Light Pollution is Rubbish!

     Just yesterday, a couple of beards went out of their hopeless huts, and openly voiced their displeasure about yet another brilliant human invention - The light bulb! Bear in mind however, that these are the same insufferable imbeciles that emerged two years ago with the bold claim that street lighting has to be removed, in order to improve the living habitat for the almost extinct bat population.
     Now they set about making assertions that artificial light in cities creates a phenomenon also known as ''light pollution''. To me personally, this made up term is a ''phenomenon'' in the same way that ''Ebola'' is a cure for cancer. Their argument is that artificial light disrupts the human organism, and causes insomnia. It is also argued that this same light confuses insects and therefore kills them soon after. Now, I am sorry, but if the first statement were true, then 66% of the world's population was going to look like Sarah Bernhard. We don't however resemble crackheads with sleeping disorders, since we use a simple invention also known as a CURTAIN!
     Let me give you an example. There is a football pitch just opposite my apartment, and every night its massive zillion gigawatt lamps illuminate the playground with rays of light so bright, that everything in a radius of two kilometers is turned to ashes. Do I complain? No I do not, because quite frankly I am aware that it is jolly hard to play football in the dark, and so I resort to using my curtains.
     At this point, I would like you to imagine what the world would be if we were governed by brainless eco-mentalists and Health and Safety personnel? These days human progress is brought to a halt because pretty much everything we come up with, is either dangerous, non-ethical or is polluting the environment.  Where do you think would we be, if the Russians were not allowed to send their dog Laika in space because some fat slob from an unknown animal protectionist NGO claimed that this was an act of cruelty? In a world controlled by tree hugging country do-gooders, there would be no infrastructure, and no war, which means that we wouldn't have invented so much of the modern amenities we take for granted. We wouldn't have the computer as we know it, the jet engine, velcro, the internet, SUVs, Stockings and Twinkies, just to name a few.  We also wouldn't have VW, Porsche and Jeep.
     Seriously! I won't be surprised if swimming pools get outlawed because they posses a drowning hazard. The Greenpeace stated sometime ago that we should keep the world as it is, otherwise we shall all be doomed... I am sorry, but the last time someone was that wrong, he was standing beside an airplane at Croydon airport in 1938 waving a piece of paper around. The world is meant to evolve, and so is the climate. Species are meant to go extinct, and languages are meant to disappear and/or change. Whoever thinks that we shall save the world by eating lettuce and driving silly plastic electric cars, is as thick as a bowl of creme of wheat porridge! We just need to let mother nature sort itself out, because we wrongly deduce that humans are influential enough to make a big change.
     And as for the second statement regarding the insects... PUH-LEASE... I really can't fathom how can someone be worried about a fly, rather than the human life that can be endangered if our cities are to be nothing but pitch black concrete jungles? Do you know how much I care about flies and mosquitoes? I think I'd actually have a better sleeping experience if they were not around. Scientists these days seem to be in a constant state of PMT, and I would strongly advice them to bugger off back to their cowsheds!

Shopping Rampage!

     So what did you do today? You filed some paperwork, looked up some skirts, and ended up laying on the couch watching telly while wondering why you've got nipples. Don't worry! We all do that, because this is the result of boredom. We can't escape it, and we always manage to get bored no matter how much money or friends we have.Of course, if you are well endowed you'll never be bored because there will be something you fancy doing, and are brilliant at, hence you wouldn't be reading this at the moment. I however, am not gifted by God with anything in particular albeit I cherish writing, and that leads to a terrible conclusion: I am as bored as a cat! It wasn't until yesterday, when I realised that the only body parts which I resort to using, is my bum to sit on, and my fingers to type with.
     Because of that, I decided to break away from the usual routine, and went shopping - an activity which I described as the next worst thing after being ran over by cows. I however had to swallow my prejudice, and went out in search of some new shoes. When it comes to footwear, there is always something for everyone. There are shoes for simpletons, mountain climbers (Maybe dune climbers in Kuwait), Zeriouz Buzzinezzmen doing ZeriouZ Buzzinezzzzzz, and so on. The market is literary littered with shoes by companies with ridiculous mission statements such as: ''To get enough dorks to buy our utterly useless product, so that we can afford to dress as cool as we know we are!''.
     What attracted me though, was a slogan in ''Hush Puppies'' stating: ''So light, that they are practically weightless!''. Now that is jolly fine, but I suspect the above statement had something to do with the fact that the shoes in question were for babies...and baby accessories tend to be fairly small and light in the first place. So I hushed the puppies, and went into ''Steps''. Well I am sorry, but that was even worse. All their shoes were a feast of man made materials, and were made for people who enjoy wearing coats from animals I didn't know existed. The salesman looked and smelled as if the last bath he took was in a ton of manure... a couple of years ago, and the whole thing was quite frankly, revolting.
     Why weren't there shoes for the normal human being, is something I still can't fathom. I dislike shoes in afterbirth colours, I don't want shoes made from all of Africa's alligators, and I certainly do not want shoes carrying the American flag, because that would be like going to a French restaurant and ordering a burger. It is just risible.
     What I ended up buying, is a lovely pair of boots which are suspiciously resemblant to a pair of quintessentially British wellingtons. What the wellingtons are not equipped with though, is a layer of gel to absorb shocks... Isn't that amazing? Now I have something to wonder about, meaning that I won't be bored for a while. 

