On The Decline

I'm pulling my signature move again: the ol' post title with a double meaning. If anyone else ever does that—EVER—just assume they're copying me and generally want to be me.

On the decline 1: I asked my officemate about the Slovenian language today, and my worst fears were confirmed. They decline their nouns. Now, I sort of realized they did something to their nouns out of the ordinary, but it turns out it's full on declination. There are six forms of every noun, and there are four different female declinations, three male declinations, and two neuter declinations (if I recall the numbers correctly). That's at least 54 different noun forms (and I gather I'm missing quite a few). Why you would ever need to differentiate a direct object from a, like, slightly-out-of-the-way-but-it-will-get-you-there-faster-with-traffic object is beyond me. Although you probably do save on prepositions. And heaven knows English could use to lighten its prepositional load.

On the decline 2: As those of you who frequent gchat may know, it's been a week of some emotional turmoil for me, mostly related to my favorite Italian roommate and finding out things I both wish I didn't know and wish I'd known from the beginning. Stuff is about as resolved now as it's going to be, although we can't really go back (to earlier this week). Things were so lovely and relatively simple, but now our relationship is fraught.

"Fraught," by the way, is my new favorite word. Do you ever go through a period where a word you've known forever but only occasionally used starts seeming appropriate for every situation? I'll bet you do! (That, I'll have you know, was not in the least bit patronizing compared to the Sotomayor hearings, which from now on will be my standard for how patronizing I can be.) Everything these days seems "fraught." When my officemate told me that Slovenians have a very low bar for how much you can appropriately talk about your own accomplishments (she may have been subtly hinting that every time I mention my law school I sound like a douche), I described the American attitude toward bragging as "fraught." You don't want to be obnoxious, but you have the right to be somewhat proud, and people will care about your successes, so hiding them makes you look like you're either savoring your secret or fishing for compliments, and the very fact that you're agonizing about what level of revelation is appropriate probably means you think you're hot stuff, and that's worse than being insecure enough to talk about yourself constantly. See? It's fraught. It's like being "complicated," but expressly negative and without the whole Avril Lavigne connotation.

In any case, despite the fraught-ness Roberto and I headed to the castle yesterday for polka. Yes, that's right. The castle. For polka. It turned out to be this tiny lesson for tourists, so we sat at the cafe and watched. It was most entertaining. And the view from the castle was, of course, lovely and Alpy.

And Roberto and I are a somewhat lovely (if less Alpy) view ourselves.

Ah, me. Oh! And Roberto was recently featured (i.e., caught walking down the street) in Mobil, Slovenia's premier free car-interest magazine.

The fame is overwhelming.

Summery Judgment

It is good. It is very good.

Lake Bled ranks high on the Most Beautiful Places on Earth list. We spent the weekend (read: Saturday) walking up to the castle and around the lake, rowing to the island and back (go Dad!) and eating good food including kremna rezina. It was nice to spend some low key time with the parents and commune just a bit with the great outdoors. And now I have pictures of my very own!



I'm working on a memo about certiorari for work...I sort of decided to do it myself, because I think knowing about SCOTUS's system (and why it's problematic but not a complete train wreck) will be important during the court's quest to not decide 2000 cases a year. Also, the first case where I had some mild input was decided last week. The court said that a difference in inheritance law between marriages and same-sex unions was unconstitutionally discriminatory. Did they actually use my work? Good question. I haven't yet been able to find the opinion, but I'll let you know as soon as I do. Meanwhile, I'm happy for Slovenia, which is apparently significantly more progressive on gay issues than America.

And I'm also happy for the awesome small-groupie who was on TV today, behind Al Franken at the Sotomayor hearings!

Go, Beth. It's your birthday. We gonna party like it's your birthday.

Other than that, I've been chilling, working on my paper, and spending quality time with Roberto. I can't seem to take a decent picture of him. I think my camera's cursed or something. I assure you: Roberto is not red, and he does not have bulging eyes. And yet...

I know, I know. As things in life get better, the posts get duller. No more random observations like, "this city is so small that apparently the better-known waiters and hairdressers are the primary subjects of tabloid gossip." Except for that one. Yeah, it's true.

