My first impression of Sydney was dullness. I just can’t explain why. We stayed in a hotel some 03 minutes walk from Darling Harbour. We had to wait until our room would be ready. It was a wet rainy grey day in May, and we decided to spend some hours there-Darling Harbour. I was already having second thoughts about the whole idea. The jet lag was huge: 13 hours ahead. And I was feeling it. I used to have this nightmare, for many years, that I travelled on a plane to the other end of the world, and the plane would need to be upside down in order for us to get there. In the middle of the journy, we would fly over the Andes and had to have an emergency landing. On some wide road. And actually this was the real fun about it all, because I was not very sure(in my dream)that I wanted to be on the other side of the world.
We quickly discovered that Australians hate to serve. Services Industry(Hospitality mostly)is some sort of misery that they do with heroic efforts. By the end of some years spending there, I always felt embarrassed to ask the waiter for anything. Just did not want to bother them. And we also discovered the same applied for real estate agents when we needed to rent a place for ourselves. Visits were held on Saturdays, on a 30 minutes window. Should you arrive on the 24th minute, the agent was already packing and leaving. And it was the only day to see flats. We could only schedule time wise, rather than interest wise, because we tried to have the full day packed with visits.
As for the Visa available for people like us- we went for a gay friendly visa agent. For one hour he explained to us what could be done(nothing that my partner hadn’t read about it before on the internet) and he charged us a symbolic fee of AU$150.00 for the meeting. Sweet. Also said, that should we wanted to apply, we would collect all the documents, pay him AU$5,000.00, leave the country and await his further instructions. Sweeter.
So I said to Gus: for this money, why don’t we go to the big guys? The big guys, at that time were Price Waterhouse-yes, the great Accountancy firm discovered that collecting fees/documents for Visas is simpler and more rewarding than rating Enron and affiliates. The appointment was brilliant: they don’t charge for the first visit. Now, that’s a real courtesy and how I believe business is done.
Tell you later.
Wednesday 25 February 2009
Australia my homeland
I was stucked to be able to tell you on how we decided on Australia. I can’t get to a final conclusion myself. We thought it would have been “an Ole Country that went right”, being in the southern hemisphere and sunny. That was our guess.
We booked a flight to Sydney and went for the VISA. At US$150.00 you send them your passport, your last IRS statement, credit cards and bank accounts statement. The result was: multiple entries visa for us, as tourists-of course.
So, we embarked in this journey. My mother gave me some candies to take with me. On arrival at Sydney airport, we were put in cue and sniffed by big dogs at the very exit from plane. Then we were asked whether we had any food. I stated: “no”, because industrialized candies are not considered food any longer. They are more “dead nature” sort of food, since they will still be good after a plutonium bomb erases us from Earth. They passed my hand luggage in X-Ray and discovered the atrocity: “you do have food, sir”. I opened my hand bag and to their utter disgust, there was the key to the crime’s subject. I was alerted NOT to do it again or else I could be fined, jailed, deported or carved a big X on my back, calling me “3rd World gutter”.
This so much for first impressions of the very lovely Australia.
We booked a flight to Sydney and went for the VISA. At US$150.00 you send them your passport, your last IRS statement, credit cards and bank accounts statement. The result was: multiple entries visa for us, as tourists-of course.
So, we embarked in this journey. My mother gave me some candies to take with me. On arrival at Sydney airport, we were put in cue and sniffed by big dogs at the very exit from plane. Then we were asked whether we had any food. I stated: “no”, because industrialized candies are not considered food any longer. They are more “dead nature” sort of food, since they will still be good after a plutonium bomb erases us from Earth. They passed my hand luggage in X-Ray and discovered the atrocity: “you do have food, sir”. I opened my hand bag and to their utter disgust, there was the key to the crime’s subject. I was alerted NOT to do it again or else I could be fined, jailed, deported or carved a big X on my back, calling me “3rd World gutter”.
This so much for first impressions of the very lovely Australia.
Sunday 22 February 2009
Where to...?
- “But why? Why would we move anywhere?”- Gus, my partner, asked me incredulous. “Is there anything missing for you here?”; “Do you want to be treated like a second rate citizen?”; “Do you want to feel and live what black people do here in Ole Country? Do you want to be part of this experience? Do we have enough money to live abroad like we live here?”. “Well, in that case-why not?”
We stared at the world map and got confused. So many options, for somebody who has no perspective at all. Anything is good, anything is just fine. I felt like the US would be wonderful for us, while Gus was more into the Old Continent. I had been to London so many times before(for work reasons) and had this impression that Londoners were sad. I don’t know why. Maybe read too much Dickens.
