"Kosovo is Serbia. 1389."

In Serbia, variety is not a national past time.

Thanks to Vuk Karadžić, the creator of the modern Serbian alphabet, spelling is incredibly easy in their language -- one sound equals one letter, without exception. Billy would be Били. Parsley would be Парсли. And so on and so forth.

Spelling the names of Serbian girls is even easier; not only because of Vuk, but also since there are only about seven ones to choose from: "Ja sam Jelena/Dragana/Marija/Ivana/Zoka/Ana/Tanja," every time. I serious, Gypsy.

It should come as no surprise, then, that the imaginations of Belgrade graffiti artists seem to be stuck inside of a very large, very nationalistic, Plexiglas box.

Aside from the standard "X loves X" that you would find anywhere,

Hmmm... could that have been the work of Adi, "The best neighbor in all of Belgrade" ??

and the timeless, "lone penis," that appears, without fail, on every single used high school textbook from here to Tazmania,

Memories of my childhood, my dog Corona, and Garland's stuffed Pound Puppy.

the only really cool act of street art you consistently find in Belgrade is that awesome little pig tagged on the bottom of building walls randomly around the city.

Blejanje.

What is not in short supply, though, is nationalist rhetoric. And there are less avenues for expression in that department than ways to name your daughter.

You have the ever-so-clever play on words which expresses disdain not only for the EU, but also for NATO.

The website is actually pretty legit.

Then there are the four C's, the ancient emblem of the Serbian nation which, somewhere along the way, was endowed with a supposed meaning: Samo Sloga Srbina Spasava (Only Unity Can Save the Serbs -- though I have heard this phrase was fitted to an acronym which was never truly intended to be an acronym). The four C's are ubiquitous -- throughout Serbia. It's the "when in doubt" option for a kid with a can of spray paint. Only occasionally does someone turn it into "Srpski Sinovi," which means "Serbian Sons."

("Sloboda ili Smrt," "Freedom or Death," is written below the Samo Sloga Srbina Spasava. My question: Was Alexander Hamilton originally named Aleksandar Hamiltonić?).

When provoked, these guys can get pretty funny, though.

In black, you see "Serbs on a tree" -- most likely painted by a Croat nationalist (an "Ustashe," which was the name of the fascist Croatian group, allied with the Nazis, that tried to deal its own Balkan "Final Solution" on the Serbs during WW2). In red, the response: "Ustashe on my dick!"

But it always comes back to what my British friend Pete refers to as "the 'K' word."

Kosovo.

I don't have the time, nor the energy, to elucidate in the way that I would like. Everyone back home -- unless you're younger than me, or lived with your head under a rock for the last two years of Clinton's presidency -- knows a little something about the K word. But unless you've spent a lot of time in this part of the world, or in Chicago (the second biggest Serbian city after Belgrade), that little something is most likely limited to images of Albanian refugees, bombs and menacing Serbs.

It goes a bit deeper than that. Here is the best crash course I can give.

Kosovo, the region that comprises the southern most tip of this country, is the heart of what is known as "Old Serbia." It is essentially the soul of the ancient Serbian nation. Before the Turks came and set up shop, Stephen Dušan and his boys were the big dogs on the Balkan Peninsula. That was in the 14th century. As is the case in all nations that used to have empires -- Austria, Turkey and Hungary have all given similar vibes -- its people have not forgotten the good old days.

Hence, Kocobo je Srbija. Kosovo is Serbia. Not "was." Is.

And the year 1389? Well, let's just say that, in Serbia, every single person knows what happened in 1389. And some people -- the ones who like to spray paint, for example -- just can't get over it.

The Serbian army which was led into battle that day at Kosovo Polje was commanded by the tragic figure Knez Lazar, whose legacy was cemented on the Field of the Blackbirds. Some say the fight was a draw; some say the Serbs were routed -- what is a guarantee is that a ton of people died, and life was never again the same for the Christians living in this part of Europe. A nearly 500-year long Turkish occupation came afterwards -- and Muslims (albeit Albanian, not Turkish) are holding down the fort in Kosovo today.

Lazar died in that battle, and the "Legend of Kosovo" slowly crept into the crevices of the Serbian psyche, like the roots of a tree that, centimeter by centimeter, become one with the soil. Years went by, and Lazar was transformed by Serbian folklore from an inept military leader into a saintly figure. After all, his defeat on the battlefield was the natural outcome of the decision he made that day: To opt for a "Heavenly Kingdom" over an earthly one.

But it's like what Bob Marley was saying in "Get Up, Stand Up": The prospect of a Heavenly Kingdom is of little solace to someone with a crappy life on earth.

And so, the obsession with the K word lives on, over 600 years later.

And it's not going away just because the rest of the world suddenly says that possession is 9/10 of the law.

"We won't give Kosovo." 1389.org (which is not operational).

No significant politician in Serbia will give Kosovo. That's the problem -- just as it was the problem in the run-up to the Iraq War, and in the 2004 campaign. Once again, it's like Marley said: Politricks.

Serbs don't like to be pushed. No one does I suppose, but especially these people. Maybe that's why I feel so at home here -- my personality is very Balkan, I have realized. It's a generalization, this stubbornness, but one that I have heard verbalized by Serbians. Many times, from many different people. Knowing about this sort of national character trait comes in handy when you're scratching your head and wondering to yourself, "Why does every single street corner want me to know that they're not giving up 'Kocobo'?"

Of course, just as not all Texans "drink oil," as my Dutch friend Joris complimented me on, not all Serbians protest that Kosovo is Serbia.

"Kosovo is Bulgaria."

Some are just smart asses.

No wonder I feel so at home here.