By The Waters

I'm blogging live (unlike most of my posts, which are carefully smuggled past the censors and published weeks later) from beautiful Lake Bled. I have pictures but not the cable that connects my camera to the computer, so you'll have to make do with outside shots. Note: The outside shots seriously misrepresent the current color of the sky and visibility of the mountains. They do not, however, misrepresent the overall gorgeousness of the lake area. The parents and I got here after a lovely hour-long bus ride, which took us through a not-insignificant portion of Slovenia. It really is a beautiful country.

Speaking of "by the waters," Roberto showed me some photos of his hometown last night. Photos like this. And this. And this. I mean, I did grow up just a couple of miles from the Long Island Sound, so I figure we had pretty much the same experience. Not to insult the Sound—it's quite lovely as sounds go—but it sure ain't the Mediterranean.

Adam came this week, which was a treat. I think at his sightseeing pace he managed to see as much in one day as my parents saw in five. We walked around and chatted, had meals with my parents, and generally had a nice time. It was great to see a friend over here. By the way, if any of YOU want to be that friend, please consider coming to Budapest and Prague with me from July 30th to August 6th. Natalie's joining me for leg one of EuroTour 2009 (Ljubljana and Dubrovnik from July 24th to July 30th), but then she has to "work" (excuses, excuses), so I'm on my own. But I'd love company. Spread the word.

It's great that so much has been going on this past week or so, but I can't help feeling a little sad that it's all happening at once, and so close to the end of my stay. For the first five weeks, I spent pretty much all my time alone wishing I had just one person to hang out with. Now I'm at Bled with my parents, which is great, I've been looking forward to it, but I also kind of wish I was spending the weekend back in the apartment in Ljubljana. I know, I know, your pity is overwhelming. But it's my blog and I'll kvetch if I want to. Pshaw.

Ljubljana: Now With 200% More Jews

My parents are here! I've had a lovely couple of nights eating, walking, and chilling with them. Last night was dinner at Julija and drinks at Dvorni bar, next to the river. A little after 10 (not far from their bedtime, anyway), I ditched the folks to watch an Italian movie with Roberto. The movie wasn't much—sort of like Mean Girls without the humor and with a crazy and bitter father—but it was nice to collapse and watch something for a while. Roberto was heading to Italy at 2 am (certainly my favorite time to head to Italy) and was planning on pulling a relative all nighter of chilling, but I was zonked after the movie and headed to bed.

Tonight the parents and I ate at Ljubljanski dvor (related to the wine bar), my favorite pizzeria in town, although I haven't yet tried Napoli; those two places, along with Foculus and Trta seem to be the big contenders for the "best pizza" prize. My mom and I split two pies: zucchini, garlic, and mozzarella on one and mozzarella, brie, and parmesan on the other. So, soooo good. Then we all walked to the Dragon Bridge and got dessert at Cacao. And now I'm home, finishing up Matt's latest puzzle (I like it, Matt! More comments tk.) and gearing up to book my post-Ljubljana travels. And Adam's coming to hang out tomorrow! Life is rich these days. Woot.

These Walls Can Talk

So, I almost titled this post: "I have a vagina. Not a pussy. Not a snatch. A vagina." But then I realized people might read these posts at work, and titles are big, and not everyone's employer is down with edgy feminist thought that involves discussions of appropriate names for genitalia (relevant link). Had I given the post that title, however, it would have been ripped from this fine piece of graffiti:

I may have mentioned this before, but I love the graffiti here. Some of it is your typical anti-fascist sloganeering, but a lot of it is beautifully and hilariously rude,

and some of it is just downright creepy and beautiful.


I can't get enough.

Tonight I went to dinner with the lovely Roberto at a Serbian restaurant. I went for the "order the thing you can't translate" technique (Plejeskavica with Kajmak), which I've done frequently in foreign countries, to decidedly mixed results. The waiter asked if we'd like to split a salad. Normally I turn down the random waiter-suggested salads, but I figured that whatever I'd just ordered was probably a big plate of meat, so I got us the salad. Then my dish came, and I was shocked to find it was...a big plate of meat! Specifically, an IHOP pancake-sized sausage meat patty, sitting in a creamy sauce. It was fine, but I only ate about half, and I was so glad to have the tomato/cucumber/pepper salad, too.