Maybe it was my actual experience in Brighton where I passed summer school in my teen years. I couldn’t tell what was summer, I couldn’t tell what was beach-from where I was coming. The landlady lived in a converted stable : she had 03 boys-one older and quiet(defeated?) who worked at a Rolls Royce factory; the middle was a hot 19 year old kid who knocked at old people’s houses asking whether they had anything they wanted to throw away. He would then check his antiques catalogue and resell them to antiques shop or go into auction with them. The smallest was a 12 year old kid who digged the Beach Boys. Ah,yes-there was also the 15 years old girl who(to be honest)just looked like a slut. And there was me and my other colleague from summer school.
So, all in all we were 06 people living in a 03 bedroom apartment, being that my colleague and I had each a separate room for ourselves. How was the equation solved, don’t ask me. I know that Mrs. Bird got a bit angry at me because I wanted to shower every day. She told me it was not needed in England. But we shared something, “me and Mrs. Jones”: we were both Shirley Bassey’s aficionados. So, for a while, we were friends, sharing the kind of stuff that only a forty something woman and a fourteen year old boy had in common back in the early eighties: plenty of drama.
Tell you later.
We stared at the world map and got confused. So many options, for somebody who has no perspective at all. Anything is good, anything is just fine. I felt like the US would be wonderful for us, while Gus was more into the Old Continent. I had been to London so many times before(for work reasons) and had this impression that Londoners were sad. I don’t know why. Maybe read too much Dickens.
Maybe it was my actual experience in Brighton where I passed summer school in my teen years. I couldn’t tell what was summer, I couldn’t tell what was beach-from where I was coming. The landlady lived in a converted stable : she had 03 boys-one older and quiet(defeated?) who worked at a Rolls Royce factory; the middle was a hot 19 year old kid who knocked at old people’s houses asking whether they had anything they wanted to throw away. He would then check his antiques catalogue and resell them to antiques shop or go into auction with them. The smallest was a 12 year old kid who digged the Beach Boys. Ah,yes-there was also the 15 years old girl who(to be honest)just looked like a slut. And there was me and my other colleague from summer school.
So, all in all we were 06 people living in a 03 bedroom apartment, being that my colleague and I had each a separate room for ourselves. How was the equation solved, don’t ask me. I know that Mrs. Bird got a bit angry at me because I wanted to shower every day. She told me it was not needed in England. But we shared something, “me and Mrs. Jones”: we were both Shirley Bassey’s aficionados. So, for a while, we were friends, sharing the kind of stuff that only a forty something woman and a fourteen year old boy had in common back in the early eighties: plenty of drama.
Tell you later.
Saturday 21 February 2009
Idi's opinion about credit crunch
Before I go any further telling you what happened to our fortunes, I really need to break through to you some news. I can’t help but follow the news and newspapers about the credit crunch. I can see that nobody got it right(maybe Gordon Brown did). But a simple phone call to Idi, my money launderer friend, gave me all the answers to this crisis. So here it's what he said:
"A long long time ago(and it’s not Don McLean), the cold war was ended with the Soviet Union collapse. At that very point, the US had its pledge with dozens of countries lowered to almost nothing. You see, beforehand,they would offer better deals than the opponent, while the USSR would to the same. These offers, among other requested by insane dictators all over the world, would include more equipped armies but…also megastructures to be built in their soils(megabridges, mega hydroelectric plants etc) and extractions to be done. These would open room for western companies to build/produce/extract in unstable countries , but with the strong back of American government. So, a big multinational company would borrow money from an American bank to build/produce in these countries, and the banks did lend the money because all was guaranteed by the American government.
The Clinton Era was one where American Government did only collect all the money borrowed by these countries(interest & all). These were the Bonanza years. No need to reinvest(and probably loose/win money) in dozens of countries. But, amazingly enough, banks do survive out of reinvesting. Since no American Government guarantee was offered to these unstable countries, the banks saw themselves packed with money with no place to invest. So they started self indulging themselves, by offering its own citizens money to build their own little castles. Hence the speculations on house mortgages. On the other hand, any piece of money that is still being lent to developing countries(which is much less than used to be), comes back, through corrupted government leaders, to very quiet private accounts in big banks this side of the world. Quiet in the sense that this money does not invest productively(not speculatively), and it sits still there. What do you do with this money?
Well, in Ole Country the following which had happened pretty much elucidates it all: a couple of years ago, McDonald’s sold its entire Continental Operation(Ole Country’s continent) to a few bunch of Ole Country’s politicians. More like “rotten papers” being sold to politicians/money launderers, who need a very public company to be able to “win”or “loose”money. McDonald’s main office then becomes a mere royalties' benefactor against paper/certificates they issue declaring everything is just fine, according to McDonald’s standards. And the meaning of “rotten papers” is very much obvious. Their operation has been so poorly profitable in the continent, that it was a much wiser decision to sell it all. Unfortunately, to people who know nothing about business, but only whitening and blackening money.
