a butterfly on dopplr (public profile, velocity)

a butterfly on dopplr, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

should never hapen: two tags, one meaning (shelfari)

should never happen, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

698

698, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Now they're two. Bucharest, Romania

reading: a heartbreaking work of staggering genius

We are unusual and tragic and alive. We walk into the throng of parents and children. We are disadvantaged but young and virile. We walk into the halls and the playground, and we are taller, we radiate. We are orphans. As orphans, we are celebrities. We are foreign exchange people, from a place where there are still orphans. Russia? Romania? Somewhere raw and exotic. We are the bright new stars born of a screaming black hole, the nascent sun burst from the darkness, from the grasping void of space that folds and swallows—a darkness that would devour anyone not as strong as we. We are oddities, sideshows, talk show subjects. We capture everyone's imagination.

Page 96, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, Dave Eggers

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697, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Last year's spelling. London, UK

photo and video craze

Flickr integrated with Picnik. Then launched video hosting. Dopplr integrated with Flickr. Moo is now printing properly sized (business) cards with your Flickr photos. Photrade claims to be a free image hosting and photo sharing service that pays users to host their pictures and image galleries. Photobucket hosts video next to photos, too. Photobox offers free prints. Photojojo offers free tips and tricks. Pix-Yu is to Flickr what Plurk is to Twitter. The Library of Congress opens its archives to generalised Flickr tagging. Amateur and professional videos come at us free of charge from YouTube, Vimeo, Seesmic, Miro (ha! they wanted an abstract name), Joost, all kinds of blogs, RSS feeds, and even bit torrent clients like Azureus. After ages of thinking we were all born poets, down to current word-centered services (e-mail, IM, blogs, Twitter), time has come that we're all born photographers and cameramen, too. Such a creative species! How will all this overflow be curated? By whom? For whom?

696

696, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Dreaming of coffee. Bucharest, Romania

poor earshot

The music in the background: Sali de casa una noche aventurera...
Me, translating aloud: I got out of the house one evening looking for adventure...
And still me, adding the unmentionable, unheard in that salsa: My husband...
Chris: Pardon?
Me, amused: I was translating those Cuban lyrics for you... my husband.
Chris: I didn't hear the last words.
Me: My husband.
Chris: Sorry, I still didn't hear that.
Me, louder: My husband! How convenient not to hear it.
Chris: I honestly didn't.
Me: No worries, I honestly don't hear the word wife, either.

695

695, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Making friends. London, UK

uncluttering again, and sad. then happy

You know that maddening thought I've got NOTHING to wear? It generally surfaces before some alleged big occasion, meeting, date or, worse, the moment you were supposed to step out of the house already. It may as well be a hysterical cry towards—or from—your beloved, as both of you stare at an otherwise packed wardrobe.

Well, not anymore, not for me. A full box of size 10 clothes making me look anything but sexy, decent, well dressed and such has just been put away on a high shelf today, after one quick hour of sorting. You'd think it's fair to expect to get back in shape, to not let go of so many favourite items and investments, but think again: my closet at my parents' has a few similar shelves neatly packed with size 8 clothes.

Optimistic? Stashing? In denial? Thoughtful? Selfish? Smart? Feel free to answer your way.

694

694, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The substance of dreams. Bucharest, Romania

have I got feeds for you!

more feeds. more blogs?, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

I'm excited to announce that I've just made it significantly easier for you to follow one or several of my posts' categories instead of my whole damn blog. At the same time, I've just made it significantly easier for myself to keep throwing everything here instead of writing a large collection of blogs. Having run three of them at some point, I can assure you it wasn't all pink—especially when I broke the layout of one beyond recognition.

There are, at this moment, 24 post categories in my sidebar, and each has a corresponding feed linked through the RSS icon in front of it. New categories I might create will be properly announced (in a post, I assume) and added to the list of feeds, as well. I cannot help with creating various aggregated feeds, but your reader should. I can neither help with providing feed-related comment feeds, yet Blogger's e-mail tracking tool for discussions could do the job.

