Weekend Reminder

Don't forget to buy this Sunday's Kyriakatiki Eleutherotypia for DVD 2 in it's current 4 DVD Bollywood series. The first movie was Veer Zara, the second is an epic and a favourite of mine, Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham.

All four movies in this series are in fact extremely good choices. You could buy the DVD's for less on Menandrou street, but I believe by supporting ET in this endeavour, I am taking one step closer to the day that Bollywood movies will show in Greek cinemas.

Image: http://www.allzonedvd.com/bollywood/dvd/k/kabhie3.jpe

Greek 101

Now that I have reached a level where I can communicate in Greek, even with my terrible grammar, it amazes me just how pointless and restrictive most of the Greek we were taught was. We were never taught any slang or anything particularly useful and applicable to survival in Greece, such as:

* Go f*ck yourself you f*cking f*ck!
* Who lets all these bloody grandpas onto the roads on the weekend?
* It wasn't my fault
* Sometimes you make me so angry I want to break something
* I'm really not interested in going out with you
* But the meter says EUR 4.50, so I won't pay you a penny over that
* Two tzatzikis, four kebabs, three chips and ten beers. No, just us two.
* If you don't behave I'll break all your bones
* I'd like to speak to your supervisor.
* Anything to do with talking on the phone.

Instead, I can recall spectacularly useless modules where the characters sit politely around a table wondering what they will order, instead of the bloodbath that usually ensues when hungry Greeks order at a restaurant, and another where a customer goes to the DEH electricity office and meets an unrealistically helpful staff member.

What would have been much more useful and realistic was to start basic Greek classes with a handful of swearwords, which constitute roughly 50% of a conversation. Furthermore, Greek classes should have been held in the same room as another language class, or with three teachers who all talk at you at the same time to give a more realistic sensation of the way communication takes place here. You develop an amazing ability to track three separate conversations at the same time, and this is not something taught.

Also, I hate using my Greek on the phone, so a few classes dedicated to that would have been good, such as getting us to call the tourist office infront of the whole class or something.

Perhaps the most pointless phrase I was ever taught was to ask if there is a bakery nearby. You will always find a bakery in Greece, just walk 5 minutes in any direction. They're as plentiful as churches.

Summer Lovin'

As I type this, I am turning into jelly. Seriously, this life of not doing much at all is taking its toll. Gone are the days when I survived on a diet of pure garbage and had nothing to show for it. Time's a-moving on and at 27, the weight has now started to stick in places that previously had a Teflon-like ability to deflect fat.

A few days ago I got it into my head that taking the dog for runs would a) help me get fit and b) stop the dog being such a total asshole all the time. This project was unsuccessful because it is too hot to do anything, I am by nature a completely lazy person and the dog is by nature an asshole, and laziness and assholiness are not properties easily conditioned out.

I have also never been a fan of gyms. All those fit people being fit are far too intimidating to me. It's much less embarrassing to cough and splutter after two minutes of running with only my dog as a witness than an entire gym.

Other projects that have gone to seed are waking up extra early and going to the beach for a refreshing swim. It's so hot in the city right now that there were news reports of families sleeping on the beach last night because of the heat. I don't particularly mind the heat, except being without a car means running errands becomes a lot harder in this heat.

Tomorrow I plan on going to the much media maligned Menandrou street to buy mangoes, but let's see if the heat cancels out my drive to eat mangoes. I don't get the media horror stories. I go to Menandrou street all the time all on my own and no one has ever bothered me there. In fact, I only ever tend to see the police kicking up a fuss down there. I feel more uncomfortable in the snooty shops of Kolonaki than I do in Menandrou.

On more refreshing and sweet smelling news, Greece is now 10 days into a smoking ban that I would never have believed if I wasn't witnessing myself. On Saturday I enjoyed my first smoke-free night out in Athens and it was wonderful. I hope people keep up the pace, because no matter how much people here hate being told what to do, smoking is not good for you and as lazy as I am, I object to being forced to inhale a substance that I do not willingly put inside my lungs. My decision to poison myself on alcohol on Saturday was entirely mine and mine alone.

Finally, don't forget to buy this Sunday's Kyriakatiki Eleftherotypia for a DVD of 4 Bollywood movies. Count 'em, FOUR! Get yourself down to Menandrou street, buy a box of mangoes and enjoy a Bollyfest of unseen proportions in Greece!

