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A scene from the Chess Olympiad in Bled in 2002. [source]

This video demonstrates how an average Slovene (with the very typical surname “Midway”) plays chess. [Quicktime, unfortunately]

[Via Vasja]

(Thanks Dejan!)

Call this hotline to finally rid yourself of your pesky cash!

The above is a screenshot from a popular gameshow-type scam that seems to have infected a lot of European television stations. Before it arrived in Slovenia, I’d seen it in the UK and on the notorious German channel DSF. Although the Germans seem to be the only ones that incorporate nudity (nsfw) the general idea is always the same: there is a stupid puzzle or question, and a female host begs people to call in and solve it.

They never solve it, of course. At least, I’ve never seen it happen. You can flip around for a while and when you come back, they’re usually still where you left them.

I’m not sure how the Slovenian version works, but the British versions have revealed themselves to be particularly crooked and evil. One of them, Quiz Call, awarded prizes to its own employees while letting people dangle on the line with no hope of winning. And of course the answers are as obscure as humanly possible when finally revealed. For example: “Films Beginning with M.” listed Mulan 2 as a correct answer. Not “Mulan” — which someone guessed, but got wrong — but the goddamn direct-to-video sequel “Mulan 2.”

According to this story in the Guardian, just the odds of getting through at one show on ITV were about 8,500 to one. You’d have a better chance picking up a golf club and shooting a hole-in-one.

The Slovenian version is called Srečna Linija, comes out of Malta, and airs on the privately owned television station Kanal A. Kudos to Kanal A for acting like scumbag three-card-Monte dealers hanging out behind the train station. Still: I admit that I’m looking forward to their next big show: “Hey man, wanna buy a watch?” I hope the hosts will be a bit more naked next time around.

Giving new meaning to the term “computer repair.”

This is normally the kind of thing David would blog about, but here’s how you can transform your personal computer into a car jack:

Step 1) Stick it under the car.

(Thanks Dejan!)

Green Dragons: Up in Smoke. (source)

Because I’m old and mentally deficient, up until recently I thought that the only Green Dragons were those in Ljubljana. But it turns out that a Green Dragon is also:

An Alcoholic/Canibanoic drink made from soaking weed in an alcoholic beverage. — Urban Dictionary

Was I alone in not knowing this? And if this is true, surely there’s a decent market for a Slovenian company selling Green Dragon shirts to gleeful stoners across the U.S.? No?

If you’re interested, here’s a detailed description of how to make a Green Dragon.

And here’s a list of other Green Dragons.

Helena! May you always have such potatoes (luck) in your life. All the best!

Driving 299 km/h through Slovenia. Click to start, or go here.

At this speed, you could make it from from Ljubljana to Maribor in around 20 minutes. Or go from Ljubljana to Bratislava in an hour. That is, if there were no toll booths. Or police cars.

But now that you know how Slovenes drive, take a look at this video of a slightly slower drive through a Slovenian village by Justin, whose time here has come to a close.

Happy trails, Justin!

Gone in 23 seconds.

In the eyes of the Lord, 50 tolars is 50 eurocents.

Rok recently posted this sign from inside Maribor’s glorious Franciscan Church. It lists the suggested donation for candles, in which Slovenian tolars are generously matched to eurocents one-to-one. In truth, 50 tolars is only 21 cents. Therefore, the church put a 138% mark-up on the euro price. As you can see, someone has scrawled “What kind of math is this!!” at the bottom of the sign. What kind of math, indeed.

Here’s hoping other Slovenian businesses don’t follow the church’s lead on January 1st.

(Thanks Rok!)

Here’s the Goofus and Gallant guide to selling your automobile on the popular Slovenian auction site Bolha.

GOOFUS SAYS

“When selling your Renault 19 turbo diesel online, [screenshot] mention that it’s from 1999, mention the color, and mention that it was rarely serviced for the first 50,000 kilometers and that it’s in good condition. Ask for 120.000 SIT (500 euros) for it. Insist that you want serious calls only, but then don’t mention why the car looks like this:

A real fixer-upper?

GALLANT SAYS:

“Forget about the car. Seriously. And what’s with that dazed and confused guy in blue standing next to it? Here’s what a proper automobile ad looks like:

There’s an Alfa Romeo somewhere in there too.

According to the newspaper Finance, the Alfa Romeo ad drew in 260 prospective buyers, including people from neighboring countries. Now that’s salesmanship.

The first ingredients: blueberries and sugar.

Since coming to Slovenia, I’ve gone from “Never drinking fruity apéritifs” to “Drinking twice my body weight in fruity apéritifs every weekend.”

Sipping a borovnica (blueberry schnapps) is de reigueur at traditional Slovenian meals. It’s something of a ritual. By accepting one from your host, you enter into a sacred covenant: You signal your willingness to eat and drink to maximum capacity, and your host accepts the responsibility to do everything he can to completely and utterly wreck your digestive system.

In the summer, which is a season that sometimes happens in Slovenia but sometimes not, you’ll often see bottles of dark liquid suntanning on people’s balconies. This is usually homemade borovnica, or some variant thereof: višnja (sour cherry schnapps), or a liquor made with some other fruit: blackberries, wild strawberries, etc… It’s very easy to do. Here’s one way.

First, you’ll need the ingredients: white sugar, fresh blueberries, and alcohol. Then you’ll need to clean the blueberries. This can be a bit of a pain.

Washing away their sins.

If you want your schnapps to contain a lot of berries, you’ll need to be careful to pick out all the leaves and stems. Be aware that this is a time-consuming process. If you want it “clear” or “fruitless,” or if you have, say, two young children at home, and one of them has bronchitis again so he’s constantly waking up and coughing and you don’t have the time and energy to clean the stupid berries, and the boy keeps interrupting things anyway so you just want to finish things up and get some sleep, then just rinse the blueberries and move on to the next step. Which is:

Building a tower of power.

Layer the blueberries and sugar in a bottle. The amount of sugar determines the sweetness, obviously, but don’t be too shy with the white stuff. We generally use a ratio of 1:1, and (contrary to expectations) the final product doesn’t taste sickeningly sweet. Fill up the bottle about 3/4 of the way up and get ready for the next and easiest step.

Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo.

Leave the bottle out in the sun and just let the sugar melt. If you live in Slovenia you might need to travel abroad for this step. Just ask your local travel agent if he can recommend a place that has an orb-like thing called a sonce (sun). When the sugar melts, you’ll eventually have a half-full bottle of sludge. Now comes the essential part.

Gallons of alcohol flow into the bottle.

Fill up the remainder of the bottle with alcohol. Of course, a true professional would also make their own alcohol, but that’s out of my league. We use good ol’ Serbian-made slivovitz. Now that all the ingredients are together the way God intended them to be, you’re pretty much finished.

Stir it, don’t shake it.

Stir things up, close the bottle and put it in a dark place. (Basements are perfect — just be careful it doesn’t come into contact with the dead bodies you have down there.) When it’s ready, you’ll have your very own bottle of borovnica!

Needless to say, this is just one way of preparing the stuff. And I can’t be held liable if you decapitate yourself or otherwise hurt yourself making this. If anyone wants to share some of their tips, or secret production method, please do so in the comments!