After the meal, Roberto and I went a'wanderin', which was very lovely. Even with his mediocre English and my non-existent Italian, we managed to talk pretty smoothly. We wandered through the main plaza, down Trubarjeva cesta into a funky little almost-abandoned area, up the east side of Center, and into Metelkova mesto, where I got Roberto to bond with some of the wall art:

Since I seem to have only photographed Roberto at night, the blinding flash hasn't been especially flattering. But if you want to see hotter pictures, here are a few from Facebook.

I just showed Roberto the picture and said he said he looked weird because he was drunk. Then I reminded him we only got drunk after I took the picture. Jalla Jalla in Metelkova mesto is famed for their schnapps. Now, I've never had straight up schnapps before, just a little bit of peppermint in the hot chocolate (highly recommended during a cold New England winter), but that stuff is strong. Sweet (I had asked for honey, but I think I got cherry), but so, so strong. So after a tiny plastic cupful, we were both a little unsteady on our feet. He told me he was drunk, and I told him I'd protect him if any evil people tried to take advantage of him. The nice thing about a bit of a language barrier is you can be blatantly flirtatious and the other person doesn't notice. The annoying thing about a bit of a language barrier is you can be blatantly flirtatious and the other person doesn't notice.

Anyway, my parents are coming tomorrow! I'm very excited to see them. With my roommates, my parents, and Adam (the high school friend math nerd Adam, not to be confused with the law school friend math nerd Adam) coming Wednesday, suddenly I have a social life! How exciting.

233 Years of Awesome

Happy Independence Day, American friends! I hope you are doing American things such as watching fireworks and grilling burgers. I, despite being in a random European country, have managed to spend this weekend doing actively traitorous things, like watching Fry and Laurie's "Marvelous England" sketch, thinking about how I'd edit Francis Scott Key if he were writing for me (Cut the question after "gleaming," and continue, "Throughout the perilous fight, its broad stripes and bright stars were gallantly streaming o'er the ramparts we watched."), and having a beer at England Pub with Roberto (left) and Bogdan:

I'm a bad American.

I also did some decidedly non-traitorous things, like working a bit on my paper and walking through beautiful Tivoli Park. I decided to hike around the nature trails today. I only wound up hiking for about an hour because I was alone and the trails were unmarked (good idea, Slovenians), so I didn't want to wander too far afield. I did, however, manage to run into a gym in the woods, whose mission was apparently to kill the entire exercise equipment industry by spreading the gospel of the log. Everything you could ever want to do, you can do with logs!

You can step up on logs.

You can hoist logs on your back.

You can even jump over logs!


Why would you ever need anything else? It's big, heavy, wood, better than bad, good...you get the drift.

Since it was such a nice day (despite appearances, the weather's pretty good for the majority of each day), I wandered around the park and around town a bit more, taking snapshots, such as this one, of the National Assembly (Parliament) building:

Before heading home, I stopped for a beer by the Tromostovje. As usual, I got a Laško, but this was the first time I noticed something about the glass:

They are so proud of the year they were founded, it gets an exclamation point! "We've been brewing since eighteen-twenty-five, mothafuckaaaaas!" the glass cries.

Finally, one of my favorite couples of all time got engaged this week. I'm very excited for them. All right, kids, bed time approaches. Later, dudes.

Darn Kids!

Not a whole heck of a lot has happened since last night—although I did manage to secure a second pillow from the apartment agency. Exciting!—so I think I'll just write about a few of those things I mentioned were on my mind. And I'm going to pretty much skip Ricci. You've all read it or at least read about it, and your analysis is probably as good as mine. It does make me think, however, that the forced symmetry of our laws (you can't discriminate based on race, period, whether you're an all-white group discriminating against blacks or a mixed-race group discriminating against whites) seems to me to be contrary to the whole reason race is a strict-scrutiny category in the first place. Not that I have a better suggestion.

