Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Time to buy a new Skoda?
The Automotive Industries Association of the Czech Republic (SAP) announced that the Czech made Skoda is the most used car on Czech roads in 2005.
Skoda makes took the first seven positions in the ranking, with the Ford Escort being the highest ranked foreign model. Surprising to anyone who lives and works predominately in Prague is the fact that the Skoda 120 (with an average age of 23 years) is the second-most driven car in the Czech Republic.
Here's a few factoids on car use in the Czech lands (from the CTK report).
- In 2005, there was one passenger car for every 2.59 inhabitants in the Czech Republic, compared to 2.68 inhabitants a year earlier.
- Prague has one car per 1.97 inhabitants, and Moravskoslezsky region in north Moravia one car per 3.17 inhabitants.
- There are some 3.96 million passenger cars registered in 2005, an increase over over 2004 of 143,161 units.
- The total number of all motor vehicles registered in the Czech Republic went up by 234,295 to 6,231,601 last year.
- The average age of a car on the road today 13.8 years.
- The oldest registered make (500 units) is the Aero 30, which is an average 69 years old.
- The Tatra 57, with an average age of 67.4 years, is the second oldest registered make, while the Skoda 1101 ranks third (average age 60.4 years).
- Caterpillar tractors, aged 46 years on average, are the oldest category.
- Light utility vehicles are the youngest category with average age of 7.91 years.
Worth a two-tram ride
The Fatty Lumpkin Revival Band?
Stopped by Fraktal last night to see my friends play. Housed in the basement of a Prague 7 apartment building, Fraktal is one of the few expat bars in the Letna area to last, and even to expand. The atmosphere is young, actors and English teachers, plus a sprinkling of neighbourhood Czechs and whatever expat locals live in the area.I've never been a big fan of the bar. While I enjoy it, the smoke factor is impressive, even for this town. Between that and the two-tram journey for me to get there, I usually take a pass on my friends' invitation to stop by there. Prague center denizens can be really spoiled in that way. In any case I managed to make my way to the other side of Petrin Hill to see the recently named Fatty Lumpkin Revival Band – Bassist Jo Cooper of Fatty Lumpkin, singer Angela Alsop, a regular Fatty guest singer (generally, when singer saxophonist Nelson Craig couldn't be found) and guitarist Jez, who had nothing musically to do with Fatty, although he was a regular on their guest list.Angela christened the band thusly after they finished a rendition of Fatty's "Master;" however, other than that song, they don't sound anything like the kind-of-erstwhile jazzy-funk Prague jam band.
Instead, this was much more a modern tribute to the blues, something penniless musicians like Joe and Jez know a lot about. Angela's smoke-tinged voice was pure velvet last night, as she belted balled after ballad which, despite the pretty pathetic sound system, kept bringing the curious to peek in the back room where they were playing.
So I doubt the eponymous name will last, and Joe will soon be returning across the Channel so who's to say when of if they will play again. That's why it's important to make the two-tram ride from time to time.
Not to mention the food.
Prague's biggest secret: While Fraktal looks like the place you sipped latte after latte in during your college days, the kitchen is much more upscale. Ordered the goat's cheese and roasted pepper quesidilla's with pesto, and a curried carrot and corriander soup that's worth mentioning. It was fantastic, served with homemade bread and butter, and togethe I don't think it was much more than 120 Kc.Made the mistake of sitting next to a young Austrian journalist trying to make his way at a new business magazine here. Just what we need, another English-language rag, owned by people who know nothing about the industry, with no access to resources, poor pay, poorer management and staff who still think the Two Budweiser Story is novel. I don't mean to slam new publications, but sheesh, haven't we learned our lesson yet? It's just not possible to put out quality news with no resources, poor management, little experience and poor salaries. It's clear what you wind up with though: Low-cost PR.
The name game
I left the bar just as the night trams were starting. Couldn't bear the thought of a two tram ride at 12:40 in the morning, so I gave in and SMSed City Taxi.
As I'm waiting, I'm accosted by some African guy who saw me coming out of the bar."Hello, hello. How are you? You are looking nice tonight. Where are you from? Are you American?"
I hate this approach. And it's typically African. I remember as a student in France, how they would chase women down the street with direct challenges: "Hello, pretty lady, do you want to come to my place for a coffee?" They never took no for an answer, so I would respond by not responding. This guy wouldn't relent.
"Where are you from? What is your name? Are you American?"
Perhaps it’s due to too much BBC, but the question, posed there, outside a bar at 12:40 in the morning, by some strange African who wouldn't go away, seemed menacing. But why should such a question be so?
Clearly irritated, I responded with my own question: "Where are you from? What is your name?"
He immediately tells me his name (since forgotten—remember I was coming out of a bar) and says proudly, "I am from Senegal. It is in Africa."
"Yes," I say. "I know Senegal."
He seems shocked. "You? How do you know Senegal? Have you been to Africa?"
"No, but I've been around. In France I had friends from Senegal."
Immediately, he switches gears: "Donc, vous parlez-francais?"I look at him directly now: "Mais bien sur. J'y ai fait mes etudes."
Now he thinks we're good buddies, but I see my taxi. We bid each other a pleasant good night. He never menaced me. And I never did tell him my name or nationality.