I'm very happy I can help fragment my audience so that Mars and Venus, young and old, Romanian and English, etc. can all get and share selected bits of my world. Also, on my side, there's scope for connected projects now that each feed can be grabbed and spilled into some new shape, no publish button required anymore, thank you. The previous feeds are also found in my sidebar: posts, comments, gorgeoux world and shared blog posts. That takes us to 28 streams.

If you've ever underestimated my love for RSS, I hope I've just changed your perception.

last thursday: let the summer begin!

let the summer begin!, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

We walked around Regent's Park for about an hour to find the right entrance to the Taste of London festival. In the process, I lost a heel.

The exit from the festival was miles away from home. We took a cab.

Getting out of the car as close as possible to the pub where we met Ashok, my eyes fell on a large sale—stock clearance print. After such a series of events, I had to go in.

The 10 pounds skirt must've been calling for me; there was no other item of interest in the shop.

My love hadn't seen the sign. Understandably, he thought I'd buy myself new shoes. Luckily, there are matching shoes in my closet already.

look who's back: pinkus has bloomed

pinkus has bloomed, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

street finds: a sunny selection

a sunny selection, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

As always, some are for the bin and some are to keep. The candy, for example, is here only to illustrate my joy at finding it and thinking that people still love those. The tiny chestnut for being the tiniest chestnut ever. The key to say, perhaps, that someone's heart is more vulnerable right now. The 20 Euro cents to represent the tourists. And so on. Care to play?

693

693, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Stock clearance. London, UK

words are beautiful

current homepage in wordle, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

It looks like Wordle and I are going to become very good friends.

current RSS feed, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

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692, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

One of a kind. London, UK

magazines are not dieing

could you be a spy?, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

I've always felt that The Economist was the kind of magazine one reads from cover to cover. Each time I traveled abroad years ago I would indulge in this pastime rather than buying some random glossy magazine for women. Today, more often than not, I browse the airlines' magazines when I don't work, eat, or sleep.

The only exception is Intelligent Life, from the same economists. Another magazine that can be read from cover to cover, or, if you can't find it in your area or think four issues per year are not enough, from post to post via their website More Intelligent Life and feed.

Not the same can be said about Monocle, a magazine that seemed exciting and has a monthly issue. Put together by Tyler Brûlé, of Wallpaper** fame, it lacks the focus and elegance of the economists' productions. Also, it gives you access to story bonuses online provided you're subscribed to the print edition, and it sure sells odd merchandise.

But this was about The Economist, which landed in my lap this morning, as my love thought I'd enjoy seeing an ad for spies. In fact, I'd very much enjoy becoming one, except I can't, because I'm not British and also because I've told you about it; silly me!

For a good bit of my morning, I read the magazine with the same satisfaction I had years ago and the same pleasure I find in Intelligent Life (now with a brilliant fashion section, too). I only stopped when I came across the word obsequiousness, a 15th century equivalent of a noun abused today. I laughed like a kid who gets a new toy: this playfulness sets the economists apart.

These said, I'll drop an e-mail to our new Vietnamese friend to see whether he wants our collection of the magazine. Bringing discomfort to the world ever since 1976.

Update, July 3rd 2008: I went ahead and signed up for one year of Intelligent Life, even if its cover design is disputable in view of some reputed source. The writing's fine with me!

691

691, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

At the end. London, UK

at least we're honest

Ranting around the house one late morning these days, we both said something to the effect of ...when we live in a house with a maid. It called for a conversation detour to establish as clearly as possible that there will be a butler before the maid and silverware the maid can polish—oh, we'll have silverware even if we live in the smallest cottage... with a maid... and a butler... and a chef, please? We then quite unhumbly admitted that, much against our origin and education, definitely unintended by our families, we turned out damn blue blooded, and life will just have to spoil us more often than not. Just a minor detail left: making the money to support our tastes.