Music Changes Everything!

     Inspiration is a big thing! I constantly stare at the world surrounding me much like some KGB spy to aid me find something proper to write about. Sadly though, all is to no avail since I just end up sitting in front of the computer looking like a simpleton. Anyways, inspiration can come from anywhere. When I am unable to think of something, I just remind myself that John Lennon composed ''Good Morning, Good Morning'' after hearing a corn flakes commercial. I do not listen to the radio however, and the only source of inspiration is my iPod.
     And that is where tastes clash in an epic florid bang. My dad being stuck in the 70's , listens to the kind of music which people with big hair and colorful clothing enjoy, and he is jolly happy about that. I on the other hand, am hooked up to Indie bands such as Stars and their song Dead Hearts, which can get my brain twitching like a twig. The problem is, that every time I produce that song in the presence of my father, he adopts the kind of face you'd expect to witness if you stabbed him. Maybe Owl City will save the day? I am sorry to report, but to him Owl City's songs make as much sense as Boris Johnson's 2008 Olympic handover speech. ''A swash of meaningless notes'' is how he describes Adam Young's music.
     At this point, I wish I could tell you that I just booger off, resort to using my headphones instead, laugh at my father for not finding the difference between Madonna and Gwen Stefani and simply smile. NO! That statement is in-fact wider off the mark than religious peace, and is therefore not true. I usually get extremely irritated by his constant complaints about my music, and I lose my nerve like a pig which is about to get slaughtered. There is much gnashing and bashing of teeth, and the end result is always the same; My music sucks! Of course, I can understand him completely, since I also find  modern synthesised crap people call music, to be absolutely and utterly rubbish. Sometimes I keep thinking that I can be a rockstar by simply purchasing a Macintosh computer, because I am sorry, but ''Ke$ha'' and ''Far East Movement'' would sound like first generation printers (Not that they don't) if it weren't for computers...I am just saying.
     What I like is modern music, but non-synthesised one. Josh Groban, Rammstein, Take That, Westlife, Will Young. All brilliant groups and individuals, but to my dad they are all the same manure.I still can't fathom why doesn't he enjoy Josh Groban, but then I am pretty sure that one day I will find the music that my children listen, to be rubbish as well. There still is time until then though, and I shall just resort to making fun of my dad because he thinks that Miley Cyrus sang in ''No Doubt''.

I am a drooling vegetable!

     From a couple of days, the world has been nothing short of a big wrestling ring. the Egyptians finally decided that they didn't like Hosni Mubarak very much, and therefore set about throwing food and rocks at policemen. At the same time, the Tunisians thought that Zine al Abidine Ben Ali needs a jolly good thrashing, and so he got his tomatoes as well. This is all just fine, because oppressive governments tend to get quite tedious for the citizens after a while. In Bulgaria on the other hand, we do not have an oppressive government. We have a stupid one, with politicians only becoming such, so they can prowl around the country in a convoy of Western European machinery at 200 km/h.

     Sometimes I realise that I don't really understand politics, but should I really? How enriched do you think I'll be when I read in the papers that some fat man stole the SUV of the Labour Party leader? I couldn't care less really, and to be honest, if I met the thief, I'd shake his hand and grant him with a medal. Do I care that our Prime minister was a wrestler? I'd care more, if an ant was to die tomorrow. The ridiculousness of the situation in Bulgaria has been escalated to an entirely new level, and I do feel like I need a serious brake. And my organism is certainly in one at the moment. 