Stopped by Fraktal last night to see my friends play. Housed in the basement of a Prague 7 apartment building, Fraktal is one of the few expat bars in the Letna area to last, and even to expand. The atmosphere is young, actors and English teachers, plus a sprinkling of neighbourhood Czechs and whatever expat locals live in the area.I've never been a big fan of the bar. While I enjoy it, the smoke factor is impressive, even for this town. Between that and the two-tram journey for me to get there, I usually take a pass on my friends' invitation to stop by there. Prague center denizens can be really spoiled in that way. In any case I managed to make my way to the other side of Petrin Hill to see the recently named Fatty Lumpkin Revival Band – Bassist Jo Cooper of Fatty Lumpkin, singer Angela Alsop, a regular Fatty guest singer (generally, when singer saxophonist Nelson Craig couldn't be found) and guitarist Jez, who had nothing musically to do with Fatty, although he was a regular on their guest list.Angela christened the band thusly after they finished a rendition of Fatty's "Master;" however, other than that song, they don't sound anything like the kind-of-erstwhile jazzy-funk Prague jam band.
Instead, this was much more a modern tribute to the blues, something penniless musicians like Joe and Jez know a lot about. Angela's smoke-tinged voice was pure velvet last night, as she belted balled after ballad which, despite the pretty pathetic sound system, kept bringing the curious to peek in the back room where they were playing.
So I doubt the eponymous name will last, and Joe will soon be returning across the Channel so who's to say when of if they will play again. That's why it's important to make the two-tram ride from time to time.
Not to mention the food.
Prague's biggest secret: While Fraktal looks like the place you sipped latte after latte in during your college days, the kitchen is much more upscale. Ordered the goat's cheese and roasted pepper quesidilla's with pesto, and a curried carrot and corriander soup that's worth mentioning. It was fantastic, served with homemade bread and butter, and togethe I don't think it was much more than 120 Kc.Made the mistake of sitting next to a young Austrian journalist trying to make his way at a new business magazine here. Just what we need, another English-language rag, owned by people who know nothing about the industry, with no access to resources, poor pay, poorer management and staff who still think the Two Budweiser Story is novel. I don't mean to slam new publications, but sheesh, haven't we learned our lesson yet? It's just not possible to put out quality news with no resources, poor management, little experience and poor salaries. It's clear what you wind up with though: Low-cost PR.
The name game
I left the bar just as the night trams were starting. Couldn't bear the thought of a two tram ride at 12:40 in the morning, so I gave in and SMSed City Taxi.
As I'm waiting, I'm accosted by some African guy who saw me coming out of the bar."Hello, hello. How are you? You are looking nice tonight. Where are you from? Are you American?"
I hate this approach. And it's typically African. I remember as a student in France, how they would chase women down the street with direct challenges: "Hello, pretty lady, do you want to come to my place for a coffee?" They never took no for an answer, so I would respond by not responding. This guy wouldn't relent.
"Where are you from? What is your name? Are you American?"
Perhaps it’s due to too much BBC, but the question, posed there, outside a bar at 12:40 in the morning, by some strange African who wouldn't go away, seemed menacing. But why should such a question be so?
Clearly irritated, I responded with my own question: "Where are you from? What is your name?"
He immediately tells me his name (since forgotten—remember I was coming out of a bar) and says proudly, "I am from Senegal. It is in Africa."
"Yes," I say. "I know Senegal."
He seems shocked. "You? How do you know Senegal? Have you been to Africa?"
"No, but I've been around. In France I had friends from Senegal."
Immediately, he switches gears: "Donc, vous parlez-francais?"I look at him directly now: "Mais bien sur. J'y ai fait mes etudes."
Now he thinks we're good buddies, but I see my taxi. We bid each other a pleasant good night. He never menaced me. And I never did tell him my name or nationality.
Monday, February 20, 2006
The Czechs check for Katrina
"I couldn't believe such a small country would help us so much," said Sue Bosarge last week, after accepting a check for $111,000 from the Czech Ambassador to the US Petr Kolar. The Lousiana bayou town lost its entire library of 14,000 books after Hurricane Katrina submerged the little log cabin library in more than a meter of water.
The Czech Ambassador was busy last week, he also handed $100,000 to St. Vincent de Paul's Pharmacy in Biloxi, Mississippi. The volunteer agency has served the community for seven years, providing prescription medications to people who can't afford them.
The Czech Republic has given about $1 million to aid the survivors of Katrina, while in total last year it allocated some $15 million in aid to various regions hit by natural disasters.
That doesn't include private donations. I remember stumbling across a benefit concert to raise funds to send to the States on TV. In classic fashion, none of the English-language media -- in particular, media run by Americans -- paid any attention to the efforts.
I have no idea how these two projects came to the attention of Czech government officials. Anyone who has every been in a disaster area -- and lately those opportunities have been rife -- is aware of the myriad opportunities for aid, but it was nice to see a real attempt to provide direct assistance in a way that cuts out the middleman, and hopefully the chances of graft. Maybe my own government will get the hint.
The Czech Ambassador was busy last week, he also handed $100,000 to St. Vincent de Paul's Pharmacy in Biloxi, Mississippi. The volunteer agency has served the community for seven years, providing prescription medications to people who can't afford them.
The Czech Republic has given about $1 million to aid the survivors of Katrina, while in total last year it allocated some $15 million in aid to various regions hit by natural disasters.
That doesn't include private donations. I remember stumbling across a benefit concert to raise funds to send to the States on TV. In classic fashion, none of the English-language media -- in particular, media run by Americans -- paid any attention to the efforts.
I have no idea how these two projects came to the attention of Czech government officials. Anyone who has every been in a disaster area -- and lately those opportunities have been rife -- is aware of the myriad opportunities for aid, but it was nice to see a real attempt to provide direct assistance in a way that cuts out the middleman, and hopefully the chances of graft. Maybe my own government will get the hint.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Wanted: A LowHigh Man
Men, here’s a can’t lose business idea: Offer low high-tech services.