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690, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

London can haz beetles. UK

overheard this week-end

1. See you on Facebook! In the geeky Mashed, it sounded very wrong, so it must've been staff.

2. I have no desire to go back to the U.S. I mean I don't hate it, I just don't feel for it. American on the train last night, happy in his worn out continental shoes and corduroy pants.

3. La vida es dura. Life is tough, reckoned a 6 y.o. Spanish boy earlier, waiting for the bus.

689

689, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

24 hours of hacking have just started at Mashed. London, UK

"Get everyone talking. Get everyone shouting."

Biddulph, Lipkin, Hobsbawm and Worley, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Live blogging: Media Futures Conference 2008. Track 1: Skills in the innovation process—Research, Design, Development, facilitated by Andy Hobsbawm.

Ian Worley: monotone waffle of some sort or other, banalities about research. Or, rather, bad presentation skills? Later edit: Research is a technique for creating a gut feeling. Cool phrase, but is there any truth to it, as well?

David Lipkin: Cool design insights from the creators of TED's website:

* [Design] is about throwing out a bunch of ideas... getting rid of some as users don't like them, adding some advanced functionalities. A better approach than going for the the lower common denominator: deliver a chunk of work, test it, iterate, deliver, test, iterate.

* Ideation stage: brainstorming, paper sketching, interaction modeling, rapid prototyping.

* Design stage outcomes: prototypes of increasing fidelity OR different ways of working.

Matt Biddulph of Dopplr fame, and then some, recommends agile processes.

* Good developers with no process will crawl and fight to finish a project if their legs are cut off, bad developers will accomplish very little even if you give them the best process.

* Sculpting, not painting... Information-focused... Developers are your information riders.

* The kind of voice that permeates the product should go through all the functions. The Flickr designer can still tell what sounds Flickr and what not... Flickr seems to him a great example of a flowing application. The team at Flickr still is 26-28 people, and they kept the original model where each of them can publish a version of the site at any point throughout the day. So the voice has to be there, with them.

* A shared understanding, a cross-disciplinary team.

* Small teams. Small rooms. Get everyone talking. Get everyone shouting.

used today and heard first ever by me: kiddult, fetishisation

Live blogging: Media Futures Conference 2008.

Kidult/ Kiddult (check it out): from the audience, in a question, during the opening session Q&A.

Fetishisation (see fetishise): used by Andrew Calcutt, during start of debate (What is media for today), and then used by debate partner Andrew Keen as part of the phrase the fetishisation of citizenship (i.e. being a citizen is an option, not a requirement).

"Bring expertise back in the room, this is a serious session"

Calcutt, Beckett, and Keen, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Live blogging: Media Futures Conference 2008. Promising introduction/ call for action from Claire Fox, Director of the Institute of Ideas. Debate: What is the media for today?

Andrew Keen: The media people, like you, must emancipate themselves from humility. Journalists no longer are the 19th century force for education, and if they don't change themselves the world will end up educating and informing itself from whatever else is out there (e.g. Facebook).

Later edit: The social media bubble is bursting out as we speak... Senior users are leaving Facebook... Facebook is a farce... Myspace failed...

Charlie Beckett: By being more connected, by encouraging the process of being social, the journalists are drawing attention back to what they do and why it's valuable. Also, there's business to make in involving citizens in journalism, which proves the model works.

Andrew Calcutt: Keywords—capture, question, challenge, consequence, conditions. More people know more about the world in order to have more impact on it. Two new concepts ruling our time: democratic objectivity and human-history-making subjectivity.

In hindsight, I'd rewrite this post's title: Bring expertise back in the room, this is a robbery.

