A Rozy View on Life

I am John Rozelle, hear me ROAR like a dinosaur!

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

A Commitment to My Readers

I commit to my readers (not necessarily in a timely fashion) to continue posting ground-breaking posts on man purses, hammocking, wildlife, and other valuable human interests. Thank you for you common intrigue in these fascinating topics.
Andy and Allison, I would like to welcome you to my world, trusting that through this blog, your understanding of life in Croatia will be greatly increased and in turn grow in you a deeper passion to partake in many of the same activities such as wildlife observation and the God-given pleasure of hammocking. Enjoy.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Got Milk?















Ummmm....yes. The answer is most definitely Yes.

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

The Tale of Krk

My friend Zoran took us on a road trip/adventure to the island of Krk. He is an excellent driver, look how close he got to this tree while parking. I would have run into it for sure.

So Zoran drove us to this cemetary and told us it was the most beautiful place in the world. "Zoran, it's a cemetary," Pete responded, "We just wanted to see the sea."


He then told us that the oldest written manuscript with the word "Croatia" on it, was housed in a church on Krk. Upon arrival, and to our dismay, we discovered the church was closed. Zoran suggested we climb the outer wall, break in, and "borrow" the stone tablet. After much persuasion, we were convinced.
Upon arriving on the other side of the wall, we were met by ferocious guard sheep. They "bbbbaaaahhh"ed at us ferociously, and charged.

This one came after Zoran, but courageously, he fought many sheep and darted to the church. Tim and Pete (having never been attacked by a herd of attack sheep before) did their best to distract the sheep while the "Zo-man" retrieved the ancient stone tablet for our touristing pleasure. I followed Zoran until I was intercepted by a stoney medieval man with a lethaly heavy book used as a blunt object for striking his assailants. Thanks to my previous training as a ninja, I subdued him after only a short while.
Zoran returned with the tablet, and we all rejoiced. The Zo-man proudly presented the goods which he had temporarily borrowed from the church.


I'm not calling him a liar or anything, but I don't see the word "Croatia" anywhere on the tablet. Oh, well. It's better than getting peed on by pigeons.
Being famished after our battle, our guide led us to what he promised as "Our very own boat, where we may be refreshed by the finest edibles Croatia offers." We entered our boat on the sea to be refreshed .


We received the necessary Croatian fuel,


but myself, still being attached to my American roots, demanded something more nourishing:


After recieiving the necessary energy from our boating feast, we continued down the coast for what seemed like at least 12 miles. Tim became exhausted, and from our best assessment, he suffered from a sever case of dehydration. He started speaking gibberish and running around all crazy-like. We tried to stop him, but he ran to a cliff and jumped off.

Although the water was only 2 feet deep (being a resilient young lad), Tim received the hydration he needed and suffered from only a minor cut on his foot.
At this point we decided we had experienced enough adventure for one day and began the journey home. The Zo-man's vehicle was cut off by yet another herd of guard sheep. These sheep appeared different that the others.


Yes, that is correct, they have targets on their wolly bums. Zoran claims they are part of an top secret missile testing agency. The targets are used to determine accuracy of cutting edge technology missiles in their abilty to hit moving targets. Zo-man even claims he saw an agent directing the course of one of these missiles via laptop under a dimly lit lamppost only miles from the siting of these sheep targets. I think he is a little paranoid.
Other current theories suggest the targets are natural birth defects or even genetictly passed down to the sheep's offspring. No one really believes these.
Still others propose that these sheep do not really exist, and are only ghosts of sheep that were once used at archery contests in previous centuries. Legend holds that these ghost sheep terrorize the kin of ancient archery champions whom used sheep boo-hinds for target practice.
The list of possible explanations continues. If you are aware of other potential theories, please share them.
At one point on the drive home, we had to make a pit stop. As we wandered through the town searching for a appropriate location to urinate, we encountered a large, accordian player, who aggressively ran toward us (recognizing our superior good looks and feeling threatened by them) and yelled at us violently. We ran though the back streets and came upon a narrow walkway that was sure to block access of our hefty attacker.

Our escape was successful, and our trip continued on. The car ride was generally safe, despite the meteorite storm we encountered. I apologize that there are no pictures, Zoran got knocked uncouscious for about 5 minutes, and I had to steer from the passenger's seat. We returned home safe and sound, delighting in the adventure that lay behind us.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

To Hammock (When a good thing goes bad)

Allow me to begin this post with a definition. “Hammocking” or “To Hammock” is merely the blissful experience of indulging in the specific purpose for which God created hammocks. Hammocking is truly one of my favorite pastimes which I have not delighted in for over 9 months, until today.
A week ago, my good friend Dave brought me a hammock from the states, a gesture which is certain to transform my life here in Europe. After the purchase of some rope, as well as necessary time and contemplation of proper hammock set up on my balcony, I arranged a satisfactory layout. Upon gracefully positioning myself in my new blue hammock, I cannot accurately describe the sheer delight that filled my countenance as I swayed back and forth, basking in the beauty of God’s creation, the hammock. To add to this incredible experience, I was also basking in the goodness of the sun while reading a charming book by A.W. Tozer. Ladies and gentlemen, life does not get much better than this.
But it does get worse. So, I lay there, relaxed and delighting in the glorious life of hammocking, when I felt a few sprinkles of water fall lightly upon my skin. In European balcony culture this is not out of the ordinary, as most inhabitants hang-dry clothes, which as times drip water onto the balcony below. The unfortunate circumstance here is that there is not a balcony above, just the roof. As my eyes searched to find the origin of this dripping, to my dismay all my eyes discovered was the hind end of a pigeon perched over the edge of the roof. Turns out this little guy had to take a tinkle.
Due to the sheer delight of my newly regained hammocking status, a little tinkle was not going to stop me. I continued on, reading and delighting, unaffected by this pigeon’s need to expel bodily fluids. I then became aware of the fact that in this fine city, there exists more than one pigeon needing to visit the little boys’ room. Actually, within the next 20 minutes, this circumstance occurred twice more. Still undaunted by these pigeons attempts to spoil my hammocking experience, I carried on.
In the 25 minutes that followed, this experience happened yet another time or two. My determination to continue delighting in my hammocking was not thwarted until at last I encountered a pigeon, which to my best estimation, had just visited 7 Eleven and consumed a Big Gulp. As nature demands, this Big Gulp was now reckoning its return to nature, and from this pigeon’s best estimation, I was nature. Previous sprinklings were just that, “sprinklings,” but this expulsion of fluids proved to create in me a sense of awe and fear, at which time I sprang from my hammock, and darted inside before being completely drenched in the result of 7 Eleven’s big money maker.