The coolest thing about Romania...

I'm a known blogger.

This doesn't mean I'm known as the super-extra-top-number-one bloggers are known in the US, an Arlingtonⁱ, a Scobleⁱⁱ, a Rowse (who's not actually from the US, for all the difference that makes), who are known by everyone if they go to their own professional conventions but otherwise absolutely nobody has any inkling who they are. In fact, we have a few of those in Romania as well, and I continue thinking they don't matter.

I am rather a known blogger in the least comfortable of ways. These above enjoy the best celebrity possible, which is to say they're known in their narrow field of interest and entirely anonymous otherwise. I promise you that Nicole Kidman or Scarlett Johansson would much prefer to be known only by the directors (ideally, the good ones) and otherwise be perfectly anonymous, so as to be able to go to the beach without six hundred paparazzi there to immortalize every pulling of the bikini strap out of the buttcleft. And so they could get drunk without reading all the details the next morning.

Seriously, this is a thing. You go on a bender, you wake up eventually, you've no memory of what transpired. You hurt here or there, you've a cord coming out your mouth (dja know the joke ?), there's a pig in your bed, whatever. If you're curious to know what transpired, you ask. If you're not curious, you don't ask. The worst cocksuckers are those that proceed to recount whether you ask or you don't, therein included the dumb hos asking for their walking papers without even knowing it and the dumbass "bros" picked up through schooling.

I don't enjoy this benefit. Should I say anything in front of a public ? There's guaranteed some objection from some corner along the lines of "but on your blog you said so and so". Motherfucker, who are you ? I've no idea. He knows me, and well at that, knows what I've said on my blog. I've no idea what's going on. He's got the advantage. And then proceed to explain difference and context, yes mister, tis true I said you're to stick your ring finger up a duck's ass whereas I'm about to stick my finger in the hen's eye, but that's a palmipede and this one's galnaceae, that one was dead and this one's alive and I was then drunk and now am just angry. So there's differences, okay ? And fight and battleⁱⁱⁱ, the discussion ends up a discussion about the blog, people start pulling out those smartshits to see, make sure, confront the textual content of blog and discourse, is it all true or are we being lied to ? Then someone inevitably ends up on a large close-up of the origin of life and all is lost for reason, we shall be discussing Trilema now and it's time to say goodnight.

And the Romanians aren't even the worst at it, because at least these don't make me translate. After which to also explain the translation, because except for cultivated Romanians nobody's capable to natively decode my arborescent structures, there's work to do and drawings to draw before an English speaker may comprehend what's sought from life and world by one of these constructions amassing eighty to five hundred words together and often without a dot -- this in the happy cases when it's not thoroughly composed of tension and torsion inhuman (as I sometimes will deploy driven by pure sadistic pleasure, except I've no expectation for the linguistic rack to be applied upon me in the end), nor uses three layers of paranthetic indirection nor includes intraductible idiomatic constructions. Or anything about niggers.

But do not misunderstand, there's aught besides disadvantage in being a known blogger, and I've not even written this article to complain. I've all sorts of advantages, which are rather significant. For instance, I ask some chick her phone number (no, not the one in the breadshop, a different one, in some loud bar). Can barely hear anything, we've no pencils, there's no waitstaff in sight, there's no hope to push your way through to the bar and besides they might not have pens either, I've no phone, what's she say ?

Nevermind, I'll leave a comment on your blog.

I had introduced myself by name, like it's done, ok ? And started modestly as if she had no clue who the fuck I am and thereby I'm held to answer some implicit, common sense questions in the line of "is he a nutjob ?" etcetera, the substance at the base of any new relationship among the sane^iv. Whereas she knew well enough I'm a nutjob, and how much and how exactly, having read here the incontestable proofs. For shame. What can you comeback with from such a pit ? I guess what I used myself,

Don't forget to include a link so it ends up in the mod queue.

Seems reasonable.

Outside of this, I enjoy doubtful advantages (the fuck, the doorman at some institution we won't name had Internet in his little housy and HE WAS READING TRILEMA, the doorman, okay ? I could've stolen everything there, they'd have found me out in six hours, it's a dream). The bodyguard^v of whatever discobar doesn't want to let me in "because I'm suspicious", I have to call up my friend who happens to own the thing to have his mind changed for him, after which I find from another employee that I had mocked the guy's cousin or something in this vein, truth is my memory's not the best either, were I capable to remember all the idiots of either gender I wouldn't need a blog in the first place. Logic, neh ?