     From yesterday my nose decided to transform in a waterfall, my mouth set about drooling more that Pavlov's dogs, and when I ask my brain to come up with something sensible to write about, it just shrugs as if I asked it to solve the meaning of life.What is more, my legs are more unstable than leg calipers, and the activity of going down a flight of stairs is as comfortable as sitting on a rock tumbling down a hill. My back decided that it has to generate a substantial amount of pain for some reason, and that makes standing up feel as if someone is tinkering my spine with a knife. My left knee still hurts like your tongue does when you staple it, and the pressure in my eyes makes me feel as if they are going to explode with a florid bang pretty soon.

     At this point, I should inform you that I am not 71... I am 17, and that makes me think about something. If I am as kaput as I am at the moment, what will I be when I reach the noble age of 50? I certainly will be as broke as a church mouse, because the only activity which I shall be able to undertake is typing.... That is unless I get arthritis. My only consolation really, is that by then all current politicians shall be kind of dead... And bright green.  

Soup Of Plugs

     I am sure you have heard the blokes from the environment organisations coming up with various dates marking the end of the world, or the year which will be the last one during which we shall be able to do something about our suffering planet. Yes, 2006 was a turning point, then the environmental deadline was postponed for 2008, but now it turned out that 2015 is the year after which we'd be better off living on Mars. But then of course, we shall all be vaporised by 2012 because we drive big cars.

    The world may really be warming up, but I personally am shivering down to my molecules. Not only was this winter the coldest for Europe since 1997, but Kuwait also got a cold wave. Every single morning I feel like a Siberian refugee, while digging my cold fridge for some signs of food, in my even colder apartment. What could be done then? I thought about buying a blazer, but then who wants to look like a servant from the Buckingham Palace? It sure isn't me. So what I did instead was purchase a small heater. I wanted it to be big and powerful or in other words, lavish. And since the electricity is free, I thought it didn't have to be very parsimonious as well.

     I opened the box happily, and immediately set the little machine through its paces. I relaxed in my chair, and set about writing, when suddenly the damned thing stopped working. ''There goes my luck again.'' I said while thinking about aiming the malfunctioning junk at the trash with a swift dribble instead of cobbling with it. ''I've seen longer lasting Mayflies!'' I was frustrated, but then one of my sensory organs was waded by a heavy smell... The one you get when you burn plastic thoroughly. I bent down and was greeted by a sad sight. My socket had diarrhoea, and it produced a peculiar smell. The whole thing had melted, and it looked more like John Prescott's face rather than an electrical outlet. 

     I couldn't do anything really, and ended up plugging my heater in another socket...Which ended up looking like Shane MacGowan. Filled with sadness, I hopelessly resorted to my last socket extension, and plugged the heater in it... And it worked...until the whole thing caught fire and ended up looking like coal. Seriously, since then, there has been nothing more frightening in my house than that terrifying heater! You name it. Guns, knives, bats, gas bottles...Nothing, and I mean NOTHING compares to that machine which is capable of setting you on a heavenly fire while you are sleeping.What a nuisance!

     It is now sitting in the corner of the room, with its plug far away from any sockets just in case, because knowing now that the heater is in a constant state of PMT, I won't be surprised if it manages to catch fire albeit not connected to anything really. And so I resorted to using a little oil radiator I have. I plugged it in the socket, and ten minutes later you'd have thought that I am roasting live humans judging by the smell coming from my apartment. Life is not easy... I so wish Global Warming would descend upon us more quickly.

Why Is It All So Tiny?

     Whenever I meet people, their poor faces get clearly flooded with terror, as I set about pronouncing my name. Sometimes I feel like a nicked pot of gold, which is searched by the FBI; You'd love to own it, but you'd rather avoid getting anywhere near it. ''Why is that?'' you may ask. Well you see, most people can't be bothered to spell and pronounce my name as it is, hence Dimiter, and say it as Dimitri...which makes everybody think that I am Russian.
     But then, what is it that is so terrifying about the Russians? Do I look like a KGB agent in a red blazer, chasing some dissidents with a machete, while heading for Berlin in a UAZ? I highly doubt so. Nor do I have blue eyes and blond hair...Or the accent...Or the drinking manners, and I am sorry, but I am also not excessively attracted to the concept of painting every single body panel of my car in black. But really, the top of the cherry splashed with a bang on the creamy cake of misconception, when some imbecile asked me if Yugoslavia was a city in Russia. The last time someone was that wrong, he was standing beside an airplane at Croydon airport in 1938 waving a piece of paper around. So instead of my brain ordering my hand muscles to contract and dislodge that bloke's teeth from his stupid mouth, I used it to contract my facial muscles, smile and politely tell him that he may find the atlas to be quite a useful reference tool.
     I met the chap in question in a hotel lobby last summer while I was waiting for Lina and some other kids that I had to escort home.. It was a lovely day, and I did not mind waiting for a little longer. Next to me there was a person who was obviously waiting for the same group of kids, and he decided to tie a conversation with me. He went on to inform me that he was from Spain, but was married to a Bulgarian woman, because Bulgarian females are the prettiest there are.  I then found out that he has been living in Bulgaria for more than five years, and that explained why the heck was his Bulgarian that good. I just could not understand why would someone leave Spain and come to live in Bulgaria. That is a bit like telling Gordon Ramsay that you'd prefer a raw bratwurst with mustard, instead of prawn salad.
     But Mr. Faustino also found some aspects of Bulgaria to be quite baffling. -Why is everything so tiny?- He kept asking. -The inner streets are small, people park on the curbs, and the highways are clogged like a gypsy drainage pipe.

