definitely going back is this place called Ekowiarnia which looks fantastic and serves only organic food in a very cozy atmosphere, the perfect setting for an early morning.

I think I'm beginning to like business trips.

About last night

I arrived at the concert in a state of mental confusion, high on codeine and not at all sure I'd make it out of there alive. However, later on that night Eugene warned us that after the concert we're all going home dead, so I didn't feel so strange anymore. When I first saw the stage, I thought I was hallucinating. Behind the drum kit, there was a huge banner with The Sounds. I knew they were in Poland and they were supposed to perform in Warsaw and Poznan, but I didn't even dare to dream about seeing them opening for Gogol (true, it's not exactly a predictable combination and they hardly have anything in common, except maybe the fact that I am in love with their lead singers). I still don't know how & why this happened, anyway, half an hour later, Maja was on stage, with her perfect moves and perfect looks, super sexy and just a tiny bit vulgar, in her black leather pants and high heels, even lovelier than I'd expected her to be. It was simply fabulous. Made me forget all about my fever. By the time Gogol showed up on stage, I was in a very good shape. Some might say too good. As I was jumping and screaming and dancing, I felt a tap on the shoulder and I was advised to settle down, as people are actually trying to watch the concert. Now I don't know if that guy knew he was at a Gogol Bordello concert, or if he had any clue about the band and the music. And anyway, what was he doing in the first row? Coming from the Balkans, namely from the country that's most of the times mistaken for the land of gypsies, I felt very entitled to be extra-noisy and energetic. It all sounded and felt very familiar :) I even felt very proud when Eugene screamed from the top of his lungs "Respect to all Romani people around the world". Luckily, in a few minutes, people stopped standing still, at least in the first rows, which got us rid of Mr. Complainy Pants and of the couples who figured they found a good place to cuddle right in front of the stage. I find it very sweet when guys are protective of their girlfriends, but if you're gonna drag her in the middle of the pogo, you're gonna let her take it like a man.
I got home at midnight, unable to speak, move or hear.
But I also figured out you can be utterly happy even if you're surrounded by 500 strangers. As long as the music is good.
When I woke up, I counted five bruises and it took me the whole morning to get used to the ringing in my ears. When I started hearing again, I cancelled the appointment with the shrink. I figured I could try fighting dark moods and darker thoughts with cough syrup and drums, at least for a little while longer.

December 7, 2009

Not at all according to plan

I'm in bed with a fever and a throat so sore I don't dare drag one smoke. Tonight I discovered I'm not such a bad cook, then again after all the effort I put in making that soup, I'm not going to admit the contrary, even if it was true. I took way too many pills and the only effect is that I'm rather sedated. Following an old Polish recipe, I mixed tea, vodka and honey in a last desperate attempt to bring myself back to normal. Every inch of my body hurts so bad that I can barely move.
In exactly 18 hours, I have to be in the best shape ever. I won't let a flu spoil the night I've been looking forward to since mid-October. And I'm not going to drag my ass to the concert just to stand in the last row and miss all the fun.
Not with this on stage:

December 2, 2009


I faked my hair colour when I was 15. I faked leather and fur and loved it. I sometimes faked happiness, I faked relationships, I faked tears to get what I wanted, I faked interest in things I didn't really care about. Two weeks ago I wore a fake tattoo, to make sure the real one will look just right. I faked piercings before getting real ones. Now I'm seriously considering fake blue eyes. I faked having control over my life and ended up asking for professional help when I realized I couldn't fake it anymore.
I'm beginning to think I could fake just about anything. With one exception. And that's probably the one thing I should be faking, but my art has not yet reached that level of refinement. I can't fake belonging to a world that I find repulsive in every way. In some particular situations, I can't fake smiles, smell like cheap perfume and pretend we have anything in common. Drugstores should sell antidotes to hypocrisy and the level of shallowness should be regulated by law. And in the meantime, I should find my very own antidote. Otherwise, I fear one day I will throw up right in the middle of a fancy event. And there wouldn't be anything fake about it.

The Masque of the Red Death

"It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade".
Last night, I had a very distinct Edgar Allan Poe feeling.