Pipe vs Girlfriend : Inspiring Example Every Single Person

Not a bad idea for someone who does not have a girlfriend!

My Digs: It Won't Cut It

Hi guys!

To everybody who has just started the ultimate long weekend – have fun and enjoy the hot and sunny weather! Just don't forget to stock up on some SPF.

I don't want to use the m-word, but to all the people who are taking final exams next month, good luck with your revision!

ultimate – najdłuższy, najlepszy (most extreme or important because either the original or final, or the best or worst )

to stock up on something – zrobić zapasy czegoś

SPF – sun protection factor

the m-word – słowo na literę M

revision – powtórka materiału

Recently I've been told that the first rule in blogging is not to write too much. The shorter the entry is, the better. How presumptuousis it of me, then, to write such wordy blog posts and expect you to read them?!!! Very presumptuous!!! ;))

But if you're game, I'm game too and I'm happy to oblige ;)

an entry – wpis

presumptuous – arogancki, bezczelny

wordy – rozwlekłe (za długie)

be game – gotowi zaryzykować (willing to do things that are new, risky or difficult)

be happy to oblige – chętnie pomóc (to oblige – to please or help someone, especially by doing something they have asked you to do)

Today's post is dedicated to just one English phrase: to cut it. It's usually used in the negative form. When something doesn't cut it, it means it is insufficient or inadequate. When a person doesn't cut it, they are unable to deal with problems or difficulties satisfactorily.

insufficient – niewystarczający

be unable – nie być w stanie

to deal with – radzić sobie z

FACEPALM

DOUBLE FACEPALM

HEADDESK

I will have to call the phone number because the email didn't cut it.

That excuse is not going to cut it.

When hiking just won't cut it, try humming and hiking at the same time.

an excuse – wymówka

to hike – chodzić na piesze wędrówki, wędrować

to hum – nucić sobie

TLFT – an acronym meaning “too long for text” – typically used when 160 characters or less just won't cut it.

Weird Horse Tees: When normal just won't cut it.

an acronym – akronim, skrótowiec

characters – znaki

a tee – a t-shirt – koszulka

hooves – kopyta

I feel like social networking became a phenomenon because people really needed a more passive way to stalk their ex. Driving by their apartment at 3 am just wasn't cutting it.

social networking – udzielanie się na internetowych serwisach społecznościowych

a phenomenon – fenomen

to stalk – prześladować, śledzić

an ex – była, były

creepy – przyprawiające o gęsią skórkę

Jackpot! – Strzał w dziesiątkę!

Cliché Valentine's gifts won't cut it for women.

Eggs for breakfast don't cut it without bacon or at least a sausage.

 

The phrase is often used with the word anymore (US)/ any more (UK):

Using your birthday as a password won't cut it anymore.

When it comes to storing important financial documents, a tattered shoebox just won't cut it any more.

cliché – oklepane

at least – przynajmniej

to store – przechowywać

tattered – podarte, poszarpane

to vote – głosować

a poll – ankieta

Hope you enjoyed the post. Feel free to vote in the poll on your right.

See you in my next post!

Karola

Damn Lazy Cat

YO

Hey. So if you follow me here it does not (does not) transfer over to my new blog.
If you want to follow me (I know have your doubts, but you totally should anyway), you have to follow me over at reinalaaman.blogspot.com . Otherwise--once I delete this account--you won't be following me anymore. That would be a tragedy! For me, and, dare I say, you as well.
If you can't find my follower widget try refreshing the page. I will be following you guys from my new account.
That is all.
Shalom.

How to Become a Better Writer

This post is on my new blog: http://reinalaaman.blogspot.com/

Follow me there if you haven't already, and I can follow you back! (This site here will eventually be deleted.)

Good People and Gadamer

David Lindsay-Abaire

A couple of months ago, with my brother, Gav, and friends Jasmina and Donna, I went to see an excellent production of Good People, a play by American playwright David Lindsay-Abaire. The play is a very recent work, first produced in 2011. We saw it at the Red Stitch Actors’ Theatre in Melbourne.

