Monday, 29 February 2016

Breads 2 and 3 :)

The second one was delicious, but too crumply - I over-did it on the cannabis flour - not the freaky one, the non THC one :) So the dog got most of it. just in case.

The third one is tiny perfection again. Very fundamental, old as time itself, rough and delicious. I love eating it; it feels like I can hear the voices and feel the hands of women who have been making bread like this for the past 30.000 years.

Thursday, 25 February 2016

Made my first bread! :D

Professor inspired me, with a story about an IT guy who lost a job, felt miserable, but then got an idea to start making bread and secretly selling it to people who like home-made stuff... So I decided that from now on I'm making my own. I'd make my own wheat if I had a field and a mill. This one, the first one, which could be just a bit saltier and a wee bit less baked, is made of  spelt flour, sesame, pumpkin and flax seeds. It's amazing with butter, emmental cheese and a two or three slices of prosciutto and green tea. Yes, I said tea. Don't ask. I'm drinking tea now .. Freakish healthy living, I'm telling ya :P

Wednesday, 24 February 2016

The english version of the CV

Monday, 22 February 2016

Another band picke :)

There are two kinds of movies. Movies to be watched. Movies to be feared.

Sunday, 21 February 2016

National gallery

So, they renovated the National gallery - I haven't been there in something like ten years. I used to know most the pieces. Of course you can't take pickies inside, so all of these are from Google. Here's the gallery now: the old part, very pretty, the new part, very spacious, and the corridors in between :)

Here are the pickes that I loved the most:

Michael Stroy: God's care

Cerkniško jezero by Marko Pernhart, though I couldn't find this particular picture. He painted large formats in romantic style, with these tiny details, like mini mini churches on top of hills, aglow in white, and then massive skies or mountains behind them:  

Then a painting of the Kotor bay, also didn't find a pickie..
Pavel Kunl: Fishmarket

Then comes Jakopič, the impressionists'  A lister:
Kamnitnik in snow:


  I think of all the periods in which my countrymen (yes, 99% men) excelled in art form, this one is my favourite. 
Matija Jama: Bridge over Dobra

And his Village in snow

Helena Vurnik: Annunciation

A very sad - and they were many really sad ones - statue by I. Zajec: Kozak's dream

L. Dolinar: Sphynx

Tone Kralj: a lying down nude - no pickie, and Smerdu's statue of Tiny dreams:

F. Kavčič: Myocon's tomb

J. Šubic, one of the two famous brothers Šubic: St. Cecily

Ferdo Vesel: before the wediing - I really liked this one, as it is almost exactly like my favorite painting of all time, but only found this tiny pic of it:

J. Petkovšek: The washerwomen by Ljubljanica (Love how the man setting up the line comepletely cuts across the women from teh title :D :)

M. Sternen: A street in Munich, another lovely impressionistic piece

P. Žmitek: A beggar with miniature church

The most famous of our Impressionists is Grohar and his pieces are the most lovely:

... And so on and so forth. There really are a LOT of pieces. I also made a list of things I didn't know or understood or simply didn't recognise the iconography of, so I have to go through that one next. Moral of the post: go see the fucking Gallery. It's intense.

