"I'm Lovin' It"
I recently had to deal with some major connectivity issues, spending three days without access to the internet in my appartement (because my landlord couldn't be othered to get it fixed in time), and given the fact my job literally takes place on the internet, that was kind of a problem. It gave me a chance to catch up on my reading during my spare time, but I also had to find a way to work one eight-hour shift, between the hours of 1 p.m. and 9 p.m. CET. With my options fairly limited, I decided to spend the day working from the McDonalds below my house. Here's the story of my day.
1p.m: How can there only be one power outlet in this entire McDonalds? Seriously. This place has two floors and thousands of customers every day, of which at least a portion plans to plug in and do some interwebbing. One plug? Come on.
Also, how the hell can a McDonalds be this busy at 1p.m? I don't have the healthiest eating pattern, but this is absurd.
2p.m: I forgot my computer mouse, and I've spent the past 35 minutes looking at someone who looks trustworthy enough to keep an eye on my laptop for 3 minutes.
3p.m: Starting to get hungry, and the irony isn't lost on me. The queue is far too long, can't get in line as I'm working. Also, need to keep an eye on my laptop. But I'm so goddamn hungry and all this food keeps passing me by. Ugh.
4p.m: There's a girl sitting two tables to my left with two guys, and she just informed the duo she broke up with her boyfriend of two years. She sort of drops it casually, but it's ridiculously obvious she's into one of the two guys, and this is kind of messed up. She's actually flirting. Now she's crying. Now she's flirting again. The guy has no idea. People are awful.
5p.m: Apparently, McDonalds has only one CD they play on a loop, and it's "Smash Hits of 1997." I am in hell right now. My bum is also starting to hurt, and I'm so, so hungry. I need another horny chick who just broke with her long-time boyfriend a week ago to make a pass at a long-time friend.
6p.m: Lunch. Time for Nuggets and all the bacon I can find.
6:20 p.m: Some d*ck stole my power outlet. Two Dutch girls join me at my table even though the entire floor is empty, and proceed to make it very clear they don't appreciate me taking up quite a bit of space with my computer mouse. Maybe don't sit next to the guy working on a laptop with the giant set of earphones on, idiot.
7:40 p.m: My editor mercifully ends my nightmare. Good thing I had to work overtime the days before and was able to make a deal. I never want to see McDonalds again.
8:30 p.m: Hello McRib. Sorry, I had to. Thus endeth my adventure at McDonalds.
What else is new? After a very busy period at work (Wimbledon and the Tour de France) things have cooled down a bit for me in the past days, which is always nice. I even managed to spend an evening with Elise, who was in Belgium for a couple of days before going back to London. I finally found someone who could appreciate the Genius that is Fishing With John, although that last Long Island Iced Tea she had may have had something to do with that.
We were actually planning on staying up to catch the premier of Seven Days in Hell, but Miss Elise had to get up at an ungodly hour and was already buzzing, so that never happened. I did manage to catch it later, and if you haven't watched it yet, I can't recommend it enough. It's insanely good. Like, Kung Fury-good. And not that much longer.
The Tour has been incredible so far, the Red Sox suddenly look like a competent baseball team and along with my heavy work schedule, the past two weeks have been filled to the brim with social encounters and pleasant conversations (and then some) so there's little to complain about, really. Life has been short on incidents these past few weeks, which is very pleasant but also leads to very mediocre blog entries I'm afraid. You'll have to do with my McDonalds story for now. Don't worry, these periods of tranquility usually don't last very long.
Take care guys.
Edit: I totally forgot to mention the teaser for the Sherlock Christmas Special. Arguably the highlight of my week. Sorry Elise.
Song of the Day: The Bioshock Infinite version of God Only Knows
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x7ogV49WGco
zondag 12 juli 2015
vrijdag 19 juni 2015
On Shameless Plugging and Weird Conversations
"In de jaren daarop bekroop mij de vraag of ik wel een eerbaar man was. Dit lange wachten, dit ontzeggen, dit eeuwige emotionele vasten, was dit een teken van indrukwekkende deugdzaamheid of was het gewoon de misleidende emanatie van mijn angst voor verandering? Was ik een man die zijn zwakheden, zijn angsten als deugden wist te camoufleren? Iemand wiens angst voor elke verandering ten onrechte als "trouw" werd geïnterpreteerd?"