Good People is about a middle-aged man and woman who grew up together in a rough neighbourhood of Boston. The woman is single, still living in “Southie” and struggling to hold down a job and support a disabled daughter, while the man has moved up in the world. He is a doctor, living in middle-class comfort with his beautiful, much younger, academic wife and a healthy child. As the plot unfolds, the audience is led to make an unstable, shifting set of assumptions about why the lives of the two teenage lovers have turned out so differently.

A central theme of the play is the question of responsibility for an individual’s worldly success or failure. Is a person’s social and economic standing a consequence of personal choices and hard work or laziness? Or is it a matter of “luck,” reflecting a complex set of systematic societal influences, over which an individual has little or no control? The play doesn’t limit itself to this right-wing/left-wing alternative; it also suggests that where personal choices play a role, those that lead to worldly success are not necessarily worthy of respect or emulation, since they may involve adapting to systems that demand and thrive on ruthlessly selfish behavior. But stereotypically “good” self-sacrificial choices are equally laid open to interrogation: are such choices really good if they leave the individual who makes them in a miserable situation, and saddle the successful with a corrosive burden of guilt? What is missing in this portrait of a society dominated by the rhetoric of personal choice (and its shadow: a vision of total subjugation of the individual to impersonal systems) is any reliable possibility of mutual care and trust, or political solidarity across differences of class, race and gender. This absence seems to make any convincing form of personal goodness either simply unattainable, or incompatible with worldly success.

Despite the weighty issues at stake there are plenty of laughs in this play, as the characters make clever digs at each other and themselves. But even while you’re laughing, you can’t help noticing that suspicion, resentment, insecurity, and self-loathing seem to form the consistent emotional backdrop to this contemporary liberal drama of personal choice.

Olga Makeeva, Andrea Swifte and Jane Montgomery Griffiths in Good People

I was recently reminded of this play and its message while thinking about a very different approach to the question of how to assess or give meaning to our lives and the way they unfold. In his theory of understanding, twentieth-century German philosopher Hans Georg Gadamer gives a lot of emphasis to the notion of “play.” As he describes it, playing involves abandoning any strong sense of personal choice or control, since play “fulfills its ‘purpose’ only if the player loses himself in the play.”

‘Purpose’ is placed in inverted commas here, because for Gadamer, playing is a purposeless or non-intentional kind of activity. It is an activity, but one that shades into passivity: “all playing is a being-played. The attraction or fascination that a game exerts consists precisely in the fact that the play tends to master the players.” This carries a risk which is also a lure: we may become so engrossed in the game that our identity is transformed. Such transformation is not a matter of personal choice or responsibility, since the action or agency of play is located not “in the player, but in the game itself; the game is what holds the player in its spell, draws him into play, and keeps him there.”

For Gadamer, human play finds its “genuine completion” as art. In engaging with an artwork, or allowing it to play upon us, we experience a lucid form of play, a bit like lucid dreaming. We know we’re playing, but we also continue to play, or be played.

What if we were to think (lucidly) of our lives, or episodes in our lives, as games or artworks, in Gadamer’s sense, rather than the rational, inevitable working out of personal choices for which we must bear responsibility? Particularly when things go wrong, either for us or for people who are connected to us, we tend to think or feel that this is a product of choices we made earlier and could or should have made differently. This way of seeing things seems to give us the power to act differently in the future, but it can also lead to a powerful sense of self-recrimination. We can add a lot of intensity to our suffering with these kinds of thoughts.

Mightn’t it be kinder, and closer to experience, to suppose that our lives are shaped not by isolated personal choices, nor by impersonal social systems, but by the games that attract and fascinate us, the different forms of play in which we lose ourselves and are transformed, for better or worse?

Most games are social; you can’t play on your own. That’s why you can’t control or take complete responsibility for the outcome of a game – responsibility is shared. And it is the game, rather than the players, that determines the possibilities of play. On this way of seeing things, if we really desire change, we need to find or create space for a new game to play (or to play us), rather than letting obsessive concern with personal choices keep us blindly involved in the one that’s currently got us in its grip.

As my little niece Scarlett often says to me, with the insistent wisdom of a two-year old, “Let’s play!”

A little Noir writing contest....all are welcome to participate!!

Let your Noir out! Participate in this little writing contest.  I will post your entries here on the blog for all to see and to vote on..be creative!! Submissions will be closed on Tuesday, May 1, 2012. Voting will start the same day and go on for a week. Please leave your entry in the comment section below.