And some other time I left my money clip and assorted shits at some chick's house and then I took her out to eat, whereby upon finishing I discovered I've no means to pay. But the waitress told me very undisturbed that "she's not worried about me". Say what ? Miss, do I know you from someplace ? "No, but I read your blog." Alright darling. She reads my blog, thereby I eat for free and bring the money later on. "I don't have the stamp anyway cuz the boss took it. I'll have the receipt ready when she's back." Okay ? Okay, why not, what's wrong with it.

I wrote this lengthy introduction with one single goal : so you may understand the context in which I bathe. And now that you've no doubt understood it, let me explain what's the coolest thing about Romania.

I've published all sorts of horrors on this here blog, I burned a Bible and a Koran, I added cum on Saint Mary's face, I assaulted, verbally and then logically a large contigent of citizens, principally chosen among the least intelligent and therefore least capable of defense with the same arms but greatly, burningly lusting to defend somehow, in such a manner as they may come up with.

What injury have I suffered, after years and years in this manner ? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not as much as a move over, you understand me ? Were I to seat myself in Pennsylvania to write about how niggers are aborted vomit they'd have shot me in a matter of months. Were I to joke about the Koran in Sudan they'd have burned my house hut no doubt. Looky that in Romania I can say whatever the hell I please, and the whole world respects my right of free expression. Like saints.

Romanians are very, very civilised, and this you notice by living there.

I'm not the exception here, do not jump to mistaken conclusions. Take Dumbravita, a small village by Timisoara. It has a lengthy history, it was founded by Hungarians as Ujsentes (New Sentes), and is to this day populated by a closely knit community of 800 or so people, ethnically Hungarian Romanian citizens. And they elected themselves a mayor, also ethnically Hungarian Romanian citizen, Geza something.

The village is right next to Timisoara, rich people have been migrating this way for many years, the Hungarians are an enclave surrounded by maybe 3`000 Romanians. Who are more numerous, and richer, and who can't be arsed to vote. In any other country with pretensions as to civilisation, those 3`000 had voted, wiped the old arrangements and manifested their superiority. It's a problem all communities all over the United States fear like death, huge troubles now with the retards from California spilling out of that wrecked state, moving on to Utah and Texas where they whine in an evident attempt of modifying the local arrangements to better suit what they left behind, as they're dumb enough to miss the causal link between bad arrangements and wrecking states.

Why don't they vote ? Because they're elegant, and civilised, nor aggressive nor other wonders. If this people here managed for years, very good, let's let them be! Obviously if things go badly the situation will revolve, but what matters in our discussion is that at least on the first pass, the Romanian will leave you fucking be, to live your own life.

This speaks more of his civilised nature than anything else. And it's by very far the coolest thing about Romania, notwithstanding the Romanians themselves perceive it exactly the other way around, as in fact everyone else does. Romanians think they're suckers, and that's why things don't work as well as they'd like, because they're calm and tolerant. It's false, of course, shit dun go because many people don't know many things, not because the vast majority is easy on its environment. This latter consideration is the cause for which things work at all.

Mitteleuropa, that old and pleasant item of the past century yet still survives exactly in the same place Latin survives. Some excellent reasons to like Romania, especially if you've a modicum of discernment.

This article was originally published in 2011, in Romanian, as Cea mai faina chestie la Romania...

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1. Meanwhile ran off. [↩]
2. Meanwhile went bankrupt. [↩]
3. The original "si da-i si lupta" is a learned reference, to the monologue style of one Agamita Dandanache, a buffoon constructed by Caragiale approximately on the wiring of a very exaggerate Capitano. The name itself -- a diminutive form of Agamemnon and a derived form of Turkish tantana (in Romanian used to denote minor trouble). [↩]
4. In case you're wondering, the notion of sanity here employed is European. English as a single language speakers do not generally qualify. [↩]
5. There's this readily available phonetic transcription of bodyguard in romanian as fence-beater because fence is gard and to beat a bate, so therefore bategardu'.

   This is particularily funny because of a reasonably well known folkloring drunk's march, which goes something along the lines of "De la beat circiuma vin, merg pe gard de drum ma tin, dau cu ciinii-n bolovani sa ma apar de dusmani", ie "I'm coming pubed from the drunk, walking on the fence and holding on to the road, throwing dogs at all the rocks to protect myself from mine enemies." Such is the readily obvious (in Europe! old, civilised Europe) the utility of bodyguards. [↩]