-Dominique Biebau, Ijslands Gambiet
Apologies for the Dutch quote, a first in this blog-thingy. It comes from a book a former teacher of mine (and current friend, if I dare say) wrote, and after reading it this past week (in the span of about four hours, because it was that good) I feel like doing some plugging. For all of my Dutch-speaking readers looking for something fresh to read over the summer, I highly recommend you pick up this book. The back may say it's a thriller, but in reality, it's a carefully crafted tale that beautifully mixes Literature (with a capital L), chess and raw human emotion. No, really. Mr. Biebau (I will never be able to call him Dominique) has managed to take a genre that has been diluted by thousands of 13-in-a-dozen novels in the past decade, filled with the same, worn-out plot-twists and grotesque characters, and turn it into something completely different. It's not perfect, but good literature doesn't have to be. So please, support an emerging author trying to leave his mark on a world that is more interested in the latest piece of fan-fiction that appeals to hordes of 14-year-olds, and pick up this book the next time you're in a good book store. I promise you won't be disappointed, and if you are, you can take it up with me.
Now, for the crux of this update. You may remember the last two entries had somewhat of an overarching theme (slight understatement) and were published within a week of each other, and to my surprise, I received a ton of positive feedback on the both. The amount of readers was quite high compared to what I usually average, included four different continents (really) and for some reason, plenty of you felt the need to contact me directly. I greatly enjoy all the feedback, and it's always nice to know your words actually meant something to someone (though, obviously not to the one you wrote them for. Writers, like just about everyone else whose job involves any kind of public exposure, do what they do not be heard, seen or read by the masses, but to be heard, seen or read by the people who actually inspired them in the endeavour. It's called having a giant ego and one leg outside of reality. To quote Jeff Winger: "Do you think astronauts go to the moon because they hate oxygen? No, they're trying to impress their high school prom kings"). Personally, I was quite proud of both entries, which showed exactly how not-petty I am and were the writings of an adult whose obviously awesome enough to write something like that and therefor prime dating material, you ******* ****, but the fact you liked it as well warmed my heart, to use Big Words.
Two people jumped out, however, and in both cases, I was supremely confused. I've had some weird conversations in my day, and both have now entered the discussion for the top spot. I'm not going to give you any details (that would be mean) but I will describe the situation, to give you a glimpse.
The first started a day after I published the initial post (I think), when I received a message from a certain Dutch girl. This girl (young woman at this point) and I shared two nights in the French Basque Country seven years ago, and we hadn't spoken since. I was still a young pup at the time, inexperienced in the ways of the world, who had only ever shared my bed with one woman. I am about 99.9 percent certain this girl did not have a good time, a plausible explanation for why I never heard of her again after those two nights. Although, in general, you don't really keep up after you do that sort of thing.
I'm telling you all of this to explain to you what a shock it was to me when she sent me a message telling me she read my blog and was touched by my words. We spent the next couple of days sending messages back and forth, finding out how we both had been, what we were up to and where we were going next. It was actually really nice, and I'm really glad she decided to send me that first message, although it was a bit weird. Sometimes the little things can give you great joy, and in this instance, it really did.
About a week later, things got even weirder when I got a message from an ex-girlfriend of mine, the last girl I was in a serious relationship with, little over three years ago. We spoke sporadically in the months after we broke up, and when she met someone new, all communications seized as he (understandably) wasn't too keen on having his significant other texting her ex-boyfriend all the time.
That changed last week, when she messaged me out of the blue to see how I was. Apparently, I'd been on her mind a lot in the past few weeks, and she just wanted to find out. I was taken aback, because I had just visited her Facebook page less than an hour before, for the first time in God-knows-how-long, asking the same questions (she hadn't updated her Facebook page in over three years, which is an impressive feat for a 20-something in 2015).
This particular conversation went a little less smoothly, for obvious reasons, although there were no unpleasantries or harsh feelings that sometimes creep up when talking to someone you saw naked, repeatedly, for a period of time before breaking things off. Nonetheless, it was as pleasant as the first, as this is obviously a girl I loved very much, and someone who will always have a special place in my heart (Big Words). To find out what she had been up to and how/what she is doing right now is something I never would have expected, but I'm glad I was given the opportunity.
Before anyone asks (and I know you will, because I know my friends), I am not hooking up with either. And not just because neither lives in the same country I do.
So, I guess that's about it. The past two weeks have been really slow, with my friends studying for exams, my former love interest bringing the hammer down on what we had going and me spending most of my time working. Outside of ordering food or telling the cashier I'l be paying by card, I had two actual conversations with people all week, wishing my dad a happy Father's Day and talking toMr. Biebau Dominique at a recent book signing, where he handed me a beautiful, signed copy of Ijslands Gambiet, a novel you should all read. Seriously.
There's some big decisions coming up during the summer, mainly focused on where I'll be living once summer has passed, but that's something that comes up once every six months, so it's hardly news, is it?
Take care all of you. And if any ex-girlfriends, one-night stands of the past, people I bullied in middle school or former colleagues feel the need to catch up, please don't hesitate. As I recently found out, it can actually be quite fun.