Now that’s a very global new thing: First World countries producing certificates rather than anything else(HACCP, organic, ISO, Rainforest Alliance)other than extracting production/products from these unstable countries, when first world governments do not guarantee the loans these banks would provide to any big investor overseas(oil and construction companies, junk food multinationals, etc).
Public opinion(the ignorant majority) in First World countries, is very much concerned with any real and effective help a 3rd world country gets(other than “donate GBP3.00 to dig a well”). Take for instance China: there was a genuine effort(from Nixon and on)towards that country. The local Chinese government accepted it and is producing. Now public opinion is scared that China will suck all the Energy from the world. Nonsense. They supposedly created a whole new middle class (100 million people) who will devour Philips and Toshiba and Panasonic Plasma Tvs, other than Louis Vuitton bags and Apple ipods. But- ay,there’s the rub- is it really a 100 million people middle class? How can it be explained that in China there are only 350 Starbucks branches then, in a Middle Class population twice as the UK,while the UK has 700 branches? And we should remember that British are not very fond of Starbucks anyway(at least Peter Mandelson isn’t…)."
So, what Idi knows for sure is that banks simply do not have where to invest, because General Motors cannot continue to produce same pace as it actually can without enough buyers. There are only 300 million Americans and they do not multiply at the same speed technology is getting more efficient. There is no need for new GM plants-either in the US, or in the 3rd World-there are simply no buyers in the 3rd World-either for their new technology, or old generation technology(they always build in these countries 02 or 03 older generations versions of their cars, a very profitable trick). You can’t even use the old trick: “spread profit”, which would mean General Motors selling older generation cars to 3rd World countries at a more expensive price than new technology ones in the US. Because there is simply no more money over there.
So now I understood it all: when an Insurance Company puts an add asking for a native Ole Country boy to work for them, it’s actually a phony: why would you need an 08th employee to work in an 08 million dollars annual turnover department on a single product? Other than the manager needing to show the chairman that they are thriving, and that actually buying this whole department portfolio from a megaworldwide insurance broker has been a wonderful decision. Hence, putting this manager forward or giving a reason for the salary he gets. So he can make a new mortgage and buy a new house, worth GBP2 Million with only GBP100K in his bank account. How? When? Where?
In my old days, to have credit was actually to have the money. In 1st World, to have credit is to have a job.
Well, that was a long distance call from Idi.The Oracle had spoken. Get back to the story, or else we will get lost.
Tell you later.
"A long long time ago(and it’s not Don McLean), the cold war was ended with the Soviet Union collapse. At that very point, the US had its pledge with dozens of countries lowered to almost nothing. You see, beforehand,they would offer better deals than the opponent, while the USSR would to the same. These offers, among other requested by insane dictators all over the world, would include more equipped armies but…also megastructures to be built in their soils(megabridges, mega hydroelectric plants etc) and extractions to be done. These would open room for western companies to build/produce/extract in unstable countries , but with the strong back of American government. So, a big multinational company would borrow money from an American bank to build/produce in these countries, and the banks did lend the money because all was guaranteed by the American government.
The Clinton Era was one where American Government did only collect all the money borrowed by these countries(interest & all). These were the Bonanza years. No need to reinvest(and probably loose/win money) in dozens of countries. But, amazingly enough, banks do survive out of reinvesting. Since no American Government guarantee was offered to these unstable countries, the banks saw themselves packed with money with no place to invest. So they started self indulging themselves, by offering its own citizens money to build their own little castles. Hence the speculations on house mortgages. On the other hand, any piece of money that is still being lent to developing countries(which is much less than used to be), comes back, through corrupted government leaders, to very quiet private accounts in big banks this side of the world. Quiet in the sense that this money does not invest productively(not speculatively), and it sits still there. What do you do with this money?
Well, in Ole Country the following which had happened pretty much elucidates it all: a couple of years ago, McDonald’s sold its entire Continental Operation(Ole Country’s continent) to a few bunch of Ole Country’s politicians. More like “rotten papers” being sold to politicians/money launderers, who need a very public company to be able to “win”or “loose”money. McDonald’s main office then becomes a mere royalties' benefactor against paper/certificates they issue declaring everything is just fine, according to McDonald’s standards. And the meaning of “rotten papers” is very much obvious. Their operation has been so poorly profitable in the continent, that it was a much wiser decision to sell it all. Unfortunately, to people who know nothing about business, but only whitening and blackening money.