Image: www.alienlovespredator.com

Growing Up with MJ

There is nothing to say about Michael Jackson that hasn't already been said. To me, his death was a particular shock because as a kid of the 80s, I grew up on his music when he was at his peak. He was the benchmark of a good dancer for our generation. When talking about someone who could dance, the defining test of if they were really that talented was if they could do Michael Jackson moves. How many childhood hours the world over were spent trying to moonwalk?

He was the only person me and my sisters ever wrote a fan letter to. I believe it was a critical dissection of his Moon Walker movie which we addressed to Michael Jackson, Neverland, America. God only knows where it ended up.

Our mother would go to the video shop and buy Michael Jackson music videos which we watched on an endless loop during our parents' afternoon siestas. This was before we had any sort of music channel in the Home Country.

People even teased me about resembling him and I once donned a pair of Aviators and white tape on my fingers for a picture, stood next to my Michael Jackson poster which is the only celebrity poster I ever bothered buying. It was flattering as a kid when he was still normal looking, but when the last comparison occurred just four years ago, I was deeply insulted.

As the years rolled on I abandoned my Michael Jackson fan status as things got weird and eventually he became not much more than tabloid fodder to me.

And then on Thursday night, as I was inspecting the skin peeling from my face from over enthusiastic spot removal efforts, my youngest sister rushed into the bathroom and told me that Michael Jackson had died.

It was only after that that I realised just how much fantastic music he made, and how much of that music appears as a backdrop to childhood memories and how my future kids would ask me where I was when I heard the news, the way we ask our parents where they were when Elvis died.

The Thriller video scared the living daylights out of me until I forced myself to watch despite my terror to the end and assure myself that the zombie does turn back into good old MJ. I defined what I wanted to look like when I grew up by all the women in Michael Jackson videos. Isn't it nice when you're a kid and you just think that you'll grow up to look like Iman simply because you want to?

And kids of today have no idea how cutting edge for its time the Black and White video was when the people in the end are all merging into each other, not even movies were doing that back then. As for that particular video, my sisters and I were beside ourselves with joy that an Indian woman got to dance with Michael Jackson in a video. Man, we knew the entire script to that video by heart.

And now all we are left from a life we literally picked and pecked to death is the music. At least I got to see Michael Jackson in the flesh for a few very brief seconds.

It was the late 80s and on one of our trips to the UK, our parents carted us off to Madame Tussaud's wax museum. Amongst the other attractions, a new statue of Michael Jackson had been unveiled. I was pretty young, but as far as I can recall the statue must have been stood under a spotlight because the rest of the room was very dark and gloomy.

All of a sudden, my mother shrieked "Oh my God! That's Michael Jackson!" I thought, yeah, it is Michael Jackson, it's his statue, why did you realise that all of a sudden? She repeated again that it was the real Michael Jackson and I spun around to catch a glimpse of the man himself flanked by bodyguards making a hasty exit as the crowd surged in his direction. That night, his clandestine appearance botched by my mother made the news.

When the news broke of his death and we sat together recalling how crazy we all were about Michael Jackson, I told her I wished she had quietly turned us around and pointed instead of notifying everyone in the room, causing his exit and making my one and only glimpse of Michael Jackson the back of him. At least I fared better than my older sister who turned in time to be hit in the face by Michael Jackson's shoulder bag and thus saw nothing at all. On our return to the Home Country, awe-struck friends told her she should never wash her face again.

Lying Under Trees, Looking At the Stars

I was a very little girl when we were dragged off one evening to see the great Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan who was making an appearance at our little town where nothing ever happens. Naturally all the mysticism and poetry went straight over my head and the only reason I even remember the night was because I was so bored and annoyed at being subjected to this fat man singing.

If only I knew back then!

Greek Tragedies

The following conversation took place in Greek:

Me: It would be nice to be able to wear those big sunglasses. Everyone looks good in those, it's hard not to look good in those!

Friend: Couldn't they make you a prescription pair?

Me: No, they'd apparently weigh too much because of the size of the lenses. But no big deal. On my next trip to the UK I'm going to see my eye doctor and get lentils for my eyes.

Friend: ...(looking blank)

Me: You know, lentils! You put them in your eyes and then you don't wear glasses? Come on! Your husband wears them too!

Friend: You mean lenses (φακόυς) not lentils (φακές)

http://tiny.cc/FAlZs

Bollybutton's Friday Beatbox

It's been far too long since we put on our dancing saris and busted a move. It's Friday! We got through one more week of evil Bollywood villains and plotting, giant bindi wearing mother-in-laws! What better way to express our happiness than through the medium of Bollywood dance?




Image: http://pics.livejournal.com/filmi_girl/pic/00095d8p