Micro vacation, day 2

Micro vacation coming to an end. It went by quite quickly, actually. I went to the National Gallery today, the renovated edition. I've been there before, but it was half the size at the time and I used to know everything about every piece. A profound place, heaven-like, made me cry twice like a small child. First plain old Stendhal syndrome and the second time when I read about an old dude, a very important painter for our culture, what he was described like when a journalist saw him old in his studio. I am starting to understand he was never quite happy, he kept going to schools, having exhibitions and then burning his work afterwards - either he sucked at the time or they truly didn't understand what he was trying to do. His friends kept trying to get him commissions, but much like Diego Rivera in the Rockefeller Centre, people thought they were getting decor and when they got art, they couldn't appreciate it. He was the Godfather of the Gallery, though, and insisted on the government to fund lots of art. You have to, you see. Without the artists giving soul to the world you're in, all you got is makeup and propaganda. 
Shoot tomorrow. I hope all of it goes well. My nightmares have stopped, which is good, and I miss G godawfully, but I like the way I eat when I am here and things I read and how I think. Like: I don't care whether or not there is Heaven and Hell, I just don't approve of people believing in it - they shouldn't be the reason why anyone makes any decisions... Or: I fully comprehend that you can be a good artist by the age of forty, because concepts that change the world take this long to mature, but by forty you can decide whether you want to be miserable or not and I already knew a long time ago that I don't. I don't owe the world anything. 
And so on. 
I've made a three page list of Gallery things I liked, didn't know or didn't understand and will write in detail about it when I get home. For now I'm just chillaxing, listening to the rain and walking around the empty apartment in my underwear. It's so weird that the radiators are always on here. They are hardly ever hot in our place. It's uncomfortable to live in such a warm place in winter. I keep having the windows open to be cold. Ate light cottage cheese spread, home-made bread, gouda cheese, water and pear cookies for dinner, reading Rilke. Going home tomorrow. Home's been missed.

 This really awesome wooden butter knife i've fallen in love with...

Micro vacation, day 1

I've taken a micro vacation at the professor's again, to sort of butter over my nerves, which is working. Though the weather is fit right for the worst of depression movies, no matter, as the days are still so short the night comes quickly and then everything glitters and is pretty. I'm staying here three days, a long time by General's standards, which he claims to be enjoying immensely. I can hear him burb when we're talking on the phone, which means he's secretly been buying and drinking Coke. As far as I can tell he's just chillaxing, tired after work, watching Lucifer and X files, eating sandwiches and allowing the dog to roam around the apartment. We've spoken more about me working on a boat. I imagine this is a tiny test of our ability to stay away from one another for longer. Four days is the longest we've been separate in nine years. The interesting bit about this is, I have grown hugely co-dependent and lacking adventure courage. I always think – but if I leave now and someone in my family gets sick or something … What a terrible attitude to have! Although he is the one who got me this way, I think he misses the old me and agrees these are feats I should get back, because they made me cool.

Met with three graces yestereve, over waffles. Ema, which I refer to as a blend between a go-go dancer and a president, who is around 20, viciously beautiful, but still incredibly young and, as I stressed, needs to know more about Slovenian history and anthropology if she was going to fool around with public relations. Nina, a stand-up comedienne and barrel drummer, who is making her thesis about Pakistan and their sudden media-cowered bullying stance towards anybody who has the ill fortune of bordering on it. And Maja, the handsome, religious one, who has taken the time of lent to banish negative, all-caring attitudes and is now thinking positive, selfish thoughts and is the happiest and freshest I've seen her in a long time. It is always a good thing to put yourself first. Really. It leaves a lot more room for others to bask in your energy, as opposed to weariness and sadness that just skulks people away.

The professor and I have talked hours on end about several inter-relationship issues, most of which I chose to laugh at, disagree with or blatantly oppose. Her house is just across the river from the main hospital, which gives the neighborhood a very NewYorky feel to it, what with all the sirens coming in and out. This city deems itself fully the center of everything regarding the nation, they claim to have the most prestigious, most elitestest and bestest primary school there is, which I imagine means their alphabet has 35 letters or something. Dumb self serving fucks. The apartments here are cold white empty shitholes, costing stupid money, but of course every magazine that is published regarding anything only ever touches on the citizen of here. Gods how I hate architects. They shit gold. Everything is super pretty and super pricey. From time to time I get that chill, you know, which you get if you are naked in a hotel bathroom, in a foreign place, profound homesickness, though mostly it just makes me wish I had money so I could buy pretty things that I would seldom use. But they would be pretty. I like the professor's home, though, she is a perfect balance of minimalist and perfectionist and though the place is white, cold and empty (not really cold, I am writing this in my underwear until she wakes up, the place is a fucking sauna), it is littered with adorable detail, like a minute pestle for salt, thin tall plant with heart leaves in burgundy or a puffy white Ikea lamp. Also, of course, she has lots of books. No amount of shitty chic serves any glory when rich people don't have lots of books. We talked about some worldly renowned architect that they plan to make a monument to, which of course is only worldly famous because he made a couple of posh rich houses in the middle of the capitol, but let them have him for other rich capitol politicians.  I'm from a tiny, boring redneck town. We have big apartments with actual wooden floors from the late 18th century,  and our pets are ugly. Does make me wish I had herbs in pots, though. I have zero green thumb and all plants always die on me, but having basil, rosemary and other stuff right on your kitchen window, that sounds lovely. Course my kitchen blows, so it would be nice to have a cute little kitchen, too. Eh, well. 