What’s low high tech: That’s all the shit your IT guy at work can’t be bothered with and you don’t know. Those stupid little preferences in Word that need setting. How to keep that stupid little paper clip guy from perpetually posing the question: “Looks like you’re trying to write a letter. Need some help?” As if.
I am in need of a Low-High Man. Someone who will come to my house. Set up my computer just how I like it, painlessly, cheerfully educating me along the way. Sort of like a personal trainer. He would hold my hand and show lead me through the menus and sub-menus with a skill and tone that never leaves me feeling inadequate or stupid.
Hate to be a sexist… fuck that, no I don’t. He also needs to be a Hottie.
And, as for an expansion of the business -- every entrepreneurial activity should have potential new business angles -- he can offer “de-stressing” services, a little aromatherapy, maybe some massage, yoga (tantric, of course).
I shop therefore I am
In true opposition of the world's most commercial holiday (and due to the fact that I tend to always be single on this day), I spent Valentine's Day in my jammies crunching KFC HotWings and watching movies.
Rented Cesky Sen, in English, Czech Dream, and didn't regret it.
I remember hearing about the Czech Dream scandal some time after I returned to Prague in 2004. In Czech Dream, two FAMU film students, Vit Klusak and Filip Remunda, stage an elaborate prank on the citizens of Prague. The pair manage to persuade one of the country's biggest, most prestigious advertising agencies and other media agencies, including an image consultancy and a lightboard/billboard company to donate time and materials to create a massive media campaign for Czech Dream: a fictitious new hypermarket -- the 127th to come to the country in a mere five years.
Over the past decade I've watched Prague fall victim to the shopping malls, which have mushroomed around the city. My own Prague 5 is home to Novy Smichov, a perpetually busy mall filled with florescent lighting, bored housewives, pensioners and shops brimming with not-so-cheap crap from China.
Yes, as a decadent Westerner, I can look down my noses at these monuments to capitalism (and usually also bad taste). The shops are all the same; the quality is crap, the prices inflated and there's just too much out there to choose from. I just don't need to choose from 647 kinds of breakfast cereal!
Which is exactly why the Czechs love their hypermarkets. The film (part documentary, part mockumentary, part reality TV show) ask Czechs why they have so wholeheartedly opened their hearts to the hypermarket concept. It's unanamous: Everything is in one place. There is variety, there is abundance. There is something for everyone
The big banana queue
At the beginning of the film, clips from the 70s tell a tale -- of lines. Lines for the butcher, for the druggist, for the bread, and definitely lines for bananas. In Czech Dream, a man tells his story about standing in lines for hours for 1 kilo of bananas. You didn't have an option to buy 3 kilos or 10 kilos, he says. You got 1 kilo, if you were lucky and they didn't run out by the time you inched your way to the front.
I got my first banana story by way of a letter. It was 1990 or '91. I was living in Kansas, still hadn't decided to come to Prague yet. My friend described being in her office one afternoon -- she worked in a big international consultancy -- when someone announced they had seen bananas at the local shop. That was followed by a mad stampede for the door.
Another friend told me her banana story. It was Christmas, around 1998 or so. Her brother was presenting his son with a banana for Christmas. He tries to explain to the boy that, when he was a little boy, such a gift under the tree was treasured and often took great pains to acquire. His son listened for 5 seconds and they went to find his latest computer game under the tree.
How quickly the young learn. But the old don't forget, and they prefer their new world of endless choice as opposed to the old one of endless lines.
The Kozeny connection
The film touches on a number of issues -- do ad men lie to sell? (They claim they don't.) In fact, the creative team, appropriately bleached and pierced as a testament to their creativity, were offended when pushed to acknowledge that what the were doing was in fact lying.
That said, in one of the outtakes on the DVD, the creative team leader, exclaims during a brainstorming session: "Although I'm not yet 18 I would still buy the coupon," a comment that prompted a remark to "Best not turn over that stone" from a colleague.
The comment, of course, could only refer to the country's greatest scammer, Viktor Kozeny and his Harvard Fund coupon privatision scam that bilked billions of crowns off people in the early '90s. Using the same kind of savvy – and after watching this I was truly amazed at the level of advertising / marketing talent in this country – Kozeny managed to convince the entire country to give him money for a dream of riches, and little else factually or materially, although I hear his Harvard Fund promotional T-shirt today fetches a fine price on eBay.
And what about the media?
Afer one year of work, the filmmakers had TV spots, radio spots, a jingle (with such great lines as: It will be a big bash/If you don't have the cash/ Get a loan and scream/ I want to fulfil my dream."), 200,000 flyers featuring private-label Cesky Sen-branded products at communism-era-level prices, billboards, light boards and tram ads adorned with a cartoon thought balloon that told them "don't come", "don't spend" (Czechs are contrary creatures, even more so than most.)
Two weeks before the "grand opening" to the dream, the ad campaign finally announced the location of the nonexistant store--near Letnany exposition center--literally, a field with a crappy parkinglot. In the middle of the field, some 300 meters away was what looked like a large brightly colored building. In reality, it was no more than scafolding, with a printed drop cloth. The directors made no attempt to hide the construction of the scaffolding, and at any time prior to the opening, any journalist could drive by and blow the whole prank.
But it never happened.
The media happily continued to print whatever press release Mark/BBDO sent them. After all it was Mark/BBDO.