One of my blog posts gave me an idea to have a little fun so all can participate. My post "Yankee goes Noir" put me in the mood to write these few lines.


 "2am: The drizzle of rain was cold but welcomed, I was walking on a empty dark city street…it was quiet, the rain slicked street glistened with the neon sign of a local bar flashing against the black tar of the night. The only sound that could be heard is the sound of the electricity going through the tubes of the sign and pulsating every few seconds as the sign blinks and strains to turn off and then on again. Seems like a struggle that will continue on for sometime.


The bar has been closed for some time now, the neon lights serve as a reminder that the place exists and I should come back in the daylight. I don’t think so. I have spent my hours this evening on a bar stool at another bar a few miles away. Seems like the flashing neon is a sign to the dark city that it’s time to wash away the troubles of today as a new morn is approaching..this is good news for me..as…........"



As you can see I did not finish it..I explain that in the post here: http://yankeeexposure.blogspot.com/2012/04/yankee-goes-noir.html

Anywho, give it your best shot at continuing the story line above and I will post all comments here on the blog. To put you in the mood, I also posted a little Noir music below to get your artistic juices flowing..play it if you wish...

 "2am: The drizzle of rain was cold but welcomed, I was walking on a empty dark city street…it was quiet, the rain slicked street glistened with the neon sign of a local bar flashing against the black tar of the night. The only sound that could be heard is the sound of the electricity going through the tubes of the sign and pulsating every few seconds as the sign blinks and strains to turn off and then on again. Seems like a struggle that will continue on for sometime.

The bar has been closed for some time now, the neon lights serve as a reminder that the place exists and I should come back in the daylight. I don’t think so. I have spent my hours this evening on a bar stool at another bar a few miles away. Seems like the flashing neon is a sign to the dark city that it’s time to wash away the troubles of today as a new morn is approaching..this is good news for me..as…...."

Entries start here..........

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1 ...a barroom girl with a deep, husky voice sat down besides me, hoping to salvage something for herself from this miserable night. She was the kind of dame you want to spend time with even if it was limited in duration. Her voice was husky as she asked me for a light, her fingers brushing my hand as I held the lighter. The polish on the nails was bright red. I was always a sucker for a dame with red hot fingernail polish..... ~ Berkley C
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2...I am already in hot water,well I think I am anyway as I have no knowledge of the evening before. Only the blood spots on my shoes and my missing shirt gives me a clue that it was anything but an ordinary night.. ~ Peter M
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3....Because I already paid too much for my car insurance. ~ Frank B
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4..I come up with nothing searching my slacks pockets for my usual pack of smokes. She leans into me and with a long white cigarette so I take it from her hand, our fingers brushing each other like a barber's comb after a haircut ~ Lance
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5...It reminded me that I was still alive as I set out to hunt down those who haunted my dreams.

My biggest enemy, the darkness had claimed another victim. Unseen and unheard, the killer had been able to blend in with shadows that danced in the moonlight.

It wasn't easy working in "the city of the dead" but I wasn't about to give up. I would catch the killer, even if it took all night. ~ Clare

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6..I had survived another night. I had survived while the rest of my family lay dead and rotting in the ground. Why they did not take me with them I don't know. I had been spared for a reason. I just wish I knew why... ~ Elaine C

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7...Why they took them in the first place? Why they had to murder them? Why the letter left behind, revealing nothing except the fact that I am alone now and seemingly have nothing left to lose. When they know that is not true. I still have her.... ~ Deb N

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8....I can still remember a time when I owned a bar instead of a bar owning me ~Boydnewell

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9....she enters the room. My eyes go up from the run in her hose to the grit in her eyes. I knew that look of hunger, lost pride, hope's glimmer. There was a she before her who taught me the pain of approaching a flame that blinds such as love at first sight. The memory makes me shiver on the mid-June Casablanca night. I pretend to look at the broken clock above her head and turn away. Remembering. ~ Veronica H