Now that’s a very global new thing: First World countries producing certificates rather than anything else(HACCP, organic, ISO, Rainforest Alliance)other than extracting production/products from these unstable countries, when first world governments do not guarantee the loans these banks would provide to any big investor overseas(oil and construction companies, junk food multinationals, etc).
Public opinion(the ignorant majority) in First World countries, is very much concerned with any real and effective help a 3rd world country gets(other than “donate GBP3.00 to dig a well”). Take for instance China: there was a genuine effort(from Nixon and on)towards that country. The local Chinese government accepted it and is producing. Now public opinion is scared that China will suck all the Energy from the world. Nonsense. They supposedly created a whole new middle class (100 million people) who will devour Philips and Toshiba and Panasonic Plasma Tvs, other than Louis Vuitton bags and Apple ipods. But- ay,there’s the rub- is it really a 100 million people middle class? How can it be explained that in China there are only 350 Starbucks branches then, in a Middle Class population twice as the UK,while the UK has 700 branches? And we should remember that British are not very fond of Starbucks anyway(at least Peter Mandelson isn’t…)."
So, what Idi knows for sure is that banks simply do not have where to invest, because General Motors cannot continue to produce same pace as it actually can without enough buyers. There are only 300 million Americans and they do not multiply at the same speed technology is getting more efficient. There is no need for new GM plants-either in the US, or in the 3rd World-there are simply no buyers in the 3rd World-either for their new technology, or old generation technology(they always build in these countries 02 or 03 older generations versions of their cars, a very profitable trick). You can’t even use the old trick: “spread profit”, which would mean General Motors selling older generation cars to 3rd World countries at a more expensive price than new technology ones in the US. Because there is simply no more money over there.
So now I understood it all: when an Insurance Company puts an add asking for a native Ole Country boy to work for them, it’s actually a phony: why would you need an 08th employee to work in an 08 million dollars annual turnover department on a single product? Other than the manager needing to show the chairman that they are thriving, and that actually buying this whole department portfolio from a megaworldwide insurance broker has been a wonderful decision. Hence, putting this manager forward or giving a reason for the salary he gets. So he can make a new mortgage and buy a new house, worth GBP2 Million with only GBP100K in his bank account. How? When? Where?
In my old days, to have credit was actually to have the money. In 1st World, to have credit is to have a job.
Well, that was a long distance call from Idi.The Oracle had spoken. Get back to the story, or else we will get lost.
Tell you later.
Wednesday 18 February 2009
My partner and I in Ole Country's living
Rushed back home. To my partner. We did not live in same neighborhood that Idi does. We lived some 15 minutes away from him(by car) in a neighborhood that was once known worldwide for its glitz and glamour. Now it’s the most democratic neighborhood in the world. From a slum in its hill, to prostitutes(females, shemales and plain males)in the streets to multimillion dollars apartments. All in all one of the most famous beaches in the world. Ask Lola.
In the middle(always in the middle, like honey roasted ham) there were us. Living on top of one of the most notorious judges in Brazil, known for his integrity while underneath one of the most corrupt tax officers as well. And me and my partner, the gay couple who devalued the building apartments’ prices- two sluts to stain that monument to bitter reality.
We had been living together for 04 years . We exchanged our vows in New York, after fighting over a dinner in a restaurant exclusively suggested to Ole Country’s up-and-coming, social climbing arrivists: Italian food I requested to take home so I could squash ,mash and compact it into further use on my old rusted bike . Biodiesel.
We did not feel there was much to do for guys like us, other than showing the world we are not weird, or different-a lost battle to prove we are just like normal heterosexual couples-dull and hypocrites. It did not work much, I could tell: my business partners would never invite me back to their places- I worked in a “butch” industry. And I really did not want to attend those places/events by myself anymore. Playing the eternal single, which by itself would have proven that I am not normal because I cannot get into a relation with anyone, other than that guy who would always follow me like a tail. My presence was the opposite of discomfort to them: I was something that they would never ever have become, albeit their married lives frustrations, their failure in business world. They still were not black. Same inspirational thought white trash in the US have.
So, with so much of good stuff/ prospective awaiting us in life as a gay couple in Ole Country, I asked him: “what if we immigrate? What if we find a country where people wouldn’t mind us being a gay couple? And I would look just like Jennifer Anniston in Friends? Aloof, carefree and with beautiful hair?”
Tell you later.
In the middle(always in the middle, like honey roasted ham) there were us. Living on top of one of the most notorious judges in Brazil, known for his integrity while underneath one of the most corrupt tax officers as well. And me and my partner, the gay couple who devalued the building apartments’ prices- two sluts to stain that monument to bitter reality.