The footage filmed on the day of the grand opening was priceless. The directors chose May 30, 2003, a day of a partial solar eclipse. Shoppers, armed with plastic bags and trollies came as much as three hours early. By the time of the ribbon cutting, there were more than a thousand people, running across the field to be the first into the new store.
There was some anger, but nothing of the scale that the organisers expected. The Army had advised them that it would be chaos. Of course the Czech government's approach to any gathering is crack heads and find out who's at fault later.
Most telling to me, wasn't the pensioners and others who attacked the directors for being mean-spirited, or who attacked themselves for being gullable, but those who came, saw and then said, "Well, we were tricked to go for a walk in the country, how refreshing."
That kind of response seems to say more than anything, that Czechs are pretty happy with their lives. So they didn't get to buy stuff. They did find a way to enjoy an otherwise beautiful day. And while I won't ever be happy about the hypermarket revolution, I can salute this country for its amazing adaptability in the face of all kinds of changes.
Rented Cesky Sen, in English, Czech Dream, and didn't regret it.
I remember hearing about the Czech Dream scandal some time after I returned to Prague in 2004. In Czech Dream, two FAMU film students, Vit Klusak and Filip Remunda, stage an elaborate prank on the citizens of Prague. The pair manage to persuade one of the country's biggest, most prestigious advertising agencies and other media agencies, including an image consultancy and a lightboard/billboard company to donate time and materials to create a massive media campaign for Czech Dream: a fictitious new hypermarket -- the 127th to come to the country in a mere five years.
Over the past decade I've watched Prague fall victim to the shopping malls, which have mushroomed around the city. My own Prague 5 is home to Novy Smichov, a perpetually busy mall filled with florescent lighting, bored housewives, pensioners and shops brimming with not-so-cheap crap from China.
Yes, as a decadent Westerner, I can look down my noses at these monuments to capitalism (and usually also bad taste). The shops are all the same; the quality is crap, the prices inflated and there's just too much out there to choose from. I just don't need to choose from 647 kinds of breakfast cereal!
Which is exactly why the Czechs love their hypermarkets. The film (part documentary, part mockumentary, part reality TV show) ask Czechs why they have so wholeheartedly opened their hearts to the hypermarket concept. It's unanamous: Everything is in one place. There is variety, there is abundance. There is something for everyone
The big banana queue
At the beginning of the film, clips from the 70s tell a tale -- of lines. Lines for the butcher, for the druggist, for the bread, and definitely lines for bananas. In Czech Dream, a man tells his story about standing in lines for hours for 1 kilo of bananas. You didn't have an option to buy 3 kilos or 10 kilos, he says. You got 1 kilo, if you were lucky and they didn't run out by the time you inched your way to the front.
I got my first banana story by way of a letter. It was 1990 or '91. I was living in Kansas, still hadn't decided to come to Prague yet. My friend described being in her office one afternoon -- she worked in a big international consultancy -- when someone announced they had seen bananas at the local shop. That was followed by a mad stampede for the door.
Another friend told me her banana story. It was Christmas, around 1998 or so. Her brother was presenting his son with a banana for Christmas. He tries to explain to the boy that, when he was a little boy, such a gift under the tree was treasured and often took great pains to acquire. His son listened for 5 seconds and they went to find his latest computer game under the tree.
How quickly the young learn. But the old don't forget, and they prefer their new world of endless choice as opposed to the old one of endless lines.
The Kozeny connection
The film touches on a number of issues -- do ad men lie to sell? (They claim they don't.) In fact, the creative team, appropriately bleached and pierced as a testament to their creativity, were offended when pushed to acknowledge that what the were doing was in fact lying.
That said, in one of the outtakes on the DVD, the creative team leader, exclaims during a brainstorming session: "Although I'm not yet 18 I would still buy the coupon," a comment that prompted a remark to "Best not turn over that stone" from a colleague.
The comment, of course, could only refer to the country's greatest scammer, Viktor Kozeny and his Harvard Fund coupon privatision scam that bilked billions of crowns off people in the early '90s. Using the same kind of savvy – and after watching this I was truly amazed at the level of advertising / marketing talent in this country – Kozeny managed to convince the entire country to give him money for a dream of riches, and little else factually or materially, although I hear his Harvard Fund promotional T-shirt today fetches a fine price on eBay.
And what about the media?
Afer one year of work, the filmmakers had TV spots, radio spots, a jingle (with such great lines as: It will be a big bash/If you don't have the cash/ Get a loan and scream/ I want to fulfil my dream."), 200,000 flyers featuring private-label Cesky Sen-branded products at communism-era-level prices, billboards, light boards and tram ads adorned with a cartoon thought balloon that told them "don't come", "don't spend" (Czechs are contrary creatures, even more so than most.)
Two weeks before the "grand opening" to the dream, the ad campaign finally announced the location of the nonexistant store--near Letnany exposition center--literally, a field with a crappy parkinglot. In the middle of the field, some 300 meters away was what looked like a large brightly colored building. In reality, it was no more than scafolding, with a printed drop cloth. The directors made no attempt to hide the construction of the scaffolding, and at any time prior to the opening, any journalist could drive by and blow the whole prank.
But it never happened.
The media happily continued to print whatever press release Mark/BBDO sent them. After all it was Mark/BBDO.
The footage filmed on the day of the grand opening was priceless. The directors chose May 30, 2003, a day of a partial solar eclipse. Shoppers, armed with plastic bags and trollies came as much as three hours early. By the time of the ribbon cutting, there were more than a thousand people, running across the field to be the first into the new store.