"I didn't draw any conclusions, I didn't have time"

Gill Wildman & Alex McKie, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Live blogging: Media Futures Conference 2008. Session: Research in the real world, with Alex McKie, introducing a study (would seem) titled Meet the people formerly known as... users

After the quote above, the researcher (?) went on to say that, you know, she also has a day job, and she couldn't fit in the analysis of her research, and what's wrong with prompting the audience to randomly draw conclusions, and it is, anyway, a problem with clients, because they don't allow (i.e. pay?) time for analysis, but research only. Was there a client issue here? If anything, we were the client, the potential client she could've impressed with her analytical skills. But, nevermind, Gill Wildman has an odd idea of what a professional brings to a conference, and I would like to award her the newly created prize for being bluntly, needlessly, and hysterically honest.

Her colleague, Nick Durrant, the other founder of Plot, didn't seem able to help her out of that situation as he had no conclusions, either, and believed that wasn't the point. Myself, when I read, too late to catch all the talk, that their consultancy is based on the view that every business needs a story, I felt rather bad for having missed it, feeling there may have been ideas in common with my artemis: catching stories. But their apparent unpreparedness as the talk ended can only make me shake my head and bless the inspiration that took me out of the room, and kept me there.

Later edit: I was wrong, this conference is not of a different breed; it only started better than others (in hindsight). Most presenters are not prepared and, either way, unable to propose even a part, at least, of the potential media futures answers, views, or concepts. And the audience? Those who do enter discussions seem strangely out of context. As for thinking that muffins beat croissants and should come countless, or that crisps are proper conference food, hmm. Does the Beeb know how to put an event together? Because it has nothing to do with TV, you know.

"I hope it won't cause you too much apoplexy"

Dr. Brian Winston, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Live blogging: Media Futures Conference 2008. Opening keynote: Unknown unknowns, aassessing media futures, introduced and moderated by Peter Day.

I thought the Media Futures Conference 2008 taking place today at Alexandra Palace will look like last year's MediaGuardian Edinburgh International Television Festival. At least, I thought, it would be to Mashed what Edinburgh's annual meeting was to the first tvunfestival07 (the unconference). Throughout the day I hope to tell you whether my first impression is right, that what we have here today is of a different breed: more academic, more relevantly talkative, and more chilled.

So far, the level of posh media executives is quite low, though I did spot the most fashionably outrageous pair of purple shoes... on a man. The projection screen is terribly small for the audience, and I don't see how that wasn't tested and adjusted. Though this speaker has good rhetoric, great points, and a helpful presentation (invisible on the screen...) on the unknown unknowns, he reads the speech off papers!!! He is not a broadcaster, however, but a Professor (as you might have guessed) of Communications at the University of Lincoln, Dr. Brian Winston. His food for thought:

* Amara's Law: We tend to overestimate the effect of a technology in the short run and underestimate the effect in the long run.

* His theory, the suppression of radical potential: New technologies are introduced insofar as they don't upset anybody. Society overrules technology.

* A few pieces of advice, which I pray to have gotten right: 1. Avoid the hyperbolic (not every new technology will bring about a revolution) 2. Be hard-nosed (the ultimate question is: so what?) 3. Stop talking about content and innovation (we all have pen and paper, but there's only one Tolstoy) 4. Finesse causality and then 5. The unknown unknowns become clearer.

I believe that, overall, he made an interesting case, well argued, yet not that round and taking far more time than necessary, which produced, as it's always the case at conferences all around the world, a delay. I have retired from the second session already. Work calls.

minor thoughts, major impact

1. Eating and drinking at Pret for two days in the row has been already too much for a week, even if I generally love Pret and its variety. Eating a sandwich from Upper Crust for the first time ever this morning has just made Pret shinier, as expected, though it wasn't the worst bacon roll in my in my life. Still, Pret is not shiny enough for me to use it more than once a week, I've learned.

2. I reckon my new flat hates me in spite of (or due to) my efforts to beautify and maintain it. Its bits and bobs have been hitting me severely, producing pains, bruises, and nerves at least once a week ever since. It reached scary levels yesterday, when a whole set of glass bathroom shelves and their pole crashed over me, in the bath. Water splashing everywhere, cosmetics and such in the air, and then a lip nearly broken and a bump half the size of my significantly large forehead.