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10...Then I realized, that neon sign was not the same one I recalled last night. In fact the road ahead did not look the same. I became uneasy, unsure as to where I was, then it clicked, this was the wrong video I was watching. ~ John T
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11....I can’t stomach another hour of darkness. The darkness that was once my friend now holds nothing but the stale cold smell of wasted lives. Those lives, they haunt me Maybe it’s not lives. It’s just one life. It all comes back to the same place as these things always do: a girl. No, not a girl. A woman. Every time I hear heels clicking on the dark, damp pavement after midnight, I can smell her unique blend of rose petals and cherry cough drops. Even though dawn is nearly breaking, tonight is no different. I indulge myself in the fantasy that the slow, purposeful footfalls stalking behind me must be hers. I’m allowed this moment of bliss until the redhead dame’s tinny voice perforates my reverie. ~ Angela

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12....I could use a new day.  The one that was fading away faster than butter on a hot skillet wasn’t that great.  I spent it and some change of the day before driving straight through from New Jersey.  I needed a shower, needed to wash away the grime of 1,300 lonely miles and, of course, the memory of her.  The plan?  Trade in the coldness of the North for a little Southern comfort, if only for a little while.  Somewhere I must have taken a wrong turn because I ended up here -- in this cheap honky-tonk that didn’t look that much different than the bar I left behind.  Except for the fact she wasn’t here.  There was that.  Yes, a fresh start was just what I needed.  I took a deep breath, filled my lungs -- cheap gin and stale cigarettes.  Well, “fresh” might be a generous term, but it was… a start.~ Kathryn D

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13..Tonight's trouble is something that can only be forgotten with enough booze and the right amount of baking soda. I strike my cigrette, a lonely glow under the low burning street lamps, breathing it into my lungs, hoping it will cover the smell of blood.

What was she doing there anyway? I always knew Slim Pickens would end up on the wrong side of that little twenty two he carried, but to see Carrie-Ann join him in his final gothic still-life hit me like a brick. Every cop knows not to get emotional, but when 110 pounds of blonde innocence coldly stabs you in the heart, there is little to do but react. Before I knew it I had handled the weapon and her blood was on my hands.

My CI and Carrie-Ann; this was more than a hangover stocking me on the way home. I was set up ~ John C

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14...the boss expects my report in the morning. I've ducked out two days already, but the blood trail will go cold if I suck down one more brew. I need time to think, to cast the shadows in another direction. 

It isn't entirely my fault. Why can't these dames stay home when the sun goes down? I can't resist a woman in a dress, drawn lines up her thighs; makes my mind race, my hands shake. 

The bartender is lookin' at me again and I don't like the looks of him. I may just tell him to go to hell, but - hey, well, look at you.

"I'm Betty," the lady said. 

"Why, yes. You are..."

"It's a cool night out there, sure could use a drink."

"Why, yes. You could. Bartender, a whiskey sour and keep em' coming."

Her laugh was infectious. Paperwork be dammed.

The neon light grew faint in the distance, Betty by my side, while we took a stroll to the next alley; and then I, to the next bar with a neon light. ~ CMcGowan

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15...The gravelly crunch of concrete behind me alerts me to his arrival. I dare not turn around, but inch closer to my briefcase sitting next to me on the wet sidewalk. I can almost feel his breath on my neck. I stare ahead into the fog, not blinking. I hope he takes the briefcase and flees before he looks inside. I don't think he'll be pleased to see that I did not supply what he asked for in his note. If he looks first, I will be dead without ever seeing his face, just another anonymous dead body on the street in a seedy part of town. ~ Roma
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16....I was in trouble deep. And no simple dawn could wash this trouble away. Just like simple water couldn't wash the blood off my broken, scarred knuckles.

I thought hard about finding a bridge and jumping off. God knows I'd have sunk to the bottom. Dead men are heavier than broken hearts, and they don't come much deader than me right now.

My eyes burned for lack of sleep and the rye I'd been swilling all night burned in my belly. No, I wouldn't do Boss Maroni's job for him. If he wanted me dead and buried, he was going to have to see to it. And he was going to have to send tougher mooks than the one I'd beat to a pulp earlier. ~ Joshua U

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17...I've had it with this town, and at first light the Southern Pacific's Coast Daylight will whisk into station, 8:00 AM sharp, filling the air with angry clouds of smoke bellowing from the stacks of it's oil-fired steam engine; with the shouts of conductors guiding the tourists and the sight-seeing sets, and me, the woebegone one with the scruffy guitar case. That's right folks, I'm leaving San Francisco, leaving the skinny, narrow streets with the too many hills and the too few opportunities. Every club where I tried to play shunned my freshly-shaved countenance; every bar owner looked askance at my worn case and said to me a variation of the litany 'I'm sorry, but we already tried that sound here. We're a traditional, bluesy club. You got a horn or not?'.