Now, please, allow me to get riled up. Judith Warner had a column the other day about how people freely and openly criticize mothers. At one point she tells a story about how she snapped at her kid one time, and another mother said, "Julia, I love you, and if your mom ever doesn’t feel like bringing you home, you can just come home with me." Warner hopes that after this story, we are "all now gasping and gnashing [our] teeth, rending [our] garments and gesticulating." I read this while I was wearing my work clothes, so there was no garment rending, but I was pretty close. And Warner thinks this is less about other people loving the children and more about other people hating on the moms. I think the two are inextricably intertwined in our society in an absolutely awful way. We are crazily, irrationally protective of children. I can't really write about this without devolving into a rant, so, well, prepare for the inevitable devolution.

Adults are people, too. Yes, children are especially vulnerable people, and I think we need to protect them in a way that's proportional to their vulnerability. They're too small to physically defend themselves, too immature to emotionally defend themselves, and they get very disturbed by things that would hardly bother adults at all. And if you want to go econ on this (nobody really does), you can say that they have some more value than adults because they are going to live for more years. But I don't think children are in any way more inherently valuable than adults. Adults and kids both think and feel, they both love and are loved, and there's really nothing so great about kids. I really don't think kids are innocent in any meaningful way. Yeah, they're not sexual. Great. Kids are horrible to each other. Maybe my own experiences were unique (they're certainly more common to girls than to boys) but pretty much every major insecurity I have now I got before I turned eleven. Yeah, sure, some things come with puberty, but my social vulnerability was cut in the halls of Quaker Ridge Elementary School and the bunks of Camp Timber Tops. Kids are amazing in some ways, and again I stress, they are in some ways vulnerable and need our protection because of that, but they're not these perfect creatures who can do no wrong. They may still be learning, but they know exactly when they're hurting people, and they do it constantly.

And on that vulnerability: do we really know what's best for kids? Most of the time we have no clue. There's this big "don't experiment!" attitude, as though we have a system at this beautiful unstable equilibrium, and if we stick to tradition, everything will turn out hunky-dory, and if we don't, we run the risk of careening into the fiery pits of Hades. I think both prongs of this are wrong: We're not so great at raising kids now, and there's no reason to expect a little bit of experimentation will be horrible. Philip Larkin's poem This Be The Verse is wise, indeed. Parents will, inevitably, mess up their kids in some ways. And kids, for the most part, seem to be resilient enough that most of them get a little messed up but not too messed up. I have two of the greatest parents in the world, and my sister and I are both totally awesome and a little messed up. It happens. I'm sure there is a robust statistical correlation between certain kinds of non-traditional parenting and certain kinds of problems. But I don't really care how robust this correlation is; I care how big it is. And my guess is that for most things, it's not big enough to flip out about. Like, I'm sure this kid will be just fine. A little messed up. But fine. Quirky but non-abusive parents make the world go 'round.

What gets me most worked up about this stuff, though, is that because people have put kids and their version of proper treatment of kids on such a pedestal—nobody questions thinking of the best interest of the child—it has become a free excuse to openly hate on people. This mother column is one good example. Generally, you wouldn't start yelling at a stranger you thought was being slightly rude, but because it's for the children, you can feel completely righteous as you act like a total jerk. But the most extreme expression of this hateful attitude is toward pedophiles. Now, I am happy to salvage my dead-in-the-water political career right here, right now, by coming out against pedophiles! Woohoo! But let me clarify: I'm coming out against pedophiles who actually abuse children. I am not coming out against pedophiles who have the constant urge to abuse children (a pedophilic orientation, you could say) but spend their whole lives successfully restraining themselves. I am perfectly happy to come our for these people. They have been dealt the worst hand in the world, and they have to struggle every day to fulfill an obligation. And if they do, they're heroes. At the same time, they get no choice. Once they fall, they have committed a serious, serious offense. But this is only an offense because it's one of the few things we know does really mess up kids. It's not a serious offense because the person is seriously lacking a moral center. It doesn't take a horrible character to give into a desire you know is very, very bad. But that's also what makes pedophiles so dangerous: They don't have to be otherwise evil to pose a horrible threat. They may deserve an unusual amount of restraint or even, in some cases, forced castration, but they need this for instrumental reasons, not because they deserve our condemnation.

Gah, and I meant to talk about climate change, too. Suffice it to say I'm glad we haven't forgotten about the Earth, even in "these trying times of crisis and universal brouhaha."

Sheesh, this post is totally coming down after the summer. 'Night, all.