We had been living together for 04 years . We exchanged our vows in New York, after fighting over a dinner in a restaurant exclusively suggested to Ole Country’s up-and-coming, social climbing arrivists: Italian food I requested to take home so I could squash ,mash and compact it into further use on my old rusted bike . Biodiesel.
We did not feel there was much to do for guys like us, other than showing the world we are not weird, or different-a lost battle to prove we are just like normal heterosexual couples-dull and hypocrites. It did not work much, I could tell: my business partners would never invite me back to their places- I worked in a “butch” industry. And I really did not want to attend those places/events by myself anymore. Playing the eternal single, which by itself would have proven that I am not normal because I cannot get into a relation with anyone, other than that guy who would always follow me like a tail. My presence was the opposite of discomfort to them: I was something that they would never ever have become, albeit their married lives frustrations, their failure in business world. They still were not black. Same inspirational thought white trash in the US have.
So, with so much of good stuff/ prospective awaiting us in life as a gay couple in Ole Country, I asked him: “what if we immigrate? What if we find a country where people wouldn’t mind us being a gay couple? And I would look just like Jennifer Anniston in Friends? Aloof, carefree and with beautiful hair?”
Tell you later.
Monday 16 February 2009
sharing whisky with Idi
When I arrived he was sitting on the far end of his living room, a massive 150 sq meter room.
His wife had gone to a charity organization meeting. Everybody “just” loves her over there. Totally. So, there we were, on a Sunday morning, sitting and drinking good whisky while the wonderful sea view was in front of us , watching sweaty people walking on the promenade while the weather over here was “Summer in London”, sponsored by the lovely Central air conditioning. Hence the reason we were having whisky. No, I won’t say that it was playing one of Ella Fitzgerald’s songbooks. But it actually was.
Told Idi: “sometimes I have this feeling I am ‘rowing against the tide’. The more ideas I have to try and save what I’ve got, seems like none gets me anywhere. Everywhere, in every industry, I see businessmen totally broke. I just can’t understand what our parents saw in this unforsaken country. They tell us so many wonders on how business was easy to be done, how ethics and moral among small businessmen was high…The generosity towards immigrants who came and were quickly blended in the commerce world. I just don’t get it”.
Idi closed his eyes and sighed. You wish he'd done it. Like a rabbi. Sorry to disappoint you-he didn’t. He was sharp and hard: “there isn’t any money left over here. Either you realize it or not”. Now, there was my axiom. Aw, powerful oracle! What now? What does he mean by it? Will I get another chance to ask him to put it in details? Maybe a few examples from people around him-you know, that kind of talk that spices things up a bit: some details of people we are so sure to be successful, but actually are in deep shit. Oh, wonderful Idi, give me some comfort by saying that the wonder guy next door is actually broke. He would have known. He deals with everybody’s money. He just cannot tell. That’s his secret. He kept it to him. Also, he is the first to know which industry is going well, and he puts his hand in it.
But I was left with no comfort at all. So, one final question I had to put through to him: “what if I move to another country?” Silence from his face. An eyebrow was lifted. A sign. This is it. That’s what he meant all the time. Need to rush back home and tell my partner about this conversation. Tell you later.
His wife had gone to a charity organization meeting. Everybody “just” loves her over there. Totally. So, there we were, on a Sunday morning, sitting and drinking good whisky while the wonderful sea view was in front of us , watching sweaty people walking on the promenade while the weather over here was “Summer in London”, sponsored by the lovely Central air conditioning. Hence the reason we were having whisky. No, I won’t say that it was playing one of Ella Fitzgerald’s songbooks. But it actually was.
Told Idi: “sometimes I have this feeling I am ‘rowing against the tide’. The more ideas I have to try and save what I’ve got, seems like none gets me anywhere. Everywhere, in every industry, I see businessmen totally broke. I just can’t understand what our parents saw in this unforsaken country. They tell us so many wonders on how business was easy to be done, how ethics and moral among small businessmen was high…The generosity towards immigrants who came and were quickly blended in the commerce world. I just don’t get it”.
Idi closed his eyes and sighed. You wish he'd done it. Like a rabbi. Sorry to disappoint you-he didn’t. He was sharp and hard: “there isn’t any money left over here. Either you realize it or not”. Now, there was my axiom. Aw, powerful oracle! What now? What does he mean by it? Will I get another chance to ask him to put it in details? Maybe a few examples from people around him-you know, that kind of talk that spices things up a bit: some details of people we are so sure to be successful, but actually are in deep shit. Oh, wonderful Idi, give me some comfort by saying that the wonder guy next door is actually broke. He would have known. He deals with everybody’s money. He just cannot tell. That’s his secret. He kept it to him. Also, he is the first to know which industry is going well, and he puts his hand in it.