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688, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Lovely landmark down the street from us. London, UK

my favourite things: tiny receptacles, food, and packaging

vinaigrette, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The vinaigrette bottle that came with our Eurostar dinners is the embodiment of three things I adore: tiny receptacles, food, and packaging. It tasted right, as well, while the rest of the dinner didn't surpass the quality of a good airplane meal. Oh, well, that was to be expected.

I chose it as a good preview of my afternoon: finally checking out famed food festival Taste of London which, as one would have it, combines Michelin star restaurants, tastes of the world (China in the spotlight), and many more fine nourishments in tapas sizes.

I hope to have a four hours long culinary trip in the partly sunny Regent's Park, with the occasional orgasms of, say, salmon confit or strawberry and champagne soup. It's hard to imagine what dinner can be this evening after all that; a selection of simple salads like last night? A book? A movie?

I will be thrilled to report back later but, until then, there's a glass of cava next to my coffee.

687

687, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

We met two years ago, during my first trip to London, and then again last Friday. Meanwhile, we've become neighbours. London, UK

free beer if you untie this psychological knot

There's a new Maria in my life, the Office Manager of The Hub. She's Spanish, cute, and decided to call me Miranda—instead of Carrie?! Admittedly, she makes efforts to use my real name, but Miranda stuck to her mind. Is Miranda Spanish? Not at all, it is English. Is Mirona a strange word to Spanish people? Mmm, Catalonia has the one and only La Mirona!

Is Miranda, then, what I project? Because I really don't mind the etymology: Derived from Latin mirandus meaning "admirable, wonderful". The name was created by Shakespeare for the heroine in his play 'The Tempest'. This is also the name of one of the moons of Uranus. Whereas, if you search for Carrie, a comedy ensues, leading nowhere inspiring.

I'll have to stick to Mirona, which isn't even listed (yay!), and convince new Maria of its value.

my favourite things: discarded chains and necklaces

golden chain, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Thrift shop, free exchange of goods in the community, yard sale—you name it. I pick up any chains and necklaces that I can one day turn into something else. Whether that day arrives before retirement I find it impossible to say now, but mind you, would retirement look bad with a large collection of shiny nonsense? I thought so.

This one, however, has been admired by my sister, and then refused by her (tell me about it!), so its whereabouts are secret. Namely, we agreed that we take turns in finding and hiding its shininess, and I've hidden it so brilliantly that she may only find it years later, and finally put it around her neck, having forgotten the whole story.

The one below I wore a few times this year with some added details, and is now resting.

golden chain, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

my love: the kindest creature on the globe

The Hub has a deal with a nearby pizzeria on Tuesdays: to pay only GBP 3 for a 12" focaccia covered in tomato sauce and cheese and somewhat topped with other stuff. Not bad when hungry. We chipped in to only discover that most pay afterwards, as if I lent these strangers like a friend, and that those many offering to carry pizzas back to the office vanished when the job got tough. Why, climbing eight flights of stairs to a high fourth floor carrying more than our fair share was exactly how we thought to pay back a community that's taken us to its bosom so casually!

It was far more interesting than you think: most have opted to have their pizzas delivered on a plate, so there we were, by the oven, trying to balance the various damn hot things on our kind arms, across the street, and so forth. A girl I'll surely report on again stole a plate off my hands, not to help, but because it was hers. Nevermind that there were at least three renditions of the same pizza around, she had a birth right to feed before anyone else. I let it go, unusually tolerant, thinking snap judgments haven't always done me good.

As we then took the extra pizzas to the small, open kitchenette upstairs, we sighed happily that nothing got spilled or lost, be it plates, cardboard boxes (they had run out of plates at some point), or tissues. Also, excited that we'd soon join the low chewing chorus of carbohydrate glee. The previous girl sat there eating, satisfied, too posh to give a hand, but not too posh to address my love out of the blue:

Her: It has become socially unacceptable to eat pizza out of the box.
Chris: I beg you pardon?
Her: It is socially unacceptable to eat pizza out of the box.
Chris: Right.

