Epiphany

That little inner me just declared that I am free.....

Name Two Things

Two things that come to mind when Portland, Oregon is mentioned? Books and beer, of course. This hasty pic was snapped at The Brooklyn Pub. x

Pesticide vs. Boing Boing

    Shortly after we moved to Hungary, an industrial accident occured in Veszprém county, western Hungary. Presumably a wet European summer had helped create and exacerbate a rupture in the waste reservoir wall of an aluminum plant. After the wall burst, one million cubic meters of caustic sludge, in the form of a brick red mud, flooded the area at half-past midnight on October 4th, 2010, coating nearby towns with a host of processing by-products, colorful but poisonous oxides, (including a calcium oxide, coincidentally, called "portlandite") which gave the slurry its painterly hue.
  The featured photo above was taken by Spanish artist Palindromo Meszaros and is part of a series called "The Line".  It is a striking photo and a fine visual example of those seemingly diametrically opposed concepts, beauty and disaster.
  One of my favorite blogs, the techno/culture/art site Boing Boing, featured this photo on one of its recent posts. Pesticide soon picked up on the post and responded, in a way, with the following headline, which was as snarky as expected:
"Foreign Hipsters Mesmerized by Beauty of Hungarian 'Red Sludge' Disaster"

  Both Pesticide and Boing Boing are two of my most read blogs, so this snide distillation of Boing Boing on the part of my belovedly Hungarian flavored Pesticide is kind of delighful. It is a privilege to admire the ironic beauty of someone else's disaster. You can be sure the people who suffered through the red sludge spill find little beauty there, even in Meszaros' cleverly aligned photographs. Other sides, once again.

Links to both articles: http://www.pestiside.hu/20120717/foreign-hipsters-mesmerized-by-beauty-of-hungarian-red-sludge-disaster/

http://boingboing.net/2012/07/11/trees-stained-by-a-toxic-spill.html

Doors Between Worlds

It takes quite a while for my own self-imposed rules to settle in and get comfortable. About a year ago I made a rule for myself. I promised myself I would never write when I was feeling too emotionally raw or when my typical mental simmer threatens to boil over.
   For a while that rule felt at home. That rule wore the fucking pants as far as writing was concerned. Tonight, that rule is curled up in a corner sucking its thumb while my id indulges in all out mania. Thing is, I feel so ready to boil over, I think it's necessary for me to spill a little bit here on this blog, now officially in transition, just like me and my family. I'm hoping it will also help mop up some of the mess.
  I'm raw right now. Raw as rug burn. I feel surrounded by doors that won't open, keyless or simply unable to be opened. Something will happen. Some door will open and I fear what might be on the other side. Other sides...it's a motif in my puny little life these days.

The Other Side

The Other Side always looks burnished and bursting with promise. The Other Side seems to be holding out its dear, strong arms to embrace you when you finally reach it.
  Well. The Other Side is beautiful, but it is as complex and imperfect as the place from which you long for it.
  I'm basically happy to be back in Portland. This city, for me, was The Other Side for quite a while. And it truly is a wonderful place and I look forward to giving life to some of those rosy intentions I nursed like pupae before we moved back here. I think, since I've always been an American, the culture shock for a returning expat is not a shock at all but perhaps better described as "alternative culture acclimation process". I was asked several times, three days after returning to Portland, what the culture shock was like. At the time I said, "what culture shock? It's just great to be back". A few days later, I felt myself longing for a walk across the Margit Bridge at night all alone... the warm, buttery sounds of Hungarian rising from the street below, through the giant windows of our urban flat.I had to blink back the tears when thinking about how the dusky, February sky glowed coral pink over Orszaghaz as large, green ice floes cruised under the bridge, heading south down the Danube. Yesterday, I had a passionate, private, full-on bout of crying as I thought about my favorite kavehaz in Vizivaros, just across the bridge in Buda. Current practical and logistical hurdles aside, both of which have much to do with my mercurial state, I expect I will long for Budapest in this way for at least as long as I lived there. Right now, Budapest is The Other Side...I know many will be a bit surprised to know this. A Hungarian might say, "well, you just can't understand, you never will be Hungarian." Well, I never was and never will be Hungarian but I don't need to be to  feel a painful love, a love of a very Hungarian variety for the place right now .However, as many Hungarians know, the pleasure is most likely worth the pain. We shall see for this American.