But I was left with no comfort at all. So, one final question I had to put through to him: “what if I move to another country?” Silence from his face. An eyebrow was lifted. A sign. This is it. That’s what he meant all the time. Need to rush back home and tell my partner about this conversation. Tell you later.
Friday 13 February 2009
Idi's Bright Future
Hey, I was telling you about my personal money launderer, I mean- best friend.
Idi went to University with other important local society figures- politicians’ children, well connected people-what we mainly call there “400’s people”: families who’ve been in the country for over 400 years. The rest is actually called 600’s – families who’ve been there for over 600 years, i.e., Indians.
After graduating from Uni he went to work with his father. At that time inflation in Ole Country was at a 50% rate per…month, yes. So he thrived. And thrived. And thrived: 08 years working with his father ,exchanging local currency for hard US$, sending it overseas and his annual turnover was already US$1 Billion per year. And fees to local police authorities at a US$150,000.00 pace a month.
The rest is History. He was pressed to open a bank by authorities-and so he did. A few years later he was forced by Authorities to close down his bank(this was another lobby pressing). And so he did. Never confronted authorities who constantly used his services to send their “ profits” abroad, to very quiet accounts in First World. I mean quiet because this sort of money hardly ever travels. It just sits still there on innocent investments .
These clients(politicians, government personnel, public employees such as tax officers) were the same that every now and then would throw him in the fire, blaming him as the true menace to Ole Country’s progress, smearing his name in the news. For about 05 minutes. He would then distribute some money here and there and things would go quiet again.
Up to the point that he is very quiet now himself. Maybe tired of this merry-go-round, the endless scrutiny on him; maybe working in greener pastures, helping bare chested Tzars.
After a few years struggling in Ole Country with my business , I decided to pay him a visit, as to an oracle source, or a rabbi whom we visit when we decide that sinning hasn’t helped to improve our lives either. The entrance to the building(where other neighbours live as well) has a two steel doors device, that locks you between them while the porter, with cameras, try to identify you. Porters in Ole Country are very suspicious of guys like me. That’s because I look harmless, so they play their “full Monty shtick”. Mind you, in Ole Country, The Collective Unconsciousness(Yung etc) defines my face features as a bad man(not bad ass) from American movies, that means, the one who speaks with a British accent(that’s because I’m white-hence, harmless). Had I had the “Ole Country criminal face”(Yung etc), they would not dare to confront me. I get the OK, and am allowed to come in the building.
Tell you later.
Idi went to University with other important local society figures- politicians’ children, well connected people-what we mainly call there “400’s people”: families who’ve been in the country for over 400 years. The rest is actually called 600’s – families who’ve been there for over 600 years, i.e., Indians.
After graduating from Uni he went to work with his father. At that time inflation in Ole Country was at a 50% rate per…month, yes. So he thrived. And thrived. And thrived: 08 years working with his father ,exchanging local currency for hard US$, sending it overseas and his annual turnover was already US$1 Billion per year. And fees to local police authorities at a US$150,000.00 pace a month.
The rest is History. He was pressed to open a bank by authorities-and so he did. A few years later he was forced by Authorities to close down his bank(this was another lobby pressing). And so he did. Never confronted authorities who constantly used his services to send their “ profits” abroad, to very quiet accounts in First World. I mean quiet because this sort of money hardly ever travels. It just sits still there on innocent investments .
These clients(politicians, government personnel, public employees such as tax officers) were the same that every now and then would throw him in the fire, blaming him as the true menace to Ole Country’s progress, smearing his name in the news. For about 05 minutes. He would then distribute some money here and there and things would go quiet again.
Up to the point that he is very quiet now himself. Maybe tired of this merry-go-round, the endless scrutiny on him; maybe working in greener pastures, helping bare chested Tzars.
After a few years struggling in Ole Country with my business , I decided to pay him a visit, as to an oracle source, or a rabbi whom we visit when we decide that sinning hasn’t helped to improve our lives either. The entrance to the building(where other neighbours live as well) has a two steel doors device, that locks you between them while the porter, with cameras, try to identify you. Porters in Ole Country are very suspicious of guys like me. That’s because I look harmless, so they play their “full Monty shtick”. Mind you, in Ole Country, The Collective Unconsciousness(Yung etc) defines my face features as a bad man(not bad ass) from American movies, that means, the one who speaks with a British accent(that’s because I’m white-hence, harmless). Had I had the “Ole Country criminal face”(Yung etc), they would not dare to confront me. I get the OK, and am allowed to come in the building.
Tell you later.
