Köttbullar

kottbullar med potatismosAm mîncat köttbullar! Mai exact, köttbullar med potatismos. Cu piure, că așa-i la noi (adică NUMAI așa).

Am fost la IKEA, unde oricum mîncam chifteluțele alea cu piure și gem, dar acum o vizită la IKEA e un soi de minte-mă-frumos-că-sînt-în-Suedia. IKEA, pămînt suedez, cum ar veni. J

Deci cu piure (eu prefer asta cu cartofeii ăia întregi) și cu gem de merișoare. M-a luat prin surprindere tanti care punea porțiile în farfurie cînd m-a întrebat dacă vreau gem. Cum adică dacă vreau gem?! Păi ce köttbullar mai e ăla, fără gem? Dar poate că experiența a adus-o în acest punct, poate românii nu sînt mari amatori de carne cu dulceață.

În ce carte oi fi citit eu, în copilărie, că un personaj a mîncat friptură cu dulceață? Știu că am încercat și eu combinația și de-atunci am rămas fan al trebii ăsteia. Între timp, pe lîngă bucățelele de ceafă făcute la wok au mai apărut semințele de dovleac, susanul și stafidele… că dulceața (de vișine, un pic acrișoară – deci simțeam eu ceva, înainte să aflu de gemul de merișoare!) se alătură în farfurie.

Cum vizita la IKEA se termină invariabil pe la case, dincolo de ele există magaziul de delicatese suedeze (chiar așa-i zice). Și-acolo… ce să vezi? Köttbullar! La pungă. Și sos de smîntînă. La plic. Și gem de merișoare. La borcan. Și chiar piure. La plic. Iar dacă le iei pe toate, mai au oamenii și o reducere. Cam 30%.

Asta înseamnă că vom mînca și azi köttbullar.

 

 

 

 

 

 

O zi minunată

Ieri, o zi minunată în Stockholm. Bătut pe jos o bucată de oraș, pe niște străzi pe unde n-am mai fost. Asta e poza de pe wiki:

Nytorget_1700-talshus_juni_2005și asta e poza mea, de ieri:

sthlm5ugust2014-nytorget

E vorba despre Nytorget (Piața Nouă), zona unde s-a născut Greta Garbo.

O zonă plină de suedezi, prin care în două-trei ore cît am stat, n-am văzut picior de imigrant (a trecut la un moment dat un cerșetor, dar probabil l-au trimis în zona aia pe cel mai alb dintre ei).

Apoi am ajunspe terasă la Södra Teatern, trecînd prin Mosebacke, o piețucă de poveste. Iar de acolo ne-am trezit pe podul care duce la Gondolen…

Și eu pe pod (la 33 de metri înălțime):

sthlm5ugust2014-la gondola

Și gata, că pornim din nou în descoperirea a ceea ce se cheamă SoFo.

Sensibilități estivale

În Observator cultural sînt închise toate comentariile sau doar pentru rubricile mai debile le-au închis?

De pildă: cum aș putea pune eu urmtorul comentariu la articolul ăsta?

cbg-fraza 25iulie

Comentariul sună așa:

Nu, nu sunt de acord că o carte de proze scurte tematice sau care exemplifică gustul unei anumite persoane într-ale literaturii de gen, nu se poate numi „antologie“, ci numai „culegere“.

Dacă din citatul de mai sus se înțelege că eu aș fi afirmat undeva, vreodată că

o carte de proze scurte tematice sau care exemplifică gustul unei anumite persoane într-ale literaturii de gen, nu se poate numi „antologie“, ci numai „culegere“

atunci e greșit. N-am zis asta. Niciodată, never, nicagda.

Am zis însă

Apar din ce în ce mai multe antologii. Millennium, Nemira, Tracus Arte, Eagle, Herg Benet au publicat, în ultima vreme, antologii. Alte antologii se pregătesc pentru la toamnă. Marius Chivu spune că a citit 60 de volume pentru a scoate antologia lui de la Polirom (nu e o antologie F&SF, dar n-are importanță). Alții dau 20 de telefoane, primesc 15 texte, aleg 10 și gata antologia! – de fapt, un volum colectiv. Eu le numesc pe astea antologii-leneșe. Tu faci deosebire între antologiile-antologii și cele care sînt, de fapt, doar volume colective? Criticul comentează altfel cele două variante de antologii?

Ceea ce este altceva, nu? Eu așa zic.

Am încercat să spun asta într-un comentariu (nu chiar în forma asta), dar nu mi-a fost aprobat. Acuma văd că au închis cu totul comentariile.

Cîtă sensibilitate, cîtă gingășie…

 

dozois-antologii

Argos 8

Cu ceva întîrziere anunț apariția numărului 8 al revistei Argos.