Myself, I would've answered something more meaningful, some proof of empathy and involvement, perhaps along the lines of: It is socially unacceptable to be smug this close to my sharp knife.

686

686, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The holy trinity. London, UK

where I let some of it out

How did it go? By lunchtime, having used my headphones at least half of the time, I knew my friends and foes at the office. Friends mind their own business. Foes make me want to scream YOUR ASSERTIVENESS IS IN GREAT DANGER OF TRIPPING ON MY ASSERTIVENESS, YOU $*%^. As merry as any other office, you might conclude. The benefit: some 200 people use it, but only about 50 at a time, so there's a welcomed likelihood of not coming across them $*%^ too often. Much like the final years of university in Romania, where good, and bad get jobs and stay out of your way. Why, have you forgotten my bitch inclinations?

When did I cook Vietnamese cha ca—fried fish with rice noodles and fresh herbs? Last Thursday. What day is today? Indeed. What does my flat smell like? Nothing new. What lies in the fridge close to its expiration date? A lovely pair of red mullets. Why did I ever fall for the trap of looook, all this lovely fishes, couldn't I significantly alter my diet? Softy once, and softy twice for finding it impossible to stomach the smell embedded in our lounge, the room one commutes through towards study or home... several times a day. Do not thank God for open kitchens.

How did I make the shower switch work? With a fork. What was the fork doing in my bathroom? Delivering dinner into my mouth. Come to think of it, the fork may end up living there even in less tasty circumstances, as I can't be expected to pop in and out each time, and can't imagine the landlord will fix a cheap bathroom he's just installed in January. Not before he renews the contract, anyway. A risky business we celebrated by spending the week-end in DIY conundrums and related shopping sprees. Our first Saturday and Sunday at home in a while, with no commitments but plenty frustration that we haven't finished the job in a (somewhat) full year.

How cultural has my week-end proven? As cultural as bookshelves can be. I missed at least two events I had in mind and would have loved, read zero pages of good books, saw one bad movie and the rerun of another, processed none of the thousands pending photos, and I must stop before I write a book about it all. So now, when all our hard work turned into two amazing working spaces, we're going to the office. Doesn't it make perfect sense?

The city never sleeps. Not this one, this one does. At length. Neighbours go to bed as early as chickens, and daily effervescence turns into dust at night, when one can hardly find a decent drink or coffee. Shops close when business hours end, finding proper rice noodles may mean a trip to China town, smoking is allowed outside the tables and chairs linings of terraces, or where the garbage bins stand, skateboard venues close because they're deemed dangerous but drug dealers approach you at every other step in Camden, and not only. On top of it, the price for living central: the most polluted road on the island stretches close by, behind the large congestion sign.

The washing machine rocks on. I'll go paint the nails of my toes. Such are the glamorous days, and nights of an adopted west end girl that insists on having it all. Maestro, musica!

Later edit: How could I possibly forget? To understand how passing these storms the magnitude of a water tumbler are, know that yesterday I got infuriated by not being able to attend horse races in between 17 and 21, as I'm already very busy those days. Obviously, I'm a lifelong fan of horse races, a punter even, and haven't missed one single race so far. Honestly now, where else do I get to wear my hats... in public?! Also, the queen hasn't invited me for tea yet.

goodbye my friends, it's hard to die

goodbye my friends, it's hard to die, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

I bought these shoes years and years ago, in a sale that made it clear that they'd only dance a summer. And yet, they've been around ever since, admired by many, hit hard by quite a few European sidewalks, repaired by skilled craftsmen and washed several times in the machine, in a bag among clothes, because that's how much brain I had (and still do).

They failed me lately, and they're going away, but tribute must be paid to their endurance and beauty. Not much tribute to my brain, on the other hand, for failing, as well, to come up with some magic fix and convince some lazy London quick repairman that all he ever wanted was to make these babies live forever. If they had nine lives, they used each twice.