I'm moving on to Los Angeles to try my luck there. Maybe I'll visit Hollywood, perhaps a movie set. Maybe, just maybe I can play this guitar in a western movie, along with the stars! Maybe with Frankie Laine, Gene Autry! That's my ticket! ~ Serr8d

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18... as I was trying to understand what happened. What went wrong. We were so close, so intertwined, almost had it all. So painfully close. It was the perfect plan - the robbery, the escape, we would be set forever, free and clear, together forever! We were on fire, adrenaline flowing like molting lava. And then ... he found out. Into the dark night we ran, breathless, running for our lives but to no avail. And now, here I sit, in this cold cell... ~ AJ

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19..I stumbled down the darkened street, pointed in the general direction of home... suddenly I shivered at the thought of being alone. Then I touched my coat and felt the half-full flask in one pocket, touched the bulge of the fully-loaded revolver in the other... then I weaved on my way, emboldened by both....~ GWKeena

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20....This was good news for me because I couldn't take any more. It was time to turn over a new leaf, make a new beginning. Today was the day I would leave this dead end town and take the first bus out. To anywhere. There comes a time in your life when what you're doing isn't working. Time to try something new. I'v done a lot of things in my life. Things I'm not proud of. But the day I set my eyes on Johnny deLancey, was the day my life spiralled out of control. Drugs, sex, murder. Time for something that wouldn't keep me out of heaven. Greyhound, here I come. ~ Louise S
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21...I'd been surprised when the local bull turned me loose that soggy dawn, afraid he'd warn me not to leave town. He didn't say a word, just gave me a look that said plain as the pores on his nose, "Keep moving, loser."

Somebody left a dead drunk in an alleyway, and his pockets held just enough dough for a ticket to Yuma. Hell, I've never been to Yuma, that I can remember. I took the last seat at the tail end of the bus, spread a newspaper over the bubble gum souvenirs and settled in to get some shut-eye. With my fedora pulled down, I couldn't see her face, but with legs like that, a face was nothing but a nice accessory. That smoked-whiskey voice said, "Move over, lover," and I knew I'd never get away. Wherever Betty went, Maroni's goons were sure to follow. ~ Texanne
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22.....I re-check my wristwatch – it’s now ten past two. The deed has been done. Nothing can go wrong now. My past is encased. I'm finally safe. I warned the bitch, but she wouldn’t listen. I walk slower toward my destination, my palms sweat: my heart beats quicker in excitement, as each step gets lighter. Somehow I know rigor-mortise has set in ~ Micki P
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23...... it was proof the antidote worked.

I fished the precious little vial out of the pocket of the bastard who injected me - after I decked him and left him for dead beneath a flickering Coca-Cola sign in a back alley.

He was the first and he won't be the last. I'm a marked man. But I'm not running. 

I took another swig of scotch while keeping a wary eye on the mirror above the bar. From where I sat, I could see everyone who sauntered in and staggered out ~ Tima M

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24...I was walking home, into the fog of darkness, with no one accompanying me in this dreadful night, this loneliness has always been a part of me, and the problem is that i do enjoy this peace, and the funny thing is, the city is also silent, alone, sad, and empty, just like me, but unlike me, she has millions of people accompanying her. ~ Dalia M

English in Pics: In the Office

Hi y'all!

I hope you're all doing well!

I know that talking about work on a weekend is like wearing pyjamas to a prom – a social suicide, but I will give it a try anyway :P.