Argos8wCuprins:
EDITORIAL
Michael Haulică – Presa literară

PROZĂ
Aurel Cărășel – Gravitație 0.7
Don Simon – Gothyc
Ladislau Daradici – Albastra şi neîndurătoarea strălucire a zăpezii
Andreea Ban – Vulcanul
Mădălina Aldea – Ebi

ARTICOLE
Michael Haulică – Altfel despre scriitori

RECENZII
Antuza Genescu – Nuanţe de verde cu colţi (despre Vegetal, de Dănuţ Ungureanu şi Marian Truţă, Nemira, 2014)
Tudor Ciocârlie – Nuanțe de întuneric (despre Nuanțe de întuneric, de Roxana Brînceanu, Millennium Books, 2014)

INTERVIU
Horia Nicola Ursu – “Scrisul a venit de la sine” (interviu cu Roxana Brînceanu)

Ancillary peste tot

stockholm-ancillary-230714

Mi-am luat o carte de la SF Bokhandeln din Stockholm: Ancilary Justice, de Ann Leckie. Cartea anului 2013, cîștigătoare a premiilor Clarke, Locus, Nebula, Kitchies și BSFA, nominalizată la Compton Crook, Philip Dick, Tiptree, Campbell Memorial, Hugo, BFA (pentru ultimele două încă nu s-au anunțat cștigătorii). Care va apărea la Paladin.

Este ediția cu bulina cîștigătoare de Arthur C. Clarke.

Zilele trecute am văzut că cineva a scormonit internetul ca să găsească două recenzii negative (muncă grea, într-adevăr!). Știam că unele reviste literare mai publică uneori două recenzii în oglindă la aceeași carte, una pozitivă și una negativă, pentru a oferi cititorilor o imagine mai cuprinzătoare. Dar nu, omul a căutat două recenzii negative, pentru a spune că avem o carte proastă. Firește, nu  poate fi nici o legătură între asta și publicarea cărții lui Ann Leckie la Paladin. În nici un caz!

Măi băieți, tot îngrămdiți ați rămas!

 

A story in English: LIPSTICK

TUESDAY. I infiltrated among them according to the procedure. I think they didn’t notice. Everything’s going on natural, so damn exasperatedly natural. For the moment, I try to display less. The metamorphosis is perfect, but I need time to get used to my new look. And assimilating their communication code still bothers me.

MONDAY. I began to sell the lipstick. It sells well. Like any product from outside. In the afternoon, the first conversation. Excitement! They were fine, I was excellent. They were terrible thirsty, I was excellent thirsty. They wanted badly to go to a movie, I wanted excellent. They said, “tomorrow it would rain good and hard.” I made them quiet saying that it would rain just excellent.

WEDNESDAY. In the morning, I met one of them. “How are you?” I asked. “I’m fine,” he said. I gave him a lipstick. He flushed his lips. I asked him again: “How are you?” “Excellent,” he answered. Excellent! It has to be.

Later, we played bowls. He launched the first ball. “Good,” I said.

“Excellent,” he riposted. Then I launched a ball. “Excellent!” he cried.

“Excellent,” I confirmed.

After that, he called for another ball. I called for another ball, too.

“You keep the score,” he said. “Oh, no, you launch,” I contradicted him.

“We’d better play chess,” he changed his mind. “Let’s launch chess,” I agreed.

FRIDAY. We were sitting at a table, on the beerhouse terrace. One of them came near and greeted me with his colored lips: “Excellent launching!” I pointed him the chair. “How are you?” I pried. “Excellent! I launch beers,” he answered. “Let’s launch two more excellent beers,” I urged him. He turned to the waiter and ordered: “Excellent! Two launches here!” And the answer came as usual: “Laaaaunch!” In the meantime we talked about mayonnaise. When we split up, he wished me “an excellentation mayonnaise of launchings.”

SUNDAY. The lipstick stock decreased dramatically. I cancelled the booth. I’m wearing some lipstick with me and that’s enough. It seems they have begun manufacturing it, too. I don’t know how. I’ve seen someone at the market selling it. He cried out loud, as they always did: “Liiipstick! Liiipstiiiick! The lipstick of excellent talking! Whoever uses it can communicate launched to anyone! To all the world! To all the worlds!”

The business is flourishing. Really flourishing. You can tell that by their intensely colored lips.

In the evening, in my room, I remove carefully the makeup, so that my thoughts would not jumble.

MONDAY. Streets full of posters representing a man with colored lips offering the lipstick to an imaginary creature that belongs probably to another civilization. It looks a little bit like the tharsians. Science symposium. Scientists, a lot. They were talking about flight, I was talking about mushrooms. They – about other civilizations, me – about mushrooms. They – about lipstick-contact, me – about mushrooms. They – about… Me – about… They… Me… I left them talking about mushrooms.

WEDNESDAY. This morning, the concierge – a middle-aged woman, excessively flushed, whispered in private that “fishing the globe’s chair excellent marsh.” She was perfectly right. I gave her a lipstick and we became friends.