Tuesday 10 February 2009
My best friend
Among the friends I collected in Ole Country, one is very dear to me. He is a few years older than myself and I have always considered him as an older brother, adviser for everything. No, he is not gay. He is from my community too and our families know each other for over 50 years. He is always the guy I can rely to ask anything, specially business tips.
And he is “ kind of” prince of the community. Not only because he is handsome, he is also a quiet guy with a warm smile and very very very rich. I came to the point where I thought nobody in the world was richer than him. Maybe due to the fact that anywhere businesses were happening in Ole Country-he was always involved. Always in disguise, always behind somebody(the man with the money) or in front of others(as a façade to other people’s money).
I don’t know if you have heard about him-he’s Idi Serra-probably the biggest money launderer in Ole Country. The family started with a very simple service. They would help the community to save money against the local currency- which, due to colourful democracies and dictatorship freak leaders over 60 years, was constantly devalued by decree, confiscated from people in banks etc. By the way, until the very minute I am writing to you, an Ole Country citizen cannot have savings in foreign currency in a local bank, because this service just does not exist in local banks in Ole Country. Now big local banks are allowed(of course) to trade internationally, keeping their own money in hard currency and borrowing overseas. Which means that every devaluation of local currency is instant profit to local banks. And borrowing at some 2% a year overseas and lending to local clients at 12% a month you bet it’s another instant profit. Wouldn’t you just love to be a banker in Ole Country?
So , your average middle guy would trust his money in the hands of Idi’s father, and by a miracle it would appear, in 48 hours, in a bank account anywhere in the 1st World. This is much faster than HSBC, which, since the credit crunch, is taking sometimes over a week to deposit your money. They always say: “ it’s being processed, sir”. But I believe the translation is more like: “it’s being cooked, sir”. Can you argue with a guy on the other side of the line who is in India? Ah, those fellows in HSBC are true geniuses!
Now, don’t you let me get distracted. Idi’s father never, ever missed one cent. You would exchange local money with foreign hard currency with him, handle him the money and he would send it for you. Idi went to Uni(one of the 03 most prestigious, as I told you before)and for the first time, the family got in touch with people out of the community. “Big Goys”, they used to call them in my days. I meant, “Goys”. Tell you later.
And he is “ kind of” prince of the community. Not only because he is handsome, he is also a quiet guy with a warm smile and very very very rich. I came to the point where I thought nobody in the world was richer than him. Maybe due to the fact that anywhere businesses were happening in Ole Country-he was always involved. Always in disguise, always behind somebody(the man with the money) or in front of others(as a façade to other people’s money).
I don’t know if you have heard about him-he’s Idi Serra-probably the biggest money launderer in Ole Country. The family started with a very simple service. They would help the community to save money against the local currency- which, due to colourful democracies and dictatorship freak leaders over 60 years, was constantly devalued by decree, confiscated from people in banks etc. By the way, until the very minute I am writing to you, an Ole Country citizen cannot have savings in foreign currency in a local bank, because this service just does not exist in local banks in Ole Country. Now big local banks are allowed(of course) to trade internationally, keeping their own money in hard currency and borrowing overseas. Which means that every devaluation of local currency is instant profit to local banks. And borrowing at some 2% a year overseas and lending to local clients at 12% a month you bet it’s another instant profit. Wouldn’t you just love to be a banker in Ole Country?
So , your average middle guy would trust his money in the hands of Idi’s father, and by a miracle it would appear, in 48 hours, in a bank account anywhere in the 1st World. This is much faster than HSBC, which, since the credit crunch, is taking sometimes over a week to deposit your money. They always say: “ it’s being processed, sir”. But I believe the translation is more like: “it’s being cooked, sir”. Can you argue with a guy on the other side of the line who is in India? Ah, those fellows in HSBC are true geniuses!
Now, don’t you let me get distracted. Idi’s father never, ever missed one cent. You would exchange local money with foreign hard currency with him, handle him the money and he would send it for you. Idi went to Uni(one of the 03 most prestigious, as I told you before)and for the first time, the family got in touch with people out of the community. “Big Goys”, they used to call them in my days. I meant, “Goys”. Tell you later.
Monday 9 February 2009
Part 04 My own friends
Oh, yes-friends. Back in Ole Country I had some friends. But that was 20 years ago.
Well,you ask- what happened to them? Well, I came out of the closet, they were very kind and slowly disappeared. One of them, a fine GP, I went to visit when I stretched myself a bit too much in the lower rear end(oh, sweet bird of youth!).