Remembering them while Romania loses to The Netherlands at Euro 2008 and goes home within minutes should be a clear indication of where my loyalties lie. With self.

the inevitable: my first day at the office... outside home

my first day at the office, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Today I set foot in The Hub for the first time. Tomorrow I'll already attend a lunch presentation here and, if I were here on Thursday, the first night at the movies would happen, while on Friday—the first drink with the colleagues. Although it clearly is an office, the first office I lay eyes on in nearly two years, it is closest to what I've always had in mind: a constant flow of people, ideas, projects, events, Apple gears and light reaching me through many a large window.

The funniest bit is that I can no longer amuse myself that I'm just helping. I'm working.

The best bit is that nothing feels permanent. I'll drink to that. The rest of my Pret coffee.

Update, July 22nd 2008: Oh, no, no, no. The best bit is that we're done with The Hub, seemingly. Too random and noisy for us, comfort creatures in search of focus.

the power of love

After unknowingly blocking one working sash window out of three, and him unlocking it at length:

Me: "Can we one day move to a house entirely remote control operated? Then, when something breaks, I know I can blame the remote control. And fix the remote control!"

Chris: "I tried to take you to a place entirely butler operated, and it didn't work. You didn't like the commands, they didn't have enough words."

685

685, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Flowers in the sun. Bucharest, Romania

to be decided

Hack discussion, originally uploaded by mlaaker.

It is the end of another day, in so many ways unlike any other, and yet so much the same: full. Among a new cleaner, a frugal lunch, much a fiery debate about product philosophy, house chores, a slow cooking dinner and the occasional abridged reading, I find it hard to call accomplishments.

Finally touching the big CD box we packed and shipped last September? Changing the toilet bulb? Splitting professional tasks? Streamlining calendars? Waking up later than most and going to bed when all lights are off for hours on my street? Perhaps checking out the new office tomorrow?

Maybe, just maybe it is the perfectly tender and perfectly roasted lamb shoulder from the farmers' market. Or, merely, getting one day closer to Mashed, where we thought we could win the world last year and have no idea what we'll hack this year. Or, rather, drinking a wine bottle by myself.

Am I still adjusting to the new life? Am I living out loud? Am I dreaming? Am I lost?

684

684, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

From afar. London, UK

look who's back: pinkus

pinkus is back, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

On the occasion of covering itself in a new cloth of leaves and soon to bloom flowers, my adorable adored resident bougainvillea has been baptised pinkus. Long live indeed!

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683, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Not bad. Not what I wanted. UK

the day nothing happened

I spent Queen's official birthday sleeping late, observing the opening of the Porcelain Exhibition at the Croatian Embassy across the street (we must check out the building, mmm, porcelain in the coming weeks), lazying about various seating surfaces and angles, enjoying the few minutes of damn hot sun and, dear dear, watching Sex and the City, the movie. It is so awful, in so many ways, that I won't even go that way. Suffice to say I had enough focus left, during those long, squeaky hours, to read a good interview with Audrey Tautou in a free (junk) real estate magazine, check plenty of RSS feeds, photograph the outside world, entertain conversations, help with DIY and pluck various unruly hairs; I nearly squeaked myself when I could finally cook dinner.

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682, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Some of my favourite summer flowers. Bucharest, Romania

chez gorgeoux: ignoring june's chilliness. pickling cucumbers

pickling cucumbers, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Because what else is a nutty girl to do with a few kilograms of fresh Romanian gherkins, but hope that across a rather short English summer and a couple of hours of sun in lucky days... they will get pickled? Here's the recipe, if you're as brave, or feeling luckier. Needless to say, everything is safe, natural, organic, tasty, culturally fit, plenty to share, etc. etc. etc.

fell in love with a font: anivers, abridged from anniversary

anivers, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Not only the regular version is free from MyFonts, but Anivers, in its improved embodiment, also supports special Romanian characters. Gotta give it a try, especially when maker notes: I wanted it to be a robust and rigid font, forgiving, flexible and elegant... and also suitable for a broad use: from a stationery to a poster headline. From an intro in a magazine to a base for a logo.

frangipani, my love

frangipani, my love, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Many times have I seen photos of this flower without knowing its name (frangipani/ plumeria/ lei flower/ etc.), but never have I imagined it smelled as amazing as it looked, regardless of variety. Viet Nam sure came with bonuses.

