Dinescu, acest simpatic dinam al culturii româneşti post-revoluţionare a morţilor, un bucătar şi poet ultramodern, conservaţionist în acelaşi timp, ne aminteşte de o vreme încoace că nu mai are linişte în România de frica uncheşului său Dracula. Al cărui părinte Bram Stocker nu a apacat să-şi vadă opera postumă şi nevândută. Tuturor scriitorilor electronici aş vrea să le amintesc că această memorie de tip Google va rămâne pentru tot restul viitorului nostru şi că procurorii şi judecătorii într-o zi când nu-şi vor mai procura vor începe să iasă din spa-urile în care se bălăcesc cu infractorii să-şi mai vadă de treabă şi vor învăţa să mai dea şi câte un search. Până atunci, Dino, have a piece of my mind.
Dinescu, this charismatic dynamo of the Romanian post-revolutionary culture of the dead, a cook and an ultramodern poet, conservationist in the same time, keeps reminding us all since a while ago that he has no more rest in Romania because of the fear of his uncle Dracula, as stated 6 years ago and shown below. Whose parent Bram Socker died before he could see and sell his posthumous creation. To all electronic writers in Romania i wish to remind that this "Google type memory" will remain for the rest of our future and when the prosecutors and judges will stop procuring for themselves and start getting out of the spas where they relax together with the criminals maybe will start taking care of their normal business they are paid for by the people of Romania, and will also learn how to do a Google search. Until then, Dino, have a piece of my mind.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Lake Oswego Ninja
Click on a picture to enlarge.
2010:03:26 09:10:51
Currently on google maps
https://www.google.com/maps/@45.4193481,-122.6628767,3a,27.3y,76.49h,82.36t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1sWk5AmlIAo4b3YrytT2OkLA!2e0
2010:03:26 09:10:51
September 2011:
Currently on google maps
https://www.google.com/maps/@45.4193481,-122.6628767,3a,27.3y,76.49h,82.36t/data=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1sWk5AmlIAo4b3YrytT2OkLA!2e0
Friday, August 17, 2012
Scaraoţchi din balcon
Scara in Romanian means ladder or escalator, it's only one word for both. Like scala in Italian.
From the neighbor's balcony of course. Now in its place there's an artificial palm tree about 10 cm thick that nearly touches the roof's edge.
August 1995
A day i should celebrate. As Yolanda said. Yolanda is a friend of Mart-Maerz-Mârţ family. She and her son came in Oregon just before us. They stayed at the Marts just before us.
With borrwowed money and some little other money i had i went to Tarom with my yellow envelopes with the Green Card Lottery documents to buy two tickets to New York. They only had tickets for a Sunday at the beginning of August. Tarom flight nr. RO13, with a DC10 rented from a Belgium airline replacing the Airbus that crashed at Baloteşti. Captain Michel.
We arrived in New York on August 6. They kept us for 3 hours at the INS. Ron, my new friend from the plane was still waiting for us. With a native american guy. But i already made up my mind. We're still going to Oregon, at my ex-colleague Iulian Mârţ from Bacău. Ron was really disappointed. I still had $600 dollars. (There was a guy in the plane that said he had 100.000 dollars and needed help into smuggling those money through the customs but i refused).
I went to an airline counter in the airport. The price to Oregon, tickets bought on the spot was double of the $600 we had.
So the next day we took the Greyhound, as Iulian told me on the phone. After all i've read the book, Greyhound America. It should have been fun, we're gonna see lots of places. I remember the face of the woman at the counter when i bought the tickets. She gave me a look that in a way defined all that happened later. Bad sign.
Three days, two nights, 8 drivers, 5 buses. And the accident that almost happened that night when i and the guy behind the driver were the only people awake in the bus. The driver fell asleep the bus drifted on the freeway's shoulder and the black guy behind him gently taped him on the shoulder awaking him. He didn't panic and brought the bus back on the second lane. I remember something that really shocked me. He started laughing! Never stopped to catch his breath. Now i know why, the fear of being fired was bigger than his need for a comforting break.
On August 10 there we were, at the Greyhound station in Salem. Veronica was waiting for us, she took a little time from her work at that high tech silicon foundry (i forgot the company name, Wafertech i think), gave me a hug and another bad preview, whispering condescendingly in my ear: Gigi, Gigi... And then she took us directly to the Social Security office in Salem, watched everything we wrote in the applications, went with us at the counter and told the clerk that we're only temporary here... Although we had on the passports the stamp from INS at the airport that said "processed for I551", that is permanent residency... Which i told the clerk in plain English. The Mexican woman at the counter with the passports and applications in her hand looked at me, looked at Veronica, at me again then wrote something on the applications and two weeks later the cards came with the inscription "No right to work" on them. Veronica said something that she had a friend somewhere who's gone help us to get permits for work but the next day under some pretext i secretely went with Angela to Portland (fearing that they wouldn't let us) straight to the downtown Social Security office, i explained them the whole situation, they gave us new applications and in another two weeks new cards arrived, this time the right ones. And i was exercising my signature in English with the first name first on some yellow pieces of papers at the Marts so i could sing the cards...
