Tales from Croatia
the secret origin of bobert:
Day 26
My Battle Against Agrophobia
(or the one that means fear of outside)
So I haven't written in a while because things have been really quiet. Mainly because I've stayed at home a lot more, in order to avoid those frequent mini-adventures that you all do so enjoy reading about. But this morning I decided to go out, and get some fresh air. This is why I am now (or really was) here (so I guess it should be there), at a table, at an outside cafi right off a small square, quietly re-reading a good book. So you can imagine my surprise when I got to a much anticipated page 2, and heard the beginning of a rousing edition of Jungle Boogie. Of course it was not the classic version playing softly over the radio in the background, for if it did, would it really be my life. Instead it was right here, LIVE on the square. Of all the things I can say, the first that comes to mind is that the refrain (You know "Jungle Boogie") really does lose something when sung in an Eastern European accent. It's not that they can't play, though the singing is a bit strange (For example the lead singer just yelled the classic 1,2,3,4 in that Eastern European accent of his). They are now butchering, I mean attempting to play, "I Feel Good" by James Brown. Again its not that they can't play [their instruments] it's that instead of the group, living and breathing soul, they get it off an IV drip. So you see, the blues is most defiantly not carried by their red blood cells along with the much needed oxygen (yet if they had less oxygen maybe the living anthropomorphication of the Soul Scene would find it a little bit easier to get of out bed in the morning). NOTE: OH GOD THEY JUST R-E-S-P-E-C-T. IF ARETHA WERE HERE RIGHT NOW I WOULD HAVE TO HOLD HER BACK FROM DROWNING HERSELF IN MY GLASS OF SPRITE TO THE END THE PAIN.
Part of me wants to go out and see what a living defacement of my heritage looks like. But I know that it's the same part of me that agreed to rent and watch "Worst of Faces of Death" with monkey (I mean Benny. I apologize to all monkeys, apes, and the entire hominid species in general). And besides I'm afraid that I'll if hear them and SEE them that I would cry right there, in the center of the square. And knowing my life the crowd and band would interpret this as tears of joy, and want, nay demand that I get on stage with them, and join in the equivalent of a the blemish on face of soul music. So to those of you, who have always wondered why I seek out these misadventures of mine, the answer is, I don't. And please remind me that if I ever catch Fate and/or destiny in a dark alley, to beat the crap out of them with a big stick and Noah's paint ball gun. GOD-damn-it.
I've moved. Away from the unknown band gargling mo-town. I am now sitting beside a fountain, with my appetite temporarily quenched, and I can't help but wonder if agoraphobia (or whichever means fear of going outside) is really that bad. Though with 8 preschoolers staring at you, it does leave something to be desired. But sipping on a Sprite, with the sun on my face, listening to the tranquil fountain, and ignoring the 3 year old making the funny noises maybe being outside isn't so bad. Especially after visiting my home away from home, the place that makes me feel safe, and soothes my fragile nerves. It also happens to be the same place where I can order a McShake. You have no idea how reassuring it is to order an entire meal in spite of a local vocabulary containing only 5 words. There is something oddly comforting about a menu entirely starting with Mc, and though the food may be crap it is the same crap that I can get a block away from my house in the states (Of course ignoring the Eastern European need to put on everything, twice as much when it is already present, and the fact that all sodas are for no reason too sweet). And for all those romantics out there, the international language is not love, but a McDonald's menu. Besides the abundant amount of NaCl there are several other key differences. The first being the small size portion, and the second being the inability to super-size anything. These two really crappy concepts often merge their zords to form Ultra Really Crappy Concept, i.e., me not being able to get a super-sized double quarter pounder with cheese meal. Also the biggest sandwiches available over here is either a Big Mac, a double cheeseburger, or the new McFresh (a godforsaken burger that comes with, OH MY GOD and dramatic pause please, lettuce and tomato). The blazing sword (the finishing move from the Voltron days) --NOTE: IN EVERY EPISODE PRINCE LOTHAR (THE BAD GUY FROM VOLTRON. THE LION SERIES NOT THE CAR ONE) SENDS ONE OF HIS ROBO-BEAST FROM THE PLANET DOOM TO CRUSH VOLTRON, AND IN EVERY EPISODE VOTRON TRIES A VARIETY OF ATTACKS AGAINST SAID ROBO-BEAST, AND NONE WORK. EXCEPT FOR THE BLAZING SWORD. THE HITCH IS THAT THEY NEVER USE IT TILL THE BLOODY END. SO WHY NOT SAVE EVERYBODY A HEADACHE, AND 28 MINUTES OF 70'S CRAPPY IMITATION JAPANAMATION, AN' JUST START OFF WITH THE BLAZING SWORD. IF IT'S STILL STANDING REPEAT UNTIL IT'S NOT. SO WHERE WAS I OH YEAH.- of the stupendous zord Ultra Really Crappy Concept is that you have to pay a kuna for ketchup. Granted that is only 1/7 of a dollar, translating to about 14cents, but it's the principle of the matter. I won't even get into the fact that they only give you 1 napkin. And I can tell you, yes sir-ree bob-bi-doo-dily, that I am definetly not a one napkin person. But the thing that I will never be able to get over is that over McDonalds is something special. Not only is it a local dive for youth of all ages, but when schools and other tourists come to visit Zagreb; McDonalds is on the itinerary, along with parliament and the other numerous monuments. This means that if monkey (my bad I mean Benny. And again sorry to all monkeys) were to go and pickup highschoolers with his Aryan Jewish American good looks and charm, American passport, and phatty jeans (in which I can fit in one leg and run down the hall screaming. I know I've done it. But the asshole then tackled me); it would be ok (well yeah not ok, but less morally bankrupt and reprehensible) if he were to then take her out on a date to McDonalds.
-Bobert the un-morally bankrupt
(or the one that means fear of outside)
So I haven't written in a while because things have been really quiet. Mainly because I've stayed at home a lot more, in order to avoid those frequent mini-adventures that you all do so enjoy reading about. But this morning I decided to go out, and get some fresh air. This is why I am now (or really was) here (so I guess it should be there), at a table, at an outside cafi right off a small square, quietly re-reading a good book. So you can imagine my surprise when I got to a much anticipated page 2, and heard the beginning of a rousing edition of Jungle Boogie. Of course it was not the classic version playing softly over the radio in the background, for if it did, would it really be my life. Instead it was right here, LIVE on the square. Of all the things I can say, the first that comes to mind is that the refrain (You know "Jungle Boogie") really does lose something when sung in an Eastern European accent. It's not that they can't play, though the singing is a bit strange (For example the lead singer just yelled the classic 1,2,3,4 in that Eastern European accent of his). They are now butchering, I mean attempting to play, "I Feel Good" by James Brown. Again its not that they can't play [their instruments] it's that instead of the group, living and breathing soul, they get it off an IV drip. So you see, the blues is most defiantly not carried by their red blood cells along with the much needed oxygen (yet if they had less oxygen maybe the living anthropomorphication of the Soul Scene would find it a little bit easier to get of out bed in the morning). NOTE: OH GOD THEY JUST R-E-S-P-E-C-T. IF ARETHA WERE HERE RIGHT NOW I WOULD HAVE TO HOLD HER BACK FROM DROWNING HERSELF IN MY GLASS OF SPRITE TO THE END THE PAIN.
Part of me wants to go out and see what a living defacement of my heritage looks like. But I know that it's the same part of me that agreed to rent and watch "Worst of Faces of Death" with monkey (I mean Benny. I apologize to all monkeys, apes, and the entire hominid species in general). And besides I'm afraid that I'll if hear them and SEE them that I would cry right there, in the center of the square. And knowing my life the crowd and band would interpret this as tears of joy, and want, nay demand that I get on stage with them, and join in the equivalent of a the blemish on face of soul music. So to those of you, who have always wondered why I seek out these misadventures of mine, the answer is, I don't. And please remind me that if I ever catch Fate and/or destiny in a dark alley, to beat the crap out of them with a big stick and Noah's paint ball gun. GOD-damn-it.
I've moved. Away from the unknown band gargling mo-town. I am now sitting beside a fountain, with my appetite temporarily quenched, and I can't help but wonder if agoraphobia (or whichever means fear of going outside) is really that bad. Though with 8 preschoolers staring at you, it does leave something to be desired. But sipping on a Sprite, with the sun on my face, listening to the tranquil fountain, and ignoring the 3 year old making the funny noises maybe being outside isn't so bad. Especially after visiting my home away from home, the place that makes me feel safe, and soothes my fragile nerves. It also happens to be the same place where I can order a McShake. You have no idea how reassuring it is to order an entire meal in spite of a local vocabulary containing only 5 words. There is something oddly comforting about a menu entirely starting with Mc, and though the food may be crap it is the same crap that I can get a block away from my house in the states (Of course ignoring the Eastern European need to put on everything, twice as much when it is already present, and the fact that all sodas are for no reason too sweet). And for all those romantics out there, the international language is not love, but a McDonald's menu. Besides the abundant amount of NaCl there are several other key differences. The first being the small size portion, and the second being the inability to super-size anything. These two really crappy concepts often merge their zords to form Ultra Really Crappy Concept, i.e., me not being able to get a super-sized double quarter pounder with cheese meal. Also the biggest sandwiches available over here is either a Big Mac, a double cheeseburger, or the new McFresh (a godforsaken burger that comes with, OH MY GOD and dramatic pause please, lettuce and tomato). The blazing sword (the finishing move from the Voltron days) --NOTE: IN EVERY EPISODE PRINCE LOTHAR (THE BAD GUY FROM VOLTRON. THE LION SERIES NOT THE CAR ONE) SENDS ONE OF HIS ROBO-BEAST FROM THE PLANET DOOM TO CRUSH VOLTRON, AND IN EVERY EPISODE VOTRON TRIES A VARIETY OF ATTACKS AGAINST SAID ROBO-BEAST, AND NONE WORK. EXCEPT FOR THE BLAZING SWORD. THE HITCH IS THAT THEY NEVER USE IT TILL THE BLOODY END. SO WHY NOT SAVE EVERYBODY A HEADACHE, AND 28 MINUTES OF 70'S CRAPPY IMITATION JAPANAMATION, AN' JUST START OFF WITH THE BLAZING SWORD. IF IT'S STILL STANDING REPEAT UNTIL IT'S NOT. SO WHERE WAS I OH YEAH.- of the stupendous zord Ultra Really Crappy Concept is that you have to pay a kuna for ketchup. Granted that is only 1/7 of a dollar, translating to about 14cents, but it's the principle of the matter. I won't even get into the fact that they only give you 1 napkin. And I can tell you, yes sir-ree bob-bi-doo-dily, that I am definetly not a one napkin person. But the thing that I will never be able to get over is that over McDonalds is something special. Not only is it a local dive for youth of all ages, but when schools and other tourists come to visit Zagreb; McDonalds is on the itinerary, along with parliament and the other numerous monuments. This means that if monkey (my bad I mean Benny. And again sorry to all monkeys) were to go and pickup highschoolers with his Aryan Jewish American good looks and charm, American passport, and phatty jeans (in which I can fit in one leg and run down the hall screaming. I know I've done it. But the asshole then tackled me); it would be ok (well yeah not ok, but less morally bankrupt and reprehensible) if he were to then take her out on a date to McDonalds.
-Bobert the un-morally bankrupt