What I do in my everyday life can be classified under freelancing. The good thing about freelancing is that no one can fire you. The bad thing about freelancing is that the only person who can motivate you in the morning is yourself. That's why there are a lot of lazy bums among freelancers ;).

y'all – you all

a prom – bal studniówka

a social suicide – śmierć towarzyska, suicide – samobójstwo

anyway – i tak, tak czy inaczej

classified under/ as –zaklasyfikowane jako

freelancing – praca na własny rachunek, bycie wolnym strzelcem

to fire – zwolnić z pracy

a lazy bum – leń, obibok

among – pośród

The closest I have ever got to having an office job was just after I graduated from university. I spent several months working for a company that specialised in market research in the pharmaceutical industry. The hours were decent – no one started work before 9 a.m. and the atmosphere was fun and relaxed. The three things I remember most from this period are: office chit-chat, the start of my YouTube addiction and eating instant noodles (in America they call them ramen noodles).

Despitenot knowing as much about office work as some of you guys, I have picked a few words that go with the office theme. As always, I hope you find them interesting :).

to graduate from – ukończyć

market research – badania rynku

the pharmaceutical industry – branża farmaceutyczna

decent – przyzwoite

a period – okres

chit-chat – pogaduchy

an addiction – uzależnienie

instant noodles, ramen noodles – zupki chińskie, noodles – makaron

despite – pomimo

to go with something – pasować

a theme – tematyka, motyw przewodni

RAMEN NOODLES

SWIVEL CHAIR

SWIVEL CHAIR

You're definitely missing out on alot fun if you work in an office and you don't have one. Swivel chairs are cool because even though you're at work, you can still feel like a little kid.

a swivel chair – krzesło obrotowe

to swivel – obracać się

to miss out on a lot of fun – omija nas dużo zabawy

WATER COOLER

FLIRTING AT THE WATER COOLER

This is where you need to go and socialise when you're new or you fancy a co-worker.

to socialise – udzielać się towarzysko

to fancy – podobać się; He fancies Kate – Podoba mu się Kate.

a co-worker – współpracownik

FILINIG TRAY

FILING TRAY

Filing trays are tricky because instead of helping you organise your documents, they introduce chaos. I know. I used to have one.

tricky – zdradzieckie ;)

to introduce – wprowadzać

I used to have one. – Kiedyś taką miałam.

PAPERWEIGHT

PAPERWEIGHT

I have always told myself that if I ever settle down and have a serious adult office, I will buy myself a fancy paperweight. It leaves a lasting impression, doesn't it?

to settle down – ustatkować się

fancy – drogi, kosztowny

a paperweight – przycisk do papieru

lasting – trwałe

an impression – wrażenie

ALFRED AND A PAPERWEIGHT

OFFICE

CORNER OFFICE

OPEN PLAN OFFICE

While everyone dreams of landing a top management positionand working in a corner office, most of us, mere mortals, work in in an open plan office.

to land – podłapać

a top management position – stanowisko wysokiego szczebla

mere mortals – zwykli śmiertelnicy

AGENDA/ PLANNER/ DIARY/ PERSONAL ORGANISER

 

PLANNER

There are many words in English to call a book for your appointments, to-do lists and reminders. One thing is certain: you definitely need one if you want to appear busy and important

an appointment – umówione spotkanie

a to-do list – lista zadań

a reminder – przypomnienie

certain – pewna

to appear – wydawać się

STAPLER

STAPLER

If not handled properly, a stapler is a very dangerous piece of equipment. Use it with caution! ;)

to handle something – obchodzić się

properly – odpowiednio

with caution – ostrożnie

POST-IT NOTES/ STICKY NOTES

POST-IT NOTES

STICKY NOTES

Use them for nice messages only.

LEGAL PAD

If you have ever wondered what those yellow American notepads are called, they're called legal pads. Traditionally, legal pads have blue horizontal lines and a margin on the left.

a notepad – notes

horizontal – poziome

a margin – margines

PAPER SHREDDER

PAPER SHREDDER

Or you can always use your hands instead.

Some other words: 
 

PUNCHED POCKET/ SHEET PROTECTOR

PUNCHED POCKETS

HIGHLIGHTERS

HIGHLIGHTERS

DESK ORGANISER

DESK ORGANISER

PEN HOLDER

PEN HOLDER

CORKBOARD

CORKBOARD

FLIP CHART

FLIP CHART

LETTERHEAD

LETTERHEAD

letterhead – papier firmowy

Hope you enjoyed.

See you in my next post. And don't think about work or school too much ;)

Karola