24-XI-2013.
Moving Lena. It's long since become clear to her that leaving the previous crate and moving in with that girl was a mistake. The roommate is, luckily, in a separate room and often absent, but still... every now and then she has some ideas about her website which she doesn't know how to do, and when Lena has no time, or is late, or even does everything but not in the way it was imagined (just like any other user, doesn't know how to describe exactly what she wants, doesn't have the words and doesn't understand how nothing is implied) - whichever, it invariably turns out that Lena had failed, betrayed, ... well ciao, either deal with your own failures or find someone else, don't discharge on me.
The weather was exactly the november smudgy, the building... true oldbelgrader fallapart. We three were standing out of the entrance with Neša, smoking and waiting for Lena to finish packing. She'd come down with the first bag, and then we'd bring the rest together.
This roof above a path stretches to the next building, done in just concrete, completely in that early sixties style, stands firm and looks awful. The drippers fell apart, either the replacement was of inferior metal, or wasn't put there at all - either way, the rainwater finds its way under the roof and drips from there. The underside of it is just blotches of various design, texture and size, from dripwater.
And the builders didn't count on the weeds, which will lodge themselves wherever there's a teaspoon of dust. And such a corner was created smack in the middle, where the tennants erected this fence to prevent burglars from crossing over.
Every few minutes couples pass by... of instructor and student, there's a driving school next door. It wasn't easy for me to learn to drive in our crowded traffic back in 1973, but this is the old Belgrade, this is crazier. The grayness of old façades (gray built, this is the right style for it) is no more joyful than the grayness of even older family houses across the street, they were all made in the same mindset. Luckily, this is Belgrade, nobody touches the authors of grafitti. On one hand, because they're partly footbal fans, organized with who knows which criminal structures tied to someone in power, on the other there's this more democratic strain which clearly undersands that it looks better this way, even with the unavoidable ingredients of nationalist bullshit, stupid nicknames, symbols of whatever kids think is fanning their flames this year... This shot is, of course, a complete poser. This rat has the face, and attitude. This obviously looks far better than the empty wall. It just came to me to ask Go to take a pose like this, and she did it right away.
By the time we put all the stuff in the car, it was late afternoon. Interesting ride, first up to Ustanička, where I managed to find a place to park the saxo and we sat in some joint to eat. Something italian, so noodles with something. Made a bunch of shots, with both eos40 and Go's EOS6 (Canon has it - more digits, cheaper camera), premeditating a way to get this girl (behind me on this one) and her cap, to reverse engineer how the cap was done and to perhaps repeat it in one's own handwriting...
And thten a longish ride over Košutnjak, now already in dusk, by the Filmski city - about which I completely forgot. It not only still exists, but seems to be in full swing. And no matter how each wave of urbanism means more concrete, still there's a big forest like this in the middle of the city. We reached Vidikovac by 17:22. Zlija was away, but Lena had the key. Luckily, he lives at ground level, so for smoke breaks we'd just go out on the terrace. Not bad, the little apartment, so okay, let them, why not. We arrived home by 19:30.
Today, the usual sunday lunch. It's Stanley's birthday, but him being still in Seattle, the sweater Go knit for a present was delivered by skype... with a "come and get it" implied.
Went to pick dad. He refilled my empty bottle of apricot brandy (with all the various kinds we have, this is still the champion, 2nd after quince which we don't have), while I went to winterize his outside taps (garage and yard). Of course, the winter valve in the yard is in some little hole in the ground, which has walls but not a floor, so the soil swells from the bottom and I have to dig it out every november. Also, there's no proper wrench for this, and the 10mm flat that I always have in my pocket doesn't turn it. I have to fetch pliers every time.
He took to wearing his šajkača with a full kokarda... a newborn royalist or at least a četnik fan. Yeah, right, just like he was a communist for as long as that train ran. He's fallen under his own influence, but hey, he's nearly 84, he's entitled to look like a moravski peasant if he wants.
Lunch was great, apricot was great. Took great pics of Neša, he made faces while drinking kokta.
Afternoon and afternap, went down to the basement to clean up the boiler. This time with a proper chimneysweep's brush of appropriate diameter (the old one was too big), a chisel and a lighter hammer. The lower door still won't close properly, which is the source of most of the trouble, as it leaves cracks where the smoke escapes and then condenses into tar & slag. By the time I was done, it was a bit late to start a fire for the day, so we turned the electric one. Snow tomorrow, they say.
Mentions: eos40, Gorana Sredljević (Go), Ilija Ćirilov (Zlija), Jelena Sredljević (Lena), kokta, Nenad Berger (Neša), saxo, Stanley Berger, in serbian