Later guys.
Song of the Day
Mr. Airplane Man - Sun Sinking Low
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFCdImxEyL0
-Dominique Biebau, Ijslands Gambiet
Apologies for the Dutch quote, a first in this blog-thingy. It comes from a book a former teacher of mine (and current friend, if I dare say) wrote, and after reading it this past week (in the span of about four hours, because it was that good) I feel like doing some plugging. For all of my Dutch-speaking readers looking for something fresh to read over the summer, I highly recommend you pick up this book. The back may say it's a thriller, but in reality, it's a carefully crafted tale that beautifully mixes Literature (with a capital L), chess and raw human emotion. No, really. Mr. Biebau (I will never be able to call him Dominique) has managed to take a genre that has been diluted by thousands of 13-in-a-dozen novels in the past decade, filled with the same, worn-out plot-twists and grotesque characters, and turn it into something completely different. It's not perfect, but good literature doesn't have to be. So please, support an emerging author trying to leave his mark on a world that is more interested in the latest piece of fan-fiction that appeals to hordes of 14-year-olds, and pick up this book the next time you're in a good book store. I promise you won't be disappointed, and if you are, you can take it up with me.
Now, for the crux of this update. You may remember the last two entries had somewhat of an overarching theme (slight understatement) and were published within a week of each other, and to my surprise, I received a ton of positive feedback on the both. The amount of readers was quite high compared to what I usually average, included four different continents (really) and for some reason, plenty of you felt the need to contact me directly. I greatly enjoy all the feedback, and it's always nice to know your words actually meant something to someone (though, obviously not to the one you wrote them for. Writers, like just about everyone else whose job involves any kind of public exposure, do what they do not be heard, seen or read by the masses, but to be heard, seen or read by the people who actually inspired them in the endeavour. It's called having a giant ego and one leg outside of reality. To quote Jeff Winger: "Do you think astronauts go to the moon because they hate oxygen? No, they're trying to impress their high school prom kings"). Personally, I was quite proud of both entries, which showed exactly how not-petty I am and were the writings of an adult whose obviously awesome enough to write something like that and therefor prime dating material, you ******* ****, but the fact you liked it as well warmed my heart, to use Big Words.
Two people jumped out, however, and in both cases, I was supremely confused. I've had some weird conversations in my day, and both have now entered the discussion for the top spot. I'm not going to give you any details (that would be mean) but I will describe the situation, to give you a glimpse.
The first started a day after I published the initial post (I think), when I received a message from a certain Dutch girl. This girl (young woman at this point) and I shared two nights in the French Basque Country seven years ago, and we hadn't spoken since. I was still a young pup at the time, inexperienced in the ways of the world, who had only ever shared my bed with one woman. I am about 99.9 percent certain this girl did not have a good time, a plausible explanation for why I never heard of her again after those two nights. Although, in general, you don't really keep up after you do that sort of thing.
I'm telling you all of this to explain to you what a shock it was to me when she sent me a message telling me she read my blog and was touched by my words. We spent the next couple of days sending messages back and forth, finding out how we both had been, what we were up to and where we were going next. It was actually really nice, and I'm really glad she decided to send me that first message, although it was a bit weird. Sometimes the little things can give you great joy, and in this instance, it really did.
About a week later, things got even weirder when I got a message from an ex-girlfriend of mine, the last girl I was in a serious relationship with, little over three years ago. We spoke sporadically in the months after we broke up, and when she met someone new, all communications seized as he (understandably) wasn't too keen on having his significant other texting her ex-boyfriend all the time.
That changed last week, when she messaged me out of the blue to see how I was. Apparently, I'd been on her mind a lot in the past few weeks, and she just wanted to find out. I was taken aback, because I had just visited her Facebook page less than an hour before, for the first time in God-knows-how-long, asking the same questions (she hadn't updated her Facebook page in over three years, which is an impressive feat for a 20-something in 2015).
This particular conversation went a little less smoothly, for obvious reasons, although there were no unpleasantries or harsh feelings that sometimes creep up when talking to someone you saw naked, repeatedly, for a period of time before breaking things off. Nonetheless, it was as pleasant as the first, as this is obviously a girl I loved very much, and someone who will always have a special place in my heart (Big Words). To find out what she had been up to and how/what she is doing right now is something I never would have expected, but I'm glad I was given the opportunity.
Before anyone asks (and I know you will, because I know my friends), I am not hooking up with either. And not just because neither lives in the same country I do.