THURSDAY. Today we have talked about snow.

SATURDAY. Dust; long conversations.

SUNDAY. I’ve rested. I deserved to.

MONDAY. Uncle. Nephew.

TUESDAY. City.

WEDNESDAY. Chance.

THURSDAY. Mirobolant.

FRIDAY. Life.

SATURDAY. Parapsychobit.

MONDAY. Lipstick.

TUESDAY. Lipstick.

WEDNESDAY. Lipstick.

FRIDAY. The first Institute of Coloristics has been inaugurated. They’ve already received applications for master’s degree in parallel chromatics, integrated metacoloristics, color psychophysiology, protocoloristics, dialectal and historical mitochromatism. They work hard to revise the school books.

MONDAY. A day among the soldiers. Regulations, discipline, tidiness, conformity, civism, heroism, duty, honesty, honor. Each soldier has a lipstick in the knapsack.

TUESDAY. The youngsters – the future adults – everlasting fans of the new, embraced the color as a permanent fashion: they paint their hair, eyelids, lips and march peacefully, waving the lipstick, shouting: “Make lipstick, not guns!”

WEDNESDAY. The pictures of the Parapsycholympics Games’ new flag have been published: on a transparent colorless background, the lipstick…

THURSDAY. They have finished painting the buildings. Now they’re all the same.

FRIDAY. At daybreak, a huge crowd heads for the new planet’s monument. On this so-called roof, the gigantic lipstick statue, surrounded by a quivering halo, sends its iridescent rays and colors everything: the trees, the dust, the air… A small copy is handled by some officiants. Their helpers are throwing lipsticks, while the crowd sings The Lipstick’s Odes. Some needy men, with colorless lips, are struggling in the dust for a piece of lipstick. They’re being contemplated with sympathy and encouraged. The lucky ones are immediately painting their lips, eyelids and ears, gratefully. Excellent! Excellent!

SATURDAY. Electoral campaign. Political platforms, drilling platforms, platforms… Flat, flat, flat… No shape. Just color. Mono. They’ve had the elections postponed.

SUNDAY. I’ve found this letter in my mailbox: “I launch you excellent. The solar mushroom in front of the mirobolant. Let the parapsychobitant dust launch the snow. Lipstick! Lipstick! Lipstick!” Their language is sensibly improved; it almost doesn’t exist anymore.

Everything worked out as planned.

Lipstick. How wonderful does this word sound!

The ship is waiting for me…

Night time. The sun had set long ago. Instead of it, in the starry sky above, the ship appears as a lipstick spreading the color. I showed up at the oval gate and their cheering filled me with joy. Some envoys stood out from the crowd and spoke: “Excellent! Launch the mirobolant! Parapsychobit our life!

Lipstick! Lipstick! Excellent!” We had an excellent time. Excellent!

Finally! Done. Mission accomplished. Now I can regain my own look.

I enter the ship. Feels like I’m already home. I plug in the MIM circuit and the Excellentissime’ features arise first into the CUBE, as an image, then they materialize.

He has colored lips. Violently colored, but it suits Him. The color suits Him.

I go nearer and touch his mantle as a token of Humbleness and Submission. He touches me settling down the privileged contact. We are communicating. I can feel His eagerness. What else could be these vibrations that make me anxious too?

I relate him every detail of my mission. He seems puzzled. And his aggressive thought-wave flooded into my brain: “Wshaakingkaa…” My turn to be puzzled. He points to the lipstick. I lay on more lipstick, carry on the report and end it apotheotically: “The parapsychobitant lipstick mirobolizes!”.

“Excellent!” the appraisal came, and I let out a sigh of relief. He’s pleased. Another wave, a soothing one, penetrates me: “Gnrl.”

I thank him, modestly.

Before the Excellentissime’ features dematerialize, I receive gratefully this appeal: “Launch! Launch! Launch!”

The hologram vanishes too, and my benefactor materializes onto his ship.

Alone. Alone, again.

I remove my makeup, as usual.

A few lipsticks lie on the floor, in a corner.

The perfect gun. More than just perfect.

The contacts, the setting, the screen…

Entire constellations, with their civilizations, are waiting for me.

(translated from Romanian by Adriana Moșoiu)
*

Published in Romanian: Jurnalul SF /14/1993; Dependent SF /3/1996; Dealul melcilor /1/1998; Cronica Română /12.05.2001; Madia Mangalena, Ed. Institutul European, 1999 & Eagle Publishing House, 2011; Povestiri fantastice, Millennium Press, 2010 & Texarom/Millennium Books, 2012 (ebook).

Published in English (in USA): Megaera /fall 2003; Megaera Anthology vol.1, july 2005; Anotherealm /oct/2003, finalist of “Invasion” contest.

Published in Danish: Science Fiction /4/2004, titled LEUNIS.