I entered his practice and said: “Daniel, do you know that joke about the guy who went to the GP and asked for an anti-inflammatory for wood stick. And the GP: ‘what wood stick?- Oh, I slipped and fell on a wooden stick’. The GP observes and analyses the very epicentre of the patient’s complaint and says: ‘I will give you an anti-inflammatory for wooden sticks, but it’s a different one for injury caused by dick. You sure it was a wooden stick?- Oh, very sure doctor’. So the doctor prescribes, handles him the letter and the patient: ‘Do you mind also prescribing the cream for dicks? One can never be totally sure”.
Daniel smiled and advised: “Marco, it’s time you stop looking for dicks, settle down and find yourself a boyfriend”. I agreed with him immediately, and carefully considered the anti-inflammatory for dick. That was how I came out of the closet for these friends, and I never heard from them ever since. OK, I’m exaggerating a bit, but I have never been invited to their houses, a Brit Milah or, lately- even a Bar Mitzvah. I miss the dancing in these parties, though the food has constantly and efficiently and methodically turned into crap(blame it on Ole Country’s long and steady recession). So, I believe no harm’s done.
To be totally honest, I have met many other friends since(even in Ole Country)but the guys out of the closet at that time were not Oxford and Cambridge breed, if you know what I mean. So I always felt myself an outcast , never actually belonging anywhere, something more or less like these guys who work in parliament. Mind you, in Ole Country there are thousands ( I mean thousands) of Universities but the ones which really matter are about 03 or 04. I graduated in one of them, but they still mean nothing in this side of the pond (the Atlantic). I have no hard feelings with regards to it, because I have graduated many years ago.
But, as I was saying, at my time, you just could not find Jewish gay guys. They did not exist. After a few years, I came to understand they would fly to New York twice a year and have a blast. And then, use the anti-inflammatory cream I was telling you about.
Sunday 8 February 2009
Part 03 Friends
Friends: these are the people you always message when you feel alone in the crowd. Gives you an ethereal feeling you don’t belong to the scenario you are in: a tourist in your own environment, while you message them utterly unimportant information. Friends at work: the ones you rely upon when somebody decides it’s time for you to go and get pissed with you when you finally are. Friends for the pub: the ones who get pissed with you. Friends for dinner: the ones who get pissed with you at dinner time. Friends for getting out: the ones who get pissed with you at the Nightclub. I believe the only common thing to all these friends is probably the booze. The booze is the bridge that connects. I personally understand all the accents after my second vodka: from Londoners to Irish, Welch and Scottish.Even from Lancashire. Whenever I go to see a Ken Loach film, I take my vodka with me. By the end of the film, I not only understand the actors, but I clearly recognize what the director wants to say. More than that: my English becomes so sophisticated, that I don’t understand what I am saying. It happened to me once, when I was fast asleep and dreaming: it was all in English-I had no subtitles to my own language, so I remain to this date without really being able to describe it to my therapist.
Films are something I am starting to enjoy visually. I used to read films back in Ole country. Since you are not fluent in English, you pass through the whole film reading it rather than watching it. Now I realized many English speaking actors are not that good. On the other hand, I am being less critical with regards to screenwriting.
Saturday 7 February 2009
Immigrant about town- sex and the immigrant- part 02
First things when you move to your new flat in London: mine is in Camberwell. A beautiful neighbourhood with loads of …well, loads. I have a beautiful park in front-called the Myatts Field. Can you imagine had John Lennon lived here? Yes, Myatts Fields forever. My partner and I get amazed how monarchy is good. We would never have known that parks are good for you. We decided that they provided. They had always the education-an eternal and perennial education. We sometimes have, sometimes don’t. Prince Charles does organic food. We ate his turkey last Christmas. It was very tender. And it was on promotion at Sainsburys. One thing I learned about living in the First World: Organic food is the most expensive food in the First World. Organic food is the cheapest food in the 3rd World. Funny. Have you ever heard the expression “wild harvested”?
Now there is this thing: the poorer you are here in London, the deeper you are in problem. Take for instance the supermarkets- you only get the cheap supermarkets in my neighbourhood. They are, of course, the most expensive. Tis a question devoutly to be answered. It’s a rule: The fanciest the supermarket in London, the better the products and…the cheaper too!
One will never understand. I went to watch a Beckett monologue, and there was so much this “One…” expression, that I am enjoying to use it. The lady was covered in sand to her waist, saying the most amazing stuff. Some of it I even understood. I respect Beckett. When the play was finished, the old man beside me woke up and applauded effusively. He looks to me and say: “can you imagine she is doing two performances today?”. Well, he could barely go through the first round. I saw the play at the National Theatre, the building many love to hate (the one near the London Eye and the Waterloo station).Took me a while to get there the first time. I still have difficulties trying to get around with public transportation.
The next neighbourhood I want to live in London is Not in service. 90% of public transportation goes there. Whenever I wait for my bus, the Not In Service comes always first.
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