So, I guess that's about it. The past two weeks have been really slow, with my friends studying for exams, my former love interest bringing the hammer down on what we had going and me spending most of my time working. Outside of ordering food or telling the cashier I'l be paying by card, I had two actual conversations with people all week, wishing my dad a happy Father's Day and talking to
There's some big decisions coming up during the summer, mainly focused on where I'll be living once summer has passed, but that's something that comes up once every six months, so it's hardly news, is it?
Take care all of you. And if any ex-girlfriends, one-night stands of the past, people I bullied in middle school or former colleagues feel the need to catch up, please don't hesitate. As I recently found out, it can actually be quite fun.
Later guys.
Song of the Day
Mr. Airplane Man - Sun Sinking Low
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFCdImxEyL0
donderdag 4 juni 2015
On Getting Evicted and That Other Thing
Let us do something, while we have the chance! It is not every day that we are needed. Not indeed that we personally are needed. Others would meet the case equally well, if not better. To all mankind they were addressed, those cries for help still ringing in our ears! But at this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not. Let us make the most of it, before it is too late! Let us represent worthily for one the foul brood to which a cruel fate consigned us! What do you say? It is true that when with folded arms we weigh the pros and cons we are no less a credit to our species. The tiger bounds to the help of his congeners without the least reflexion, or else he slinks away into the depths of the thickets. But that is not the question. What are we doing here, that is the question. And we are blessed in this, that we happen to know the answer. Yes, in the immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come.
-Samuel Beckett, Waiting For Godot
Two new updates in one week? What the hell is going on??
Well, as it turns out, last week's story wasn't over. And now that the cat is out of the bag and it's safe to tell you all what has been going on, I'm free to do what I tend to do whenever something weighs me down--I get to write it off.
Before I start, I have to make an observation. I realise that on some level, what I'm about to write could be seen as insensitive, perhaps even disrespectful, to the protagonist of this story. I sincerely doubt she would ever read this, but that doesn't change anything. If she does, I hope she understands that writing things down has a therapeutic effect on me. I've been doing this since I was about 15 years old, and when people started to tell me how much they appreciated me writing freely and without any regards toward the consequences of said writings when I started this blog, I decided to publish just about anything I saw fit to write down in this blog-thingy. It helps me cope with everything life decides to throw at me, and on those occasions where great things happen, I like the idea that I get to share those things with everything who decides to read this crap. I have readers in places like Taiwan, Vietnam, Zimbabwe and Honduras (true story), and the majority of my readers are from the United States. I have no idea how this happened, but when very old friends and people I haven't spoken to in seven years write me to let me know how much they appreciate these words, it makes me feel like it's okay what I do. And if Hank Moody can turn his twisted life into best-selling novels, I think I can get away with this whole blog-thingy.
So, out with it. For the past few months, I had been "dating" (perhaps that's not the appropriate word any longer) a lovely girl I used to go to high school with and ran into again in Leuven, and for those of you who know me at all, that's a relatively big deal. I've been single for well over three years now, and haven't so much as made out with a girl since 2013 (I know, right?). We went to see several theatre shows, had dinner and I had the sense that things were going quite well. The last time we met up, things ended a bit awkwardly, and today she told me she thought it best if we didn't go out anymore as she could never foresee anything more than a close friendship (yeah, she dropped that cliché). I was a little angry it took her this long to tell me what I already knew she would say, but when she actually told me, those feelings dissipated.
Obviously, I'm not mad. Our get-togethers were spread out over a period of months because we both don't have a lot of spare time, and we weren't all that serious. All we did was go out a few times. Sometimes things don't work out, and if she couldn't see a future with me or just didn't feel it, she made the right decision. I'm not going to deny I'm a little disappointed (we'll get to that in a bit), but I understand. She even asked me whether I'd be okay with catching the occasional theatre production with her which is something I might actually want to do. Just not right now.
There are plenty of reasons why things would have never worked out between us, anyway. I mainly work weekends, she has a standard nine-to-five (sort of). I live in Leuven, which isn't exactly close to where she lives or works. I don't own a car. She has a very busy social life, to the point where it could take days for her to answer a simple text (in hindsight, this should have been a major red flag).
On the other hand, there were obviously plenty of reasons why I liked this girl. You don't make the conscious decision to stay single as long as I have, and not even touch a woman, all to potentially throw it away on a girl you sort-of like. I though she looked gorgeous, an opinion I've had since high school, when I was far too shy to ever act on said opinion (interesting side bar: She ended up dating one of my then-classmates, and while I adore the guy, my admittedly fragile ego is having a hard time dealing with the fact teenage-her would date that guy, and all-grown-up-her would draw the line at me). She looked absolutely stunning the last time I saw her, which may have contributed to my ill-advised decision to take a shot. We had plenty of similar interests, including several odd ones. We talked freely about the weirdest of subjects, I loved her sense of humour and I really, truly felt as if we were uncanningly comfortable with each other. I guess a man will see what he wants to see.