She's showed me my star card, interpreting that change for me is good, I need a job, and something will occur in four months when something passes something and in four years, another big thing will occur. I kind of hope this means I will finish Goose in four months and in four years it will become an international bestseller, but it can mean everyone but me dies in a car accident also. She said there is no higher education in my future, which I am starting to believe, because I cannot find a school I would want to go to, though an interesting job might be. We put a makeshift map for General as well, but were only able to interpret that yes, he needs to start thinking in a different way, because his stability is bordering on staleness. He is about to shift jobs also. And is secretly very romantic. 

She's still asleep now, in this tiny condo, only the clock and the cat move around. Every sound is booming in this place, even me tapping the iPad, so tea will have to wait. Yes, I said tea. Or, fuck it, I'll just drink water. I'm still managing well without coffee, even despite this weather. Rain, rain. Rivers have risen and the nutrias are lazily weathering on the banks, big fat silly rats that they are. So cute. I've began reading Guns, germs and steel to find out what makes the whites the most aggressive of races, and am watching American Crime Story: ppl vs OJ Simpson, which is well enough done to keep me interested. You can see Cuba Gooding Jr. is hoping his performance will put him back in business and Sarah Poulson is also invested, though she is getting more famous but sometimes acts as if her heart wasn't really in it. They chose the Kardashians very well. Those people are fucking gruesome even when others play them. 

Saturday, 20 February 2016

And a cool pickie of Tinka's hubshubs...

I've loads to report and have even written loads while away these past few days, but am too sleepy now. Will post most of it tomorrow :)

Here are a few pickies from the band photoshoot we did today: each guy a totally different person. It was awesome. They even bought me lunch. I've forgotten how much I miss R&R living :) Mental note to bum them for an interview and try and sell it to a music magazine :)