     And to be honest, I couldn't agree with him more. You try and walk on an inner city curb, and I promise you that you'd find the activity of breathing in vacuum to be a more achievable one. Some streets cause your car to feel like a rock tumbling down a hill, and the traffic congestion looks beautiful only in pictures.
     Does that mean that I liked Mr.Faustino very much? No not at all! I'd still derive great pleasure from flicking his ears for an hour, and then punching him, because he is unaware that the country he lives in, was in the past a neighbour to what he thinks is a city in Russia.

I Am a Normal Human Being People!

     I've been a serious fan of Danny Boyle since the release of the movie ''Slumdog Millionaire''. There is something uncanny about his directing, which is able to turn even the dullest situation into the most thrilling drama. I marvel at his films, so it was understandable that when I got my  hands on the movie ''127 Hours'' my heart set about circulating the blood around my body faster than a Victorian plumbing system.
     So with trembling hands, I inserted the disc in my DVD player and...nothing happened. Now, being a man, my initial instinct was to disintegrate the damn thing with my bare hands, and practice the ancient art of Origami with it. But because I am sensible, I inserted the disk again...What on earth is its problem? I could cram that disk inside a ''Remington Atlantic'' and it would work just fine, but my sophisticated player thought otherwise, and its silicon chips adopted the behavior of a spoiled stubborn six year old. After some more tries, I resorted to hurdling endless chains of verbal abuse, followed by some ''gentle'' pats on the back of the hapless machine.
     I got quite irritated, and soon I gave up, thought of a term which rhymes with ''bucket'' and resorted to the handbook, half of which was littered with all sorts of health and safety notices, and the other half, which was all in Chinese. ''Be more patient''- That is what a friend of mine keeps telling me, and since she is considerably older than me, I bet that she is also wiser, and that meant I took up her advice and followed it. I followed it for so long in-fact, that by the time I found the FAQ section, Danny Boyle could have successfully rolled out another fine film, which I won't be able to watch anyways. Why? Because the FAQ section was as baffling and as irrelevant as a spoon is to a Japanese: ''If your DVD player does not produce a visual image on the TV screen, please resort to plugging it in the electrical supply.''... YEAH...Thanks for nothing! Really? Who was this player made for? Captain Caveman? And that is the thing about handbooks. They bear no relation to the product they are supplied with whatsoever. And since I am famous among my friends as being as practical as a woman's purse, and with the technological knowledge which would have been deemed old fashioned even in the middle ages, I was quite aware that it would be highly unlikely for me to succeed in repairing my materialistic possession.
     And that brings me onto the topic of today's post. Why is everyone referring to asking me about all kinds of technological issues they face? Haven't I made it obvious by now, that you'd be better off with the help of a toddler, and that I'd dribble your device straight in the trash if I got the chance? I am not a computer savvy, and the only activity which I am capable of undertaking flawlessly on my laptop is typing, and probably plugging in the charger.
     And why do gadgets go wrong in the first place when you've paid with your mom and dad to get it? Why does my iPod malfunction when I threw a fortune for what turned out to be, a device as useless as a bag of worms. That is what annoys me most. Much like with global warming, everyday we have some boffins with beards who no one has ever heard of, emerging from their cowsheds, warning us that we are way too dependent on machinery, and that one day our refrigerators and ovens shall take over and make us slaves of their world. That of course will not happen, because everything will end up malfunctioning in the warehouse of the company where it was made. Hell, if the Terminators were real, I bet that they'd overheat every ten minutes, and shall need servicing every 15 minutes which would only be fine if it was covered by the bloody warranty.