Despite all of that, I took a very cautious approach to the situation from the beginning. While the friends who were in attendance when we started talking for the first time were convinced she really, really liked me, I was a pessimist. After everything I had been through in the last few years, I wasn't going to let my emotions get the best of me. And until maybe three weeks ago, it worked. It was only recently I slowly started getting swept up in that familiar feeling I haven't felt for so long, and the prolonged wait for her final judgement made matters worse. Sure, I was checking m phone every evening in Boston to see whether or not she was paying attention to me, but I had little difficulty channeling it. I'm glad I kept my reservations for so long--right now I'm disappointed, and little else. Knowing myself and how I usually respond to these situations, I could have ran with it months ago and I would have been absolutely devastated right now.
And now the hammer has come down. It's a shame really, but you can't blame someone for not wanting to be with you. Part of me wants to scream it's unfair, that I wasn't given a fair shake, but that's bollocks. I may have been too cautious in how I approached the situation, but hindsight is 20/20. Besides, it likely wouldn't have made a difference. Sometimes, things just aren't meant to be. And even though it s*cks to admit that after three years of waiting and suddenly getting swept up in an ultimately futile endeavour, there's nothing wrong with that. It happens thousands of times every day, all around the world.
So in conclusion, I guess I want to wish you good luck. The cynic in me wants to say "you'll need it," but you're an attractive young woman with a great job and a positive disposition--I'm sure you'll do just fine. I wish you would have told me sooner, but I still had fun these past few months. It'll sting when I have to find out you found someone else, but you of all people will never know. To quote House M.D., the great poet Jagger once said "You can't always get what you want."
In other news, our new landlord has decided to evict all tennants by the end of the summer to renovate the building, even though the entire building was renovated just before we all moved in last August. It hardly matters, as I was planning on leaving my flat anyway, but it does change the timetable a bit. I have no idea what's next for me, or where I'll go. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you should never make big decision when you're emotionally unstable. Give me a couple of weeks, and I'll be fine.
I really do hope Juventus can snatch that Champions League final on Saturday. Lord knows I need it. Maybe the Red Sox can find some offence, but I won't ask for too much. It kind of s*cks having to deal with all of this on my own, as my friends are busy studying for their exams and aren't around, but I'm a big boy--I'm sure I'll manage. Summer's nearly upon us, the guys will have plenty of free time and I'll be just fine.
Take care everyone.
Song of the Day:
The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7S94ohyErSw
PS: This blog has been up for a matter of minutes and three of you have already contacted me to let me know "she's missing out." Trust me, I know. You're not being helpful by telling me that--somebody bloody convince her of that fact.
Just kidding. Please don't do that, we're not in high school anymore.
Also, these NBA Finals couldn't have come at a better time. Looks like I'ma be fine, yo.
-Samuel Beckett, Waiting For Godot
Two new updates in one week? What the hell is going on??
Well, as it turns out, last week's story wasn't over. And now that the cat is out of the bag and it's safe to tell you all what has been going on, I'm free to do what I tend to do whenever something weighs me down--I get to write it off.
Before I start, I have to make an observation. I realise that on some level, what I'm about to write could be seen as insensitive, perhaps even disrespectful, to the protagonist of this story. I sincerely doubt she would ever read this, but that doesn't change anything. If she does, I hope she understands that writing things down has a therapeutic effect on me. I've been doing this since I was about 15 years old, and when people started to tell me how much they appreciated me writing freely and without any regards toward the consequences of said writings when I started this blog, I decided to publish just about anything I saw fit to write down in this blog-thingy. It helps me cope with everything life decides to throw at me, and on those occasions where great things happen, I like the idea that I get to share those things with everything who decides to read this crap. I have readers in places like Taiwan, Vietnam, Zimbabwe and Honduras (true story), and the majority of my readers are from the United States. I have no idea how this happened, but when very old friends and people I haven't spoken to in seven years write me to let me know how much they appreciate these words, it makes me feel like it's okay what I do. And if Hank Moody can turn his twisted life into best-selling novels, I think I can get away with this whole blog-thingy.
So, out with it. For the past few months, I had been "dating" (perhaps that's not the appropriate word any longer) a lovely girl I used to go to high school with and ran into again in Leuven, and for those of you who know me at all, that's a relatively big deal. I've been single for well over three years now, and haven't so much as made out with a girl since 2013 (I know, right?). We went to see several theatre shows, had dinner and I had the sense that things were going quite well. The last time we met up, things ended a bit awkwardly, and today she told me she thought it best if we didn't go out anymore as she could never foresee anything more than a close friendship (yeah, she dropped that cliché). I was a little angry it took her this long to tell me what I already knew she would say, but when she actually told me, those feelings dissipated.