And since then, daily, hourly and weekly hundreds, or thousands of similar situations... Yesterday i called Oregon State Bar Association asking for a referral. Every once in a while i do so. They asked me what i needed a lawyer for. And i told them, in any area of non-violent crime, i think there is no law that has not been broken in our regards.
And then yesterday at the WinCo store, this younger athletic tall blond guy standing at the other check stand checking in the same time so i could see him, with a 6 inch blade hanging on his waist belt. By the way, for many years after we came here WinCo was called Cub Foods...
And i just remembered while staying at the Marts, one day Veronica received the negative result for her breast cancer test...
And i really made my attempts to work around here... Until August 2000 i had 23 jobs... The longest one year... The shortest one day... Some of them are in the Resume with the link in this blog on the lower left area... But that is another story, hope i will be able to share it here...
08/14/2013:
1996, George's (Hirsovescu) House, Salem, Oregon. Cloe (wife), his daughter, Dan Onu, son-in-law (Boeing), Julian Mart, Angela.
Later i found out he was also associated was Associated with Aristotel Popescu, Iaşi, possibly with Peter Kiss, Portland Oregon.
With borrwowed money and some little other money i had i went to Tarom with my yellow envelopes with the Green Card Lottery documents to buy two tickets to New York. They only had tickets for a Sunday at the beginning of August. Tarom flight nr. RO13, with a DC10 rented from a Belgium airline replacing the Airbus that crashed at Baloteşti. Captain Michel.
We arrived in New York on August 6. They kept us for 3 hours at the INS. Ron, my new friend from the plane was still waiting for us. With a native american guy. But i already made up my mind. We're still going to Oregon, at my ex-colleague Iulian Mârţ from Bacău. Ron was really disappointed. I still had $600 dollars. (There was a guy in the plane that said he had 100.000 dollars and needed help into smuggling those money through the customs but i refused).
I went to an airline counter in the airport. The price to Oregon, tickets bought on the spot was double of the $600 we had.
So the next day we took the Greyhound, as Iulian told me on the phone. After all i've read the book, Greyhound America. It should have been fun, we're gonna see lots of places. I remember the face of the woman at the counter when i bought the tickets. She gave me a look that in a way defined all that happened later. Bad sign.
Three days, two nights, 8 drivers, 5 buses. And the accident that almost happened that night when i and the guy behind the driver were the only people awake in the bus. The driver fell asleep the bus drifted on the freeway's shoulder and the black guy behind him gently taped him on the shoulder awaking him. He didn't panic and brought the bus back on the second lane. I remember something that really shocked me. He started laughing! Never stopped to catch his breath. Now i know why, the fear of being fired was bigger than his need for a comforting break.
On August 10 there we were, at the Greyhound station in Salem. Veronica was waiting for us, she took a little time from her work at that high tech silicon foundry (i forgot the company name, Wafertech i think), gave me a hug and another bad preview, whispering condescendingly in my ear: Gigi, Gigi... And then she took us directly to the Social Security office in Salem, watched everything we wrote in the applications, went with us at the counter and told the clerk that we're only temporary here... Although we had on the passports the stamp from INS at the airport that said "processed for I551", that is permanent residency... Which i told the clerk in plain English. The Mexican woman at the counter with the passports and applications in her hand looked at me, looked at Veronica, at me again then wrote something on the applications and two weeks later the cards came with the inscription "No right to work" on them. Veronica said something that she had a friend somewhere who's gone help us to get permits for work but the next day under some pretext i secretely went with Angela to Portland (fearing that they wouldn't let us) straight to the downtown Social Security office, i explained them the whole situation, they gave us new applications and in another two weeks new cards arrived, this time the right ones. And i was exercising my signature in English with the first name first on some yellow pieces of papers at the Marts so i could sing the cards...
And since then, daily, hourly and weekly hundreds, or thousands of similar situations... Yesterday i called Oregon State Bar Association asking for a referral. Every once in a while i do so. They asked me what i needed a lawyer for. And i told them, in any area of non-violent crime, i think there is no law that has not been broken in our regards.
And then yesterday at the WinCo store, this younger athletic tall blond guy standing at the other check stand checking in the same time so i could see him, with a 6 inch blade hanging on his waist belt. By the way, for many years after we came here WinCo was called Cub Foods...
And i just remembered while staying at the Marts, one day Veronica received the negative result for her breast cancer test...
And i really made my attempts to work around here... Until August 2000 i had 23 jobs... The longest one year... The shortest one day... Some of them are in the Resume with the link in this blog on the lower left area... But that is another story, hope i will be able to share it here...
08/14/2013:
1996, George's (Hirsovescu) House, Salem, Oregon. Cloe (wife), his daughter, Dan Onu, son-in-law (Boeing), Julian Mart, Angela.
Later i found out he was also associated was Associated with Aristotel Popescu, Iaşi, possibly with Peter Kiss, Portland Oregon.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tar Balls
Not from Linux...