Tuesday, 16 February 2016

Bad mood is over; I had a nice day today. I am still slightly mentally impaired from nightmares and continue to use wrong words, but I am happier by a bunch since yesterday morning. Took grandma for another gastrospectronomy thingie, which she goes to like other people go to the movies. This means an additional hour lost, sitting in a waiting room while she tries talking to me about her medical problems, which I won't listen to. She then - she talks very loudly just to get attention - asks me stuff like: why are you being so rude/so impatient/so unfriendly', doing that fucking idiotic mean chuckle and looking at anyone who would look back. Then people give me very dirty looks, as if 'how can you be such a monster to your poor granny'. Which is all I need to get into full blown bitch mode and snarl: You wanna hear about her fucking hemorrhoid procedure for the fourth fucking time? be my guest. Tell 'em, gran," and go to the loo. So she tells everyone. bet that fucking makes their day a whole lot better.
    But it's fun all in all and it makes her happy. I told her a small lie to make her happy, too. This would be the second lie I told in the span of a week. Lying to me is like running over a kitten or burning down a forest - it happens, but it is nothing to ever want to do again. First lie was to the pastry chef audition people - I said I finished the pastry school, but nobody cared, because they said schools don't mean anything. That’s a retarded thing to say. Schools mean everything. The lie to grandma was that it was mum who bought her pretty hair pins. Mum is the kind of a dick to not buy gran anything, so I did and lied. Another thing that made gran happy. Fuck it. If I could change the world fundamentally, I would. 
    The cognitive hiccup suffered today (After telling Drej yesterday that we should only walk the dogs in the rain as far as the boat (I meant city pool.), I wanted to tell grandma not to stand in front of doors and said 'trees'. 'Don't stand in front of trees'. These inarticulate symptoms are funny and I warn everyone about them.
     After gran, I offed to get myself some breakfast and coffee (needed it, you should see the depressing fucking weather we've been having), the hurried over to the city museum, where I charmed a custodian to give me a private tour of a 'peasants revolt' exhibition. If you're looking for something dirty about this sentence, trust me, it really was a private tour of a peasants revolt expo. The lady at the register asked if I plan to write about it, in which case I'd be free to enter, but I wanted to pay and I certainly am going to be writing about it. I know exactly who I’m gonna interview. I've taken four pages of notes. The custodian spoke for an hour about a 1515 uprising, which naturally ended badly, but which was a nasty thing to begin with, on both sides. I know I am inclined to take the side of the peasants, but even after they agreed to ceasefire, some would still go raid places like a women's monastery, just for the sick kicks of it. 
      After the tour, we ran into Barbara, a young paintress working there part time, and the three of us offed for coffee, though there on mostly just B and I talked. After coffee I went to pick up the second bit of money from some people who owed me and extended my stroll to say hi to G at his workplace. Was pretty tired when I got home, so napped after noodle lunch. Started watching Ppl Vs O.J., an American Crime Story series, though it's well done and will require undivided attention, unlike Young Turks shows, which I can just listen to while doing Warcraft dailies.

Monday, 15 February 2016

Another bad dream. Consequently, had a ruined morning and almost lost my temper at a woman who handles - or I wish she handled - my unemployment status. G and i agreed that I will continue sending out ten job requests per week and will go to every interview that follows, but will stop at march 11th - an application for a cruise ship photographer being the last one I send. 

Mum loved the idea of me being a pastry chef, and asked me to bake two cakes yesterday after lunch, while the boys watch sky jumps. She wanted me to do a roe-deer's back - for which dad once bought her a mold and she never tried it; and using some of the base dough, I did a cheesecake with apricots. Was gonna put little drops of chocolate on top and run a toothpick over them in a spiral to make them into tiny hearts, but the cake was too cold and so they're more like little hickups :D 

Sunday, 14 February 2016

Two more bad dreams - this would make #7 and #8 since I started looking for a job in January. They're anxiety dreams, though mostly they are about the General being disappointed in me. In the first dream one of my teeth fell out and he wanted me to push it back in, but because I was afraid it was going to hurt, I postponed it and as consequence, all of the others on one side followed. I started crying and he was upset with me for not listening. I am so unwilling to have anything to do with my teeth that i haven't seen a dentist in11 years and almost all of my teeth have cavities by now, but the last time I did see one, it was so awful it traumatized me. I am literally rather willing to lose a tooth than see a dentist. The second dream was about ascending a hill, I think we were either hiking or gathering wood or something and I kept taking photos of small things along the path I fancied, until i was way behind. It got dark and the snakes came out and he was yelling at me from way ahead why do I always have to do things my way. I woke up both times, jerking. They're just dumb anxiety dreams. Most of the times when going to these job interviews it feels like I am climbing a shaming podium for strangers to question and doubt me. Tiny rapes indeed, as Tinka said it. 