There was some anger, but nothing of the scale that the organisers expected. The Army had advised them that it would be chaos. Of course the Czech government's approach to any gathering is crack heads and find out who's at fault later.
Most telling to me, wasn't the pensioners and others who attacked the directors for being mean-spirited, or who attacked themselves for being gullable, but those who came, saw and then said, "Well, we were tricked to go for a walk in the country, how refreshing."
That kind of response seems to say more than anything, that Czechs are pretty happy with their lives. So they didn't get to buy stuff. They did find a way to enjoy an otherwise beautiful day. And while I won't ever be happy about the hypermarket revolution, I can salute this country for its amazing adaptability in the face of all kinds of changes.
Reform School Girls
I've always had a soft spot in my heart for reform school girls, a couple of my childhood friends spent time in such institutions. If the place these girls are is anything like those places, I have to wonder what they will do when they "mentally evaluate" the chief instigator.
(from Prague Monitor, taken from the Czech News Agency)
Girls set correctional institute alight, escape
OLOMOUC, North Moravia, Feb 14 (CTK) - Several girl inmates aged about 15 set the correctional institute in Kouty nad Desnou, north Moravia, on fire last weekend and used the subsequent chaos to escape, the local daily Olomoucky den writes today.
The girls set the building alight at three spots in the small hours on Sunday.
"To do so, they used perfumes and sprays. Flames were flaring up when firefighters arrived," investigator Jaromir Ficek is quoted as saying.
Nine inmates made their getaway amid the chaos, but all of them were gradually caught within an hour and returned back.
They, however, did not reconcile themselves with their "failure" and made another incendiary try on Sunday evening.
The second fire was even more serious than the first one, though no one was injured either, said Ficek.
"We explained to the girls what danger they had been faced with, but the girls only laughed at us. I'm afraid they could repeat their attempts," he added.
The institute director Jiri Klaska declined to give any information in view of the inmates' minor age. All girls are 13- 15 years old.
According to well-informed source, the fire's main initiator has been transferred to a nearby mental hospital.
rtj/dr/ms
(from Prague Monitor, taken from the Czech News Agency)
Girls set correctional institute alight, escape
OLOMOUC, North Moravia, Feb 14 (CTK) - Several girl inmates aged about 15 set the correctional institute in Kouty nad Desnou, north Moravia, on fire last weekend and used the subsequent chaos to escape, the local daily Olomoucky den writes today.
The girls set the building alight at three spots in the small hours on Sunday.
"To do so, they used perfumes and sprays. Flames were flaring up when firefighters arrived," investigator Jaromir Ficek is quoted as saying.
Nine inmates made their getaway amid the chaos, but all of them were gradually caught within an hour and returned back.
They, however, did not reconcile themselves with their "failure" and made another incendiary try on Sunday evening.
The second fire was even more serious than the first one, though no one was injured either, said Ficek.
"We explained to the girls what danger they had been faced with, but the girls only laughed at us. I'm afraid they could repeat their attempts," he added.
The institute director Jiri Klaska declined to give any information in view of the inmates' minor age. All girls are 13- 15 years old.
According to well-informed source, the fire's main initiator has been transferred to a nearby mental hospital.
rtj/dr/ms
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Latest in the cartoon scandal
Saw this on HABALAR, a newslist of just about everything written in English about the South Caucasus. Been thinking a lot about this scandal. Will post more about it soon...
Azerbaijan Press Council Condemns Article on Jesus
Turan 13/02/2006 13:56
Today Iranian embassy in Azerbaijan has issued a statement for press condemning publishing of article insulting Jesus and Holy Virgin Mary by Baku-based weekly.
The statement reads: "This article is a result of lack of information about Holy Virgin Mary in Koran surah or was aimed at stirring up of hostility between Muslim and Christians."
Iranian embassy condemned printing of Prophet Mohammed's cartoons in western press and also strongly condemned expressions insulting Jesus and Holy Virgin Mary.
The Iranian embassy was the first who has reacted to this article. This article has been published by little known weekly Yeni Habar. The article's author Natig Mukhtarly expressed his position as a response to insulting of Prophet Mohammed in western press and his right to "freedom of speech."
Aflatun Amashev, Azerbaijan Press Council chairman, has condemned article published in Yeni Habar newspaper. He said that the article is contrary to the Constitution of the country, mass media law and journalist code.
Amashev claims that "this provocation is aimed at undermining of dialogue and solution to the conflict between Muslim and Christians caused by printing of Prophet Mohammed cartoons in western press."
Press Council chairman has urged journalists to refrain from publishing articles insulting religious feelings of all believers.
Azerbaijan Press Council Condemns Article on Jesus
Turan 13/02/2006 13:56
Today Iranian embassy in Azerbaijan has issued a statement for press condemning publishing of article insulting Jesus and Holy Virgin Mary by Baku-based weekly.
The statement reads: "This article is a result of lack of information about Holy Virgin Mary in Koran surah or was aimed at stirring up of hostility between Muslim and Christians."
Iranian embassy condemned printing of Prophet Mohammed's cartoons in western press and also strongly condemned expressions insulting Jesus and Holy Virgin Mary.
The Iranian embassy was the first who has reacted to this article. This article has been published by little known weekly Yeni Habar. The article's author Natig Mukhtarly expressed his position as a response to insulting of Prophet Mohammed in western press and his right to "freedom of speech."
Aflatun Amashev, Azerbaijan Press Council chairman, has condemned article published in Yeni Habar newspaper. He said that the article is contrary to the Constitution of the country, mass media law and journalist code.