Obviously, I'm not mad. Our get-togethers were spread out over a period of months because we both don't have a lot of spare time, and we weren't all that serious. All we did was go out a few times. Sometimes things don't work out, and if she couldn't see a future with me or just didn't feel it, she made the right decision. I'm not going to deny I'm a little disappointed (we'll get to that in a bit), but I understand. She even asked me whether I'd be okay with catching the occasional theatre production with her which is something I might actually want to do. Just not right now.
There are plenty of reasons why things would have never worked out between us, anyway. I mainly work weekends, she has a standard nine-to-five (sort of). I live in Leuven, which isn't exactly close to where she lives or works. I don't own a car. She has a very busy social life, to the point where it could take days for her to answer a simple text (in hindsight, this should have been a major red flag).
On the other hand, there were obviously plenty of reasons why I liked this girl. You don't make the conscious decision to stay single as long as I have, and not even touch a woman, all to potentially throw it away on a girl you sort-of like. I though she looked gorgeous, an opinion I've had since high school, when I was far too shy to ever act on said opinion (interesting side bar: She ended up dating one of my then-classmates, and while I adore the guy, my admittedly fragile ego is having a hard time dealing with the fact teenage-her would date that guy, and all-grown-up-her would draw the line at me). She looked absolutely stunning the last time I saw her, which may have contributed to my ill-advised decision to take a shot. We had plenty of similar interests, including several odd ones. We talked freely about the weirdest of subjects, I loved her sense of humour and I really, truly felt as if we were uncanningly comfortable with each other. I guess a man will see what he wants to see.
Despite all of that, I took a very cautious approach to the situation from the beginning. While the friends who were in attendance when we started talking for the first time were convinced she really, really liked me, I was a pessimist. After everything I had been through in the last few years, I wasn't going to let my emotions get the best of me. And until maybe three weeks ago, it worked. It was only recently I slowly started getting swept up in that familiar feeling I haven't felt for so long, and the prolonged wait for her final judgement made matters worse. Sure, I was checking m phone every evening in Boston to see whether or not she was paying attention to me, but I had little difficulty channeling it. I'm glad I kept my reservations for so long--right now I'm disappointed, and little else. Knowing myself and how I usually respond to these situations, I could have ran with it months ago and I would have been absolutely devastated right now.
And now the hammer has come down. It's a shame really, but you can't blame someone for not wanting to be with you. Part of me wants to scream it's unfair, that I wasn't given a fair shake, but that's bollocks. I may have been too cautious in how I approached the situation, but hindsight is 20/20. Besides, it likely wouldn't have made a difference. Sometimes, things just aren't meant to be. And even though it s*cks to admit that after three years of waiting and suddenly getting swept up in an ultimately futile endeavour, there's nothing wrong with that. It happens thousands of times every day, all around the world.
So in conclusion, I guess I want to wish you good luck. The cynic in me wants to say "you'll need it," but you're an attractive young woman with a great job and a positive disposition--I'm sure you'll do just fine. I wish you would have told me sooner, but I still had fun these past few months. It'll sting when I have to find out you found someone else, but you of all people will never know. To quote House M.D., the great poet Jagger once said "You can't always get what you want."
In other news, our new landlord has decided to evict all tennants by the end of the summer to renovate the building, even though the entire building was renovated just before we all moved in last August. It hardly matters, as I was planning on leaving my flat anyway, but it does change the timetable a bit. I have no idea what's next for me, or where I'll go. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you should never make big decision when you're emotionally unstable. Give me a couple of weeks, and I'll be fine.
I really do hope Juventus can snatch that Champions League final on Saturday. Lord knows I need it. Maybe the Red Sox can find some offence, but I won't ask for too much. It kind of s*cks having to deal with all of this on my own, as my friends are busy studying for their exams and aren't around, but I'm a big boy--I'm sure I'll manage. Summer's nearly upon us, the guys will have plenty of free time and I'll be just fine.
Take care everyone.
Song of the Day:
The Rolling Stones - You Can't Always Get What You Want
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7S94ohyErSw
PS: This blog has been up for a matter of minutes and three of you have already contacted me to let me know "she's missing out." Trust me, I know. You're not being helpful by telling me that--somebody bloody convince her of that fact.
Just kidding. Please don't do that, we're not in high school anymore.
Also, these NBA Finals couldn't have come at a better time. Looks like I'ma be fine, yo.
vrijdag 29 mei 2015
On Anticipation and Letdowns
“You once said to me that I talk like a man in a book. I not only talk, but think and feel like one. I have spent my life in books; literature has deeply dyed my brain its own colour. This literary colouring is a protective one--like the brown of the rabbit or the checks of the quail--making it impossible for me to tell where literature ends and I begin.”