Wrote this yesterday morning on the train:

Night train down the riverline. More accurately, the first morning train. I am pretty much the only civilian on it; everyone else is railroad employees calling the end of the shift and riding home, tired. It's Saturday. Third job interview, this one for a cake maker. I haven't had anything for breakfast, my tummy aches a little, though this time the only thing I am nervous about is the money. I don't want to be offered minimum wage again, like I am an undereducated just-out of high school or a housewife desperate for slave labor. It shows what sort of people you are getting employed by right at the door, and I don't want that, again. They are asking for a lot of talent and expertise. I am hoping they will match it with decent pay. 
An hour's train ride. Perfect time to read or write or watch an episode of X files. No idea how long this is going to take, though I imagine it's going to be a beautiful day. New snow is falling, second time this season, it's very gentle and pretty. I am going to a neat by-the-river village. Whatever the outcome of this little trip, G is taking me to see Deadpool in the eve, so, all is well that ends well :))
As soon as I arrived to the pastry cafe, they sent me down to the production basement, where two employees were already in full swing - they begin their work at 4 or 5:30. Earliest train there is 6:30. I have no other means of getting there except the car, but I don't like to drive when I am very tired, after a grueling shift. One of the women instantly asked me to change into my work clothes or whatever it was that I had with me (I improvised, because I long outgrew my baker's uniform broad-wise) and the other sort of questioned me on my abilities, suspiciously. They did not seem to like the fact I was there. I was supposed to make a fresh cake and they had a little ingredients, but most I asked to get from the store. This is the reality of fresh cakes: you work with what you've got. I know the basics by heart, because I photographed Tinka making them a zillion times and it comes down to three catches: cashew nuts galore (or tiger nuts, but I had to make do with almonds), how strong is your blender and making it very cold overnight.
          I ground almonds, dates and cashews for the 'dough' and meshed strawberries over it, then shock-froze it, then poured a paste of cashews, avocado, dates with some spices over it and decorated it with roughly cut almonds and strawberry slices. I had pistachios and some other stuff to use, but I mostly forgot about it. When the woman in charge came to eat a piece, I think she was satisfied, though, and surprised the whole thing was so puffy, light, tall and edible. 
           While I waited for things to cool or blend, they gave me Valentine’s mini cakes to decorate. I could see they were throwing things at me to test me, but anything they threw, I handled. One can instantly see if you've done writing with chocolate before, by the way you make a piece of baking paper into a cone. And I can do that, so they just left me and I did great. They kept asking me where I worked before and what I did there and the more I told them I never worked anywhere before and I am only schooled and passionate, they kept being surprised I can actually do anything they say. They'd say: make a yoghurt-cream strawberry cake. I'd reply: alright, how do you make it? They'd say: how do you make it? I'd say: I've never made it before, but if you tell me, I can do anything you want. 
          We went through this several times. The fact it, absolutely everybody makes every cake differently. And most all cakes are exactly the same: dough, filling, garnish. After they told me: take two yoghurts, one whipped cream and gelatin, which you mix with cold water and microwave into goo, then mix everything, pouring it into a 'cage' of strawberry slices, that's what I did. We all worked until the end of the shift at 1pm, and I think between us we made about 20 cakes. Sometimes my hands would shake and I would mutter and couldn't articulate, but when I was told to decorate a large white cake of whipped cream with a guitar and notes, okay, I just drew everything on baking paper, froze it and then applied it. Seriously. If you tell me what you want done, I can do anything. If they asked me to make another cake of an original recipe, that wouldn't be a problem either. If anything, I have done a LOT of cakes in my life. Especially 'traditional' ones, where you can't do wrong with whipped cream, chocolate or walnuts.
           I also know to always keep my station clean and immediately wash the things I use. It saves you a lot of time. 
            For snack, the ladies shared with me some lettuce and a cooked potato and coffee. I noticed they do not eat a lot of leftovers, and since i can still smell the extracts on my hands, I can understand you get sick of it after a week, no matter how yummy that stuff is. I was so tired - I am out of shape and didn't have proper shoes - that I could barely walk. I got myself a kebab and murdered it in mid air, starved, but mostly really thirsty. The ride back home was a happy pain. G came to get me on the station to carry my basket. We were happy, but I was really beat. They say sitting is the new smoking and yes, I have been sitting down way too much. I need to get my legs in better standing practice.