In these sunny days in the attic it gets like 120F. In Oregon. (I have one of the weather station's sensors in there. I wonder how it is in hotter states). The tiles of the roof are made of bitumen and tiny pieces of it break and fall through the cracks of the plywood underneath the tiles and mix with the insulation and start decomposing. The more volatile components go first and smell bad but the big problem is the nutrients that are coming from the barbecues. They rot in there and mix with the smell of tar and make a stink that combined with other stinks i described here earlier make your life very hard in a place like this. Tar is antibacterial but i think it favors some yeasts. When i opened the attic this morning to take a sample of the insulation that contains these (actually the tiny tar balls separated from the wool rock in the bottom of the bag i used and when shaken make a sound like they're already dried, the volatile components evaporated but they still smell) there was a back flow from the attic inside the apartment. That's because my next door neighbor has a window opened in the direction where the wind is coming from or the two fans in the window are working creating pressure that goes through the cracks or by the lid into the attic and make that smell to back flow into my apartment or through the intake above the kitchen window or through the vents. And because she/he had the fans started yesterday, the temperature in the attic didn't go that high at the expense of the back flow above the kitchen window. But yesterday morning when i had breakfast i had the kitchen window opened then i got really really sick, almost...
To take the macro below i used one more 55 mm fixed length camera lens held by hand at about one inch in front of my 70-105 equivalent Sony/Minolta lens with the zoom at maximum. First i put the focus on automatic and it did focus but for more precise focus i put the focus on manual ant then moved around until i got it. You may click or middle click on it to better view.
The distance between two graduations on the tape measure below is 1/32 inches. The tar samples have been shaken out of a small insulation sample that could been caught between two fingers but these are only a small part. The total amount is probably in the order of 1/10-1/100 of the total mass of the mineral fiber insulation.
(Macro photographs done with one extra 55 mm lens held by hand at one inch in front of the 28-105 mm stock lens of my Sony DSLR-300 set at maximum or 105 mm. The distance between the out of focus ruler divisions is 1/32 inch. Can click to enlarge)
Although it does not look like asbestos to me (in the picture looks more like it but in reality not, these fibers a lot shinier and more regulated) when i manipulated the sample that's already been shaken to extract the above sub-sample in the sunlight near the window i saw one million shiny sparkles that dissipated in a few seconds i don't know where, and i also felt the smell and the sting in my throat.
Or maybe... from here? http://www.flickr.com/photos/39325385@N07/7686495606/in/photostream Or here? http://www.flickr.com/photos/39325385@N07/9472963275/
In these sunny days in the attic it gets like 120F. In Oregon. (I have one of the weather station's sensors in there. I wonder how it is in hotter states). The tiles of the roof are made of bitumen and tiny pieces of it break and fall through the cracks of the plywood underneath the tiles and mix with the insulation and start decomposing. The more volatile components go first and smell bad but the big problem is the nutrients that are coming from the barbecues. They rot in there and mix with the smell of tar and make a stink that combined with other stinks i described here earlier make your life very hard in a place like this. Tar is antibacterial but i think it favors some yeasts. When i opened the attic this morning to take a sample of the insulation that contains these (actually the tiny tar balls separated from the wool rock in the bottom of the bag i used and when shaken make a sound like they're already dried, the volatile components evaporated but they still smell) there was a back flow from the attic inside the apartment. That's because my next door neighbor has a window opened in the direction where the wind is coming from or the two fans in the window are working creating pressure that goes through the cracks or by the lid into the attic and make that smell to back flow into my apartment or through the intake above the kitchen window or through the vents. And because she/he had the fans started yesterday, the temperature in the attic didn't go that high at the expense of the back flow above the kitchen window. But yesterday morning when i had breakfast i had the kitchen window opened then i got really really sick, almost...
To take the macro below i used one more 55 mm fixed length camera lens held by hand at about one inch in front of my 70-105 equivalent Sony/Minolta lens with the zoom at maximum. First i put the focus on automatic and it did focus but for more precise focus i put the focus on manual ant then moved around until i got it. You may click or middle click on it to better view.
The distance between two graduations on the tape measure below is 1/32 inches. The tar samples have been shaken out of a small insulation sample that could been caught between two fingers but these are only a small part. The total amount is probably in the order of 1/10-1/100 of the total mass of the mineral fiber insulation.
(Macro photographs done with one extra 55 mm lens held by hand at one inch in front of the 28-105 mm stock lens of my Sony DSLR-300 set at maximum or 105 mm. The distance between the out of focus ruler divisions is 1/32 inch. Can click to enlarge)
Although it does not look like asbestos to me (in the picture looks more like it but in reality not, these fibers a lot shinier and more regulated) when i manipulated the sample that's already been shaken to extract the above sub-sample in the sunlight near the window i saw one million shiny sparkles that dissipated in a few seconds i don't know where, and i also felt the smell and the sting in my throat.
Or maybe... from here? http://www.flickr.com/photos/39325385@N07/7686495606/in/photostream Or here? http://www.flickr.com/photos/39325385@N07/9472963275/