Amashev claims that "this provocation is aimed at undermining of dialogue and solution to the conflict between Muslim and Christians caused by printing of Prophet Mohammed cartoons in western press."
Press Council chairman has urged journalists to refrain from publishing articles insulting religious feelings of all believers.
Monday Night Rock Stars
Managed to get out to see my friends' band Freak Parade play at the Roxy, in Prague's Old Town last night. They are probably my favorite band here and one of my favorites anywhere. This isn't just because they're friends. I discovered the music before I met the members. Found their first CD, I Don't Think So in a discount bin at Bonton Music, the Czech equivilant of a Musicland or Virgin. The group's mixture of foreign and Czech names sounded good, so I bought it without even bothering to listen to it. The first track "Can't Kill Bill" (recorded in 1996, years before Tarantino sucessfully killed him) a hard, fast punk ballad delivered by lead singer Becki Eastwood, blew me away, and I was hooked.
Some years later, I'm living in Baku but visiting Prague. I'm at a friend's house, and we're sitting around the table talking about music, and I go into my Czech band discovery speel, and how this music is my salvation now that I live in a country where the only modern western (non jazz) musician in living memory to play a concert there was Coolio (and yes, I did go) when the girl sitting with us looks at me dumbfounded and tells me that this is her band.
At first I'm not sure what she means by her band--so she explains: I'm the lead singer.
Now it's my turn to be dumfounded--Really? You mean the Freak Parade that sing:
So I'm driving down the street and I'm looking for some fun
Gotta big fat joint and a red hot gun
Pop a few bennies and I'm feeling No.1 and I gotta kill Bill, cause I gotta kill someone...
I'm the first fan who ever sang Becki a Freak Parade song back to her. We've been friends ever since.
In addition to Becki the band includes Mike, a big friendly guy from Tennesee, who pronounces antenna "antanna" and pillow "pella'. He writes most of the songs; Earnest, a quiet, thoughtful guitarist from South Central LA; Barny, the Czech drummer who's only just been back with the band after his dog mauled his hand and Chilli, aka Dutch Paul, who I've known for years and yet never knew the guy could play guitar--and he can play guitar.
The show was great. The Roxy is a pretty big venue and they managed to get a good 300 or so people there. I was tasked with filming the evening. That only lasted about 20 minutes before I was able to delegate the task to my friend who actually knows how to hold a camera. Then I was free to flail. Didn't drink so much but managed to stay out until around 3. So much for an early Monday.
Some years later, I'm living in Baku but visiting Prague. I'm at a friend's house, and we're sitting around the table talking about music, and I go into my Czech band discovery speel, and how this music is my salvation now that I live in a country where the only modern western (non jazz) musician in living memory to play a concert there was Coolio (and yes, I did go) when the girl sitting with us looks at me dumbfounded and tells me that this is her band.
At first I'm not sure what she means by her band--so she explains: I'm the lead singer.
Now it's my turn to be dumfounded--Really? You mean the Freak Parade that sing:
So I'm driving down the street and I'm looking for some fun
Gotta big fat joint and a red hot gun
Pop a few bennies and I'm feeling No.1 and I gotta kill Bill, cause I gotta kill someone...
I'm the first fan who ever sang Becki a Freak Parade song back to her. We've been friends ever since.
In addition to Becki the band includes Mike, a big friendly guy from Tennesee, who pronounces antenna "antanna" and pillow "pella'. He writes most of the songs; Earnest, a quiet, thoughtful guitarist from South Central LA; Barny, the Czech drummer who's only just been back with the band after his dog mauled his hand and Chilli, aka Dutch Paul, who I've known for years and yet never knew the guy could play guitar--and he can play guitar.
The show was great. The Roxy is a pretty big venue and they managed to get a good 300 or so people there. I was tasked with filming the evening. That only lasted about 20 minutes before I was able to delegate the task to my friend who actually knows how to hold a camera. Then I was free to flail. Didn't drink so much but managed to stay out until around 3. So much for an early Monday.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Comfort in mutual misery
Last week is best described as frustrating. No real reason, or maybe a thousand little things all hung over me like the grey smog this city wears in winter, which smells like exhaust and soft coal and results in chronic fatigue, low-grade headaches and a perpetual sore throat and runny nose.
In any case, to assuage my midwinter blahs, I went to see some old friends, who've fallen out of the loop due to signing on to the 'maminka brigada'.
So on Friday I went to spend the night with my friend, a first-time mommy with a five-month-old daughter. That's about as young as I can handle them, any smaller and I feel sort of the way I feel when I've handed a live carp--hold too strongly and you'll sqush it, not strongly enough and the thing will flop out of your hands when you least expect it.
Luckily she was on her best behavior. She cooed and played and was generally pleasant and then slept while her mother and I caught up.
Of course, cooped up in the house all winter with a baby, while her partner is off at the cottage every weekend tending to the sheep they have. (I should add here that my friend at no point encouraged her mate to take on a flock of 150 or so sheep. But as a mid-life crisis remedy, I suppose it's better than getting a red sports car or joining a cover band.)
He was also in the dog house as far as my friend was concerned. At a critical moment in her life, the death of a grandmother, the partner went AWOL on the relationship. Instead of comforting his mate, he attended a previously scheduled engagement--a musical concert, followed by substantial beer consumption at the pub.
Does this mean he doesn't lover her? Of course not, which my friend is quick to admit. And granny had been out of it for a long time, so her death came more as a relief than a shock. This my friend also freely admits. But shoulda been there.