-Nathanael West
In the past, I've spoken of my love for moments and how I've always had a tendency to live my life through them. There's nothing like that first wave at sunset, or meeting up with someone you haven't seen in years, or finally reading a book that you've been looking forward to for months. For me, moments make life worth living, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
One of the consequences of such a mindset is that you spend a lot of time looking forward to things, in full-blown anticipation of the moments to come. There's this cliché mantra of "living in the moment, seizing the day" that I've always found fascinating but never really understood (I'm guessing that's why it's a cliché to begin with). I used to live in the past, and now I spend most of my time living in the future. There's nothing wrong with that--I enjoy it greatly. You could say the greatest sense of anticipation I feel on a daily basis is the promise that one day, I will no longer have to look toward the future because I've found everything I'm looking for, but once again, that means we're venturing in cliché-territory. I find no great sandness in the way I see the world. Anticipation is a good thing, at least for me. The high you experience as you live on a cloud, with those much-desired moments right around the corner, is what gets me through the day. Without it, life is a monotone sequence of events that's played on repeat. I'd much rather be giddy with excitement over what tomorrow, or next week, or next month might bring. In fact, the further away my prospective moment is, the more I like it.
And sometimes, relying so heavily on moments and anticipation can come back to bite you in the arse. I've spent the past few weeks on a cloud, breezing through the day as I looked forward to one of those moments. Only, it never came. The result was as obvious as it was inevitable, like a balloon that deflated (hur-hur) in a hurry. You're left with this great pit of nothing, and a truckload of unfullfilled expectations.
There's anger, confusion and a whole range of emotions you go through, for a short period, but ultimately, the nothingness takes over. You give yourself the old-man-speech (I'm not mad, just disappointed) and accept that the weeks or months you spent anticipating this moment were a huge waste of time. Or maybe it wasn't--after all, the anticipation pushed you forward, and made you enjoy life just a little more. Sure, there are questions, and the incredible urge not to accept what happened, but ultimately, it doesn't really matter. It's a damn shame, but at least it was fun while it lasted.
So, what's next? You return to the monotone existance, realising there's bound to be another moment right around the corner. And in the meantime, you stick your head in the sand. Headphones on, world off. And if you feel so inclined, you might as well try and write it off.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of red wine and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Song of the Day: Admiral Freebee - Rags and Run
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ajd810dHxcM
-Nathanael West
In the past, I've spoken of my love for moments and how I've always had a tendency to live my life through them. There's nothing like that first wave at sunset, or meeting up with someone you haven't seen in years, or finally reading a book that you've been looking forward to for months. For me, moments make life worth living, and I wouldn't have it any other way.
One of the consequences of such a mindset is that you spend a lot of time looking forward to things, in full-blown anticipation of the moments to come. There's this cliché mantra of "living in the moment, seizing the day" that I've always found fascinating but never really understood (I'm guessing that's why it's a cliché to begin with). I used to live in the past, and now I spend most of my time living in the future. There's nothing wrong with that--I enjoy it greatly. You could say the greatest sense of anticipation I feel on a daily basis is the promise that one day, I will no longer have to look toward the future because I've found everything I'm looking for, but once again, that means we're venturing in cliché-territory. I find no great sandness in the way I see the world. Anticipation is a good thing, at least for me. The high you experience as you live on a cloud, with those much-desired moments right around the corner, is what gets me through the day. Without it, life is a monotone sequence of events that's played on repeat. I'd much rather be giddy with excitement over what tomorrow, or next week, or next month might bring. In fact, the further away my prospective moment is, the more I like it.
And sometimes, relying so heavily on moments and anticipation can come back to bite you in the arse. I've spent the past few weeks on a cloud, breezing through the day as I looked forward to one of those moments. Only, it never came. The result was as obvious as it was inevitable, like a balloon that deflated (hur-hur) in a hurry. You're left with this great pit of nothing, and a truckload of unfullfilled expectations.
There's anger, confusion and a whole range of emotions you go through, for a short period, but ultimately, the nothingness takes over. You give yourself the old-man-speech (I'm not mad, just disappointed) and accept that the weeks or months you spent anticipating this moment were a huge waste of time. Or maybe it wasn't--after all, the anticipation pushed you forward, and made you enjoy life just a little more. Sure, there are questions, and the incredible urge not to accept what happened, but ultimately, it doesn't really matter. It's a damn shame, but at least it was fun while it lasted.
So, what's next? You return to the monotone existance, realising there's bound to be another moment right around the corner. And in the meantime, you stick your head in the sand. Headphones on, world off. And if you feel so inclined, you might as well try and write it off.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of red wine and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.