I learned it is called frangipani last night, when my love was watching a documentary about Israel. I didn't try to see it, though it's brilliant and I will get back to it one day, but happened in front of the screen when the flower was shown and the name—pronounced.

That was the third Israel related event yesterday, a rare occurrence. Going to a soirée for upcoming jewellery designers, I met Israeli Yaffa, a sweet crazy lady that a). recommended me a Lebanese (!) movie, Caramel (Sukkar banat), which I'll see ASAP and b) chose, of all my many Moo cards the one picturing Herzliyya beach at sunset (close to Tel Aviv), unknowingly.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. If you're one waiting for those holiday stories, whether you pulled my sleeve yet or not, know they're on the way. The process is slowed, however, by having to process more than a thousand good photos and, honestly, working and living.

Then again, you haven't heard much of last autumn's holiday in Stromboli yet, have you?

681

681, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Delicate like breeze. Bucharest, Romania

le gold est mort, vive le gold!

golden shoes, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The pair at left, bought around this time last year, has been my best friend ever since, regardless of season and country. It shows: unfortunately, the soft, bouncy wedge hasn't proved as well put together as the leather, so the shoes and I will have to part earlier than planned.

I still like them, even if, as my love noted, the leather seemed cracked. It was supposed to look so, of course, and that made the shoes less shiny, more casual. They've been my everyday black and comfortable shoes and I'm happiest to report that they've been rather successfully replaced.

On a whim! Walking around Bizonul (shoe shop on Lipscani St. in Bucharest) in a rush, I had the idea to briefly enter and, five minutes and 25 pounds later, the pair at right became mine. For the same price as last year, around the same time of the year, gold shoes are back. This time with a solid kitten heel, which makes me hope they'll last longer.

Given the choice, I'd still pick the original pair, for that gold is better and that leather, smoother. But, hey, I'm still very lucky, and thrilled to give away my cheap (really) black patent shoes.

street finds: colourful nothings

found on the street, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

The badge, found in front of my parents' block-of-flats' entrance around Orthodox Easter, comes from 1975, a year before I was born. It states leader in the competition, and with both Romanian and Russian flags on it, one can safely guess that it's communist. What kind of competition? Why, everything was a competition in those times, from the size of your crop to the number of medals one got, from how many innocent people one turned into the hands of Securitatea (intelligence service) to how many chestnuts a kid was able to collect in the autumn.

The other nothings seem to carry less history about them, and are rather obvious, so enjoy.

my first moo order

my first moo order, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Except it wasn't exactly an order, but a gift for buying a Flickr pro account. Except I wasn't buying one, but renewing one; or is it the same? Except I did also buy one as a birthday gift for my mother; was I worth two Moo sets overall? Except upon arrival, the Flickr text on the back of the Moo card pack invited me to buy a pro account as a gift. Now wait a minute!

All this complexity aside, here are the ten free Moo cards I experimented with. I love the concept and business of Moo, but it really is too expensive a print and the cards—too small to communicate some great photo, too easy to lose in pockets and purses, too demanding a crop for the usual Flickr user. I've been given so many bad Moo cards over time!

Not that I've got the arrogance to call mines much better. Just better, and somewhat educational (process and photos), all in all. Still, impractical.

680

680, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

Eating in front of me eating. London, UK

so

so, originally uploaded by gorgeoux.

I've been on and off iTunes for quite a few years now. This is, however, the first sweet and ironic thing it's ever given me. Next to loading my iPods, of course. More to come before we're friends?