Another friend tells me a similar story. Her birthday is coming up. She wants him to take her to dinner. He wants to go to a previously scheduled concert. She doesn't ask him to take her to dinner, because, again, it's not the point, she says. "He's got to want to take me to dinner", she tells me. "If I ask him, it won't be the same."
The biggest sin a man can commit is to not recognise when your partner needs you and fail to take the appropriate innitiative. Both these men will likely feel the repercussions of their undone deeds for much longer than a simple dinner.
Not all my friends have such high expectations for their men. I call another member of the Maminka brigada. Her husband hasn't made it home from the previous night's partying. It's 11 a.m. The next day. Angry? No, she says, he called and told her he was crashing with some friends. Partied too hard to get home.
She just shrugs her shoulders and pulls out the couch to clean. The one he's usually parked on this time of day.
After a weekend hearing such negativity, you'd think I'd be ready to slice my wrists myself. Actually, quite the opposite. I felt great.
I've finally recognised a fundament of Mitteleuropa thought: The best way to crawl your way out of misery is to hear about the misery of others. For years I never got the myriad jokes that played upon this theme. Today, I'm laughing.
In any case, to assuage my midwinter blahs, I went to see some old friends, who've fallen out of the loop due to signing on to the 'maminka brigada'.
So on Friday I went to spend the night with my friend, a first-time mommy with a five-month-old daughter. That's about as young as I can handle them, any smaller and I feel sort of the way I feel when I've handed a live carp--hold too strongly and you'll sqush it, not strongly enough and the thing will flop out of your hands when you least expect it.
Luckily she was on her best behavior. She cooed and played and was generally pleasant and then slept while her mother and I caught up.
Of course, cooped up in the house all winter with a baby, while her partner is off at the cottage every weekend tending to the sheep they have. (I should add here that my friend at no point encouraged her mate to take on a flock of 150 or so sheep. But as a mid-life crisis remedy, I suppose it's better than getting a red sports car or joining a cover band.)
He was also in the dog house as far as my friend was concerned. At a critical moment in her life, the death of a grandmother, the partner went AWOL on the relationship. Instead of comforting his mate, he attended a previously scheduled engagement--a musical concert, followed by substantial beer consumption at the pub.
Does this mean he doesn't lover her? Of course not, which my friend is quick to admit. And granny had been out of it for a long time, so her death came more as a relief than a shock. This my friend also freely admits. But shoulda been there.
Another friend tells me a similar story. Her birthday is coming up. She wants him to take her to dinner. He wants to go to a previously scheduled concert. She doesn't ask him to take her to dinner, because, again, it's not the point, she says. "He's got to want to take me to dinner", she tells me. "If I ask him, it won't be the same."
The biggest sin a man can commit is to not recognise when your partner needs you and fail to take the appropriate innitiative. Both these men will likely feel the repercussions of their undone deeds for much longer than a simple dinner.
Not all my friends have such high expectations for their men. I call another member of the Maminka brigada. Her husband hasn't made it home from the previous night's partying. It's 11 a.m. The next day. Angry? No, she says, he called and told her he was crashing with some friends. Partied too hard to get home.
She just shrugs her shoulders and pulls out the couch to clean. The one he's usually parked on this time of day.
After a weekend hearing such negativity, you'd think I'd be ready to slice my wrists myself. Actually, quite the opposite. I felt great.
I've finally recognised a fundament of Mitteleuropa thought: The best way to crawl your way out of misery is to hear about the misery of others. For years I never got the myriad jokes that played upon this theme. Today, I'm laughing.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Sapphire bullets of pure love
Pope Benedict XVI has released his first papal encyclical this week. A papal enyclical is an open letter, usually to bishops. This one is addressed to the bishops, priests, decons, religious men and women and all the lay faithful. While I'm not quite sure I fit under any of those categories, I read it anyway. Why?
Because the letter is on a topic that doesn't get enough media time these days: Love.
Of course the press in its coverage is quick to note the full title, "On Christian Love," and is quick to look for controversy in the document--Christian love v. Jewish love v. Muslim love etc. But what I found intriguing, was that he has chosen this particular topic at this particular time in history.
Love. When's the last time you've talked about love with someone? What about the last time you've talked about war? War on Terror? War in Afghanistan? In Iraq? Africa?
These days, war is more about controlling what people are talking and thinking about, and less about guns and body counts. A terrorist attack isn't about the dozens (sometimes more, as we've seen) of people killed, but about the fear it can generate across the globe.
Pope Benedict has sent out his own little bomb to the media. While currently the news media are looking to find out who the Catholic Church is speaking against (gays, unmarried couples, non Christians--if you look hard enough you can find just about any nonCatholic), but that's what the media do these days, if it bleads it leads, right?
But we can hope those headlines will lead more people to devote their brain cells to thinking about love a little more; maybe some media pundits will devote 7 minutes of air time to a discussion of agape vs eros as opposed to a debate on the tactic of Sharon vs Hamas; perhaps a poet or two will write a sonnet about love as opposed to a cry of pain about death and destruction.
Or maybe not.
Because the letter is on a topic that doesn't get enough media time these days: Love.
Of course the press in its coverage is quick to note the full title, "On Christian Love," and is quick to look for controversy in the document--Christian love v. Jewish love v. Muslim love etc. But what I found intriguing, was that he has chosen this particular topic at this particular time in history.
Love. When's the last time you've talked about love with someone? What about the last time you've talked about war? War on Terror? War in Afghanistan? In Iraq? Africa?
These days, war is more about controlling what people are talking and thinking about, and less about guns and body counts. A terrorist attack isn't about the dozens (sometimes more, as we've seen) of people killed, but about the fear it can generate across the globe.
