To reiterate, Hank the Handyman I am not. But I know someone who is: my brother. He’s one of those “not smart” people. Every time I encountered circumstances highlighted above, I thought, Bet Gil could fix that shit. Ah yes, insert clichéd “Jack of all trades” meme. Thing is, the cliché started somewhere and is alive and well in mon frère. I’ve been hard-pressed to find anyone more dedicated to finding new and interesting ways to repair things others would discard in frustration. Case in point? We had a riding lawnmower that was something of a dinosaur. Compared to today’s options…
Read MoreLIFE IS. WHAT? DUNNO. OR DO I? No, I do not. Yes, yes, I do. Is it beautiful and sad and ugly and magnificent and horrible and heart-wrenching and blissful and temporary and mysterious and tortuous and toxic and intoxicating and unbearable and indescribable and haunting and stupid and amazing and… and… and… and? I want to absorb it all, take it all in, be absorbed by it, run away from it, run into it, run with it, chase it, let it chase me, comprehend it, do whatever it is I am supposed to do with it… which is… which is… I don't know. I will never know. You won’t either. Do I want to know? Do you? Yes. No. Maybe. No. No. Definitely not. Yes. What the fuck am I talking about?
Read MoreDrugs. Alcohol. Gambling. Money. Fame. (Insert personal vice here.) We all have a path to self-destruction, a dependency waiting to be realized. We’re all addicted to something. Some compulsions are more acceptable than others, but all can lead to perdition. My obsession was a feature, not a bug, of a quest to live unencumbered by convention… right? I’ll go out there, paint myself into a corner, and force a reckoning. I’ll figure it out. Fuck yeah. I’m a not-so-recovered travel-holic. My addiction was (is) wanderlust. (Or is it novel encounters?) It consumed me. Had I channeled it…
Read MoreI had my first peek at a marani (Georgian wine cellar) where Shota's family produced its own wine with grapes plucked from vines hanging over the courtyard. It was also my first taste of Georgian chacha (brandy), the local firewater stored in large glass jugs containing sticks of oak to add color and flavor. It’s their version of vodka, ranging from 50-80% alcohol. To me, it resembles an unholy combination of vodka and tequila. In the immortal words of Ralph Wiggum, “It tastes like burning.” Shota, being the…
Read MoreThe causes of the 1992-93 Abkhazian War are complex and too numerous to expand upon here. A lot of very bad people did a lot of very bad shit on both sides. All the mayhem and bloodshed led to the ethnic cleansing of about 250,000 Georgians. Russian government actors, or various rogue elements therein, were (allegedly) behind much of the instability in the former soviets after the Soviet Union’s dissolution. Chaos reigned supreme, and it’s unlikely we’ll ever have a full accounting…
Read MoreAs I wandered the streets, I tried to imagine the horror. No small task when confronted with the throngs of Russian tourists plying the beach and surrounding area. Yet, there were still monuments to war strewn about the city, not the least of which was the Council of Ministers building gutted during the conflict. Many members of the deposed Abkhazian government refused to flee, a decision that led to their not-so-glorious deaths.
The ruin still stands, serving as a grim reminder. I wondered if it remained as a testament to independence and victory over the Georgians. The “Alley of Glory” monument dedicated to Abkhazia's fallen war heroes…
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