Song of the Day: Admiral Freebee - Rags and Run
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ajd810dHxcM
vrijdag 17 april 2015
On Boston and New York
“Curiosity is, in great and generous minds, the first passion and the last.”
-Samuel Johnson
Howdy folks,
A few of you have asked me to give a brief recap of my time on the Eastern Seaboard, and while I don't plan on writing down an extensive journey of the trip I took to Boston and New York last week, I may as well give you a few general thoughts. I find it's way more fun to share stories of your travels in person (usually it's a back and forth) so I'll definitely keep this blog limited. If you care to know more (doubtful) just ask, and I'll gladly oblige.
So, Boston and New York. Overall, I had a fantastic time. The highlight was obviously the fact I got to see my dear friends Wannes and Elise again (even if the rendez-vous with the latter was a bit short), but really, the entire trip was great. I had never been to the United States before, and as a European who grew up watching American TV shows and soaking up American culture, I entered Boston with a bunch of stereotypical images in the back of my mind. I'm glad to say most of those turned out to be false.
For one, Americans are ridiculously nice. I understand my strong foreign accent may have something to do with that (I sound quite British, to the hilarity of the people I met last week who refused to believe I was from Belgium), but still, it was incredible to see how open these people were, both in Boston and New York. To give you an example; Elise and I had dinner in Brooklyn with a complete stranger we met less than 10 minutes before entering the restaurant. He even joined us for drinks in the most random nightclub I've ever set foot in afterwards, and after that, we went our separate ways. Just like that. And this is New York, a place where everyone supposedly stares at the ground and minds their own business. The same happened in Boston--people are chatty and just generally helpful and nice.
I only spent roughly 25 hours in NY (and 10 hours on the bus), so I can't in good conscience give a fair assessment on the city. I got to see most of the landmarks I wanted to see, had the best milkshake and hotdog of my life and met up with Elise to go to a kind of modern speak-easy, filled with hipsters and general outcasts. And it was awesome. Brooklyn and Manhattan are so different, and I think I may go back and explore the place a little more at some point in the future. New York is the kind of city I'd love to spend a year just to get a feel for the place, although I'm sure I'd never want to permanently locate.
Boston is more my kind of town, however, and not just because I'm a Red Sox, Celtics and Patriots fan (Fenway and gameday from the Bleacher Bar certainly ranked among my favourite moments of the entire trip). There's a surprising amount of historical buildings to visit, and on our first day Vincent and I did the Freedom Trail, a path that leads you past a ton of landmarks connected to the Revolutionary War. Unfortunately it was raining (it even snowed at some point during our trip, while people in Belgium were getting their tan on) but it was still an incredible experience. The Freedom Trail ends at the Bunker Hill Monument, a massive obelisk commemorating the Battle of Bunker Hill (which was fought at Bree Hill, because). There's a fantastic view over Charlestown and downtown Boston from the top, but there's no elevator (which may be the most un-American thing of all time). We were knackered from doing the trail, but I'm glad we still found the energy to get to the top.
The food was everything we had hoped for, and then some. In general, American food is insanely greasy, salty and sweet, but that didn't stop us from going to town. We were eager to try clam chowder (my personal favourite from the trip) and lobster rolls, along with a bunch of typical fast-food chains we don't get in Europe. It's not shocking to hear Wannes has gained a ton of weight in the few months he's spent there, even if most of it is muscle from hitting the gym 4x per week.
Speaking of, Americans are big. We stayed at a frat house (during pledge week) and those guys must live in the gym (and all have the same hair dresser). All those college movies you watched growing up, with the keggers and ridiculous parties, are all true. We were invited to one of those parties, and while I'll refrain from sharing the details, it was pretty mental.
Boston is kind of awesome. It's not too big, has great public transportation, a ton of green sites and beer that's affordable, compared to some other places. I'm actually kind of jealous Wannes gets to spend a semester there, even if I think four-five months would be enough. Like New York, I'm pretty sure I'd never want to permanently relocate to Boston, even if it means I would get to watch the Red Sox play on a regular basis. And since we couldn't stay to watch the game from Fenway itself (our flight left on Opening Day), we're kind of obliged to go back at some point.
So, I think that's about it. The trip home was a bit of a disaster and after spending way too much money in the States, I had to go buy a new laptop first day back in order to work as my old one had crashed (goodbye money). Work and normality resumed the day after we got back, even if I was far from ready for it (I still am not). The busiest sports day of the year is fast approaching (May 2, and it's going to be insane) so there will be little time to readjust. But there's plenty to look forward to in the immediate future, and life is fairly good.
Take care guys, and I'll see you soon.
(Photo's of the trip can be found here. It's mostly Fenway, I'm