Pope Benedict has sent out his own little bomb to the media. While currently the news media are looking to find out who the Catholic Church is speaking against (gays, unmarried couples, non Christians--if you look hard enough you can find just about any nonCatholic), but that's what the media do these days, if it bleads it leads, right?
But we can hope those headlines will lead more people to devote their brain cells to thinking about love a little more; maybe some media pundits will devote 7 minutes of air time to a discussion of agape vs eros as opposed to a debate on the tactic of Sharon vs Hamas; perhaps a poet or two will write a sonnet about love as opposed to a cry of pain about death and destruction.
Or maybe not.
Prague: 4th best in Europe, unless you're homeless
Germany's Manager Magazin has ranked Prague the fourth best place to live in Europe. The magazine cites a study conducted by the University of Mannheim, which interviewed managers (hence the name) about things such cost of living, career oportunities, etc. Paris topped the list, followed by Frankfurt and Luxembourg.
Having visited all three cities, I'd have to say that as far as culture and beauty go, Prague beats Luxembourg and Frankfurt, although I'd have to say the older EU members have a huge jump on ecological quality. Prague remains more polluted and dirty, like Paris. But that didn't keep Paris' ranking down.
For years Paris was my favorite European city. I remember spending the summer there the year of the bicentennial, 1989. The city never looked so clean. The dome of Les Invalides had been reguilded, dog shit was at a minimum, and terrorism was still something that happened somewhere else. July 14th I walked the city with my French "brother" Benoit, who was visiting from Besancon, near the Swiss border, where I had studied several years before. We drank beers lying on our back under the Eiffel Tower under an enormous full moon--so big I remember arguing with him for miles as we crisscrossed the city whether it was indeed the moon. I thought I'd never live in a place more beautiful.
Paris is a whore of a city, parading her beauties boldly to everyone who visits. Prague's charms are hidden behind (at least in winter) a seemingly inpenetrable greyness. But for the chosen, she will drop her veil, if only for a moment. My favorite moments are walking across the ancient Charles Bridge (built as a tribute to a king's exiled mother) in the grey morning mist. If I'm lucky, just as I hit the midpoint, the mist will part momentarily, leaving the sun to dance on the water, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors, and 500 years of buildings will simply glow. Then the clouds return and the this optical symphony is silenced again. There's something special about that kind of fleeting beauty, that I never felt during my times in Paris.
That said, her beauty can be a cold and unforgiving one. So far this year, the cold has claimed the lives of ten homeless people. A group of local charities have erected a tent city, equipped to house up to 100 homeless people in Prague 7's Letna Park. The city estimates there are close to 4,500 homeless in the city. Shelter capacity is a fraction of that.
I wonder which magazine will publish a ranking of best cities for the indigent? What criteria will they use? Generosity of citizens? Availablity of shelter? Of cheap booze?
Having visited all three cities, I'd have to say that as far as culture and beauty go, Prague beats Luxembourg and Frankfurt, although I'd have to say the older EU members have a huge jump on ecological quality. Prague remains more polluted and dirty, like Paris. But that didn't keep Paris' ranking down.
For years Paris was my favorite European city. I remember spending the summer there the year of the bicentennial, 1989. The city never looked so clean. The dome of Les Invalides had been reguilded, dog shit was at a minimum, and terrorism was still something that happened somewhere else. July 14th I walked the city with my French "brother" Benoit, who was visiting from Besancon, near the Swiss border, where I had studied several years before. We drank beers lying on our back under the Eiffel Tower under an enormous full moon--so big I remember arguing with him for miles as we crisscrossed the city whether it was indeed the moon. I thought I'd never live in a place more beautiful.
Paris is a whore of a city, parading her beauties boldly to everyone who visits. Prague's charms are hidden behind (at least in winter) a seemingly inpenetrable greyness. But for the chosen, she will drop her veil, if only for a moment. My favorite moments are walking across the ancient Charles Bridge (built as a tribute to a king's exiled mother) in the grey morning mist. If I'm lucky, just as I hit the midpoint, the mist will part momentarily, leaving the sun to dance on the water, reflecting a kaleidoscope of colors, and 500 years of buildings will simply glow. Then the clouds return and the this optical symphony is silenced again. There's something special about that kind of fleeting beauty, that I never felt during my times in Paris.
That said, her beauty can be a cold and unforgiving one. So far this year, the cold has claimed the lives of ten homeless people. A group of local charities have erected a tent city, equipped to house up to 100 homeless people in Prague 7's Letna Park. The city estimates there are close to 4,500 homeless in the city. Shelter capacity is a fraction of that.
I wonder which magazine will publish a ranking of best cities for the indigent? What criteria will they use? Generosity of citizens? Availablity of shelter? Of cheap booze?
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Jiri X tells a secret
Longtime pro-hemp advocate and journalist Jiri X Dolezal tells the LA Times about the Czech pot smoking culture. Considering the number of Hollywood types who cruise in here, there will be a slight increase in sales this year.
Anybody living here is aware of the Czech's laissez faire attitude about marijuana usage. One friend of mine, an American married to a Czech, loved to take me to his family's cottage, where grandma took care of the bush, which would grow up to 2 meters high. Baby didn't smoke herself, but she enjoyed taking care of the garden.
Anybody living here is aware of the Czech's laissez faire attitude about marijuana usage. One friend of mine, an American married to a Czech, loved to take me to his family's cottage, where grandma took care of the bush, which would grow up to 2 meters high. Baby didn't smoke herself, but she enjoyed taking care of the garden.