What The Hell Do YOU Do

  I love my tutoring sessions with Zoli and Eszter. They are roughly my age, smart, thoughtful, and fairly hip. Our sessions consist of discussing a different topic every meeting. I come up with something and write down about twenty questions about that topic for them to answer. Yes, I get paid to play twenty questions.
  It's not easy for an American to "get in" with a crowd of Hungarians. Fair weather friendships do not fly here and that word, "friend" carries a hell of a lot more weight than it does in the facebookly world of mass produced, fast food  American acquaintances.
  We talked about the term "breaking the ice" when it comes to conversation with people we have just met. Zoli chuckled when he heard this term. He likes it, it fits. I asked both of them a couple of ice breakers... what's your favorite book? Seen any good movies lately? Can you recommend a good restaurant? How often to you ride public transortation without a pass?
  I eventually asked which subjects are taboo in casual conversation. The usual subjects were mentioned, religion, age, politics, all of which come up despite their sensitivity. I asked, "What is the first thing you might say to someone when you first meet them, if you want to get a conversation going?" Both Zoli and Eszter admit to feeling uncomfortable with meeting new people in social (as opposed to work) situations.
  Eszter answered, "It's usually the weather. Always the weather."
   I told them that in the U.S., many people will ask where you are from. This makes sense in a big country like the U.S.A. where people shuffle around from state to state. As Zoli said, in Hungary, "this is not so important. We are from the same place."
  I then asked them, "How would you feel if a new acquaintance asked you what your job is? Or, more specifically, 'What do you do?'  Is that appropriate? In the U.S. that is a very common first question."
  Without hesitation, Zoli said, "No. That would be a very inconsiderate question. Too personal and...and..." Zoli snapped his fingers lightly as he tried to come up with the right word.
"Invasive?" I offered.
"Yes..that's right," he answered.  Eszter agreed.
  The discussion then turned to that question and why it is inappropriate. I admitted to them as I admit to you now that I have always hated that question. I get slightly angry whenever I am asked. I feel as if it is a challenge, or a request that I justify my existence on this earth. In other words, how much are you worth? Your answer to this question determines how I will think of you, talk to you, treat you after this first meeting.
  Call them pessimistic, call them dour, but you cannot call Hungarians insincere or shallow. They are master bullshit detectors and do not suffer phony fools. I love this about the Hungarian people. I discover on an almost daily basis that I have more in common with them than I know.
  Next time someone asks me what I do, I will say that I do a lot of things. I garden, read, cook, bake, write, ride my bike, love my family (the fuzzy ones as well as the human ones). Sometimes I eat too much, sometimes I dance around my apartment when I'm alone.
  Having said this, I do hope to find gainful employment upon my return, but I never want whatever that is define me as a human being. Let it be known that I and everyone else on this earth are more than their goddamned net worth or formal education. As Americans, we should have learned by now that tax bracket does not determine intelligence, kindness, goodness, or personal value. Go ahead and be proud of your achievements, but remember that you can't take it with you and that it's the kind of person you are that will make the lasting impressions. Humanity over that funky dollar bill. The Hungarians know this and have for a long time.



  

Representing

  Hungary, as she stands now, is a very conservative country. Some of this conservatism is downright backassward, really, so when events like the one pictured above take place, I feel the need to make it known, celebrate a little bit.
  This is a photo of an anti-racism, anti-homophobia, anti-Horthy cult demonstration that took place yesterday. It was taken by a young photographer whose mission is to document the history of his city.

To read about Orpheush and his photography, follow these links:
http://orpheush.tumblr.com/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/orpheush

https://www.facebook.com/Orpheushphoto/info

Just what is the Horthy cult? The term refers to the regained popularity of Horthy Miklós Admiral, among the extreme right wing here in Hungary.  Horthy served in the Austro-Hungarian navy and also served as regent of Hungary during WWII. It was he who allied with the Nazis in an attempt to regain what Hungary had lost in the Treaty of Trianon. He led a period of White Terror in Hungary at that time and was an open anti-Semite. Recently, a few Hungarian villages have been erecting statues of Horthy Miklós in heroic memoriam.
  You can read more about this here : http://www.spiegel.de/international/europe/right-wing-extremists-cultivate-horthy-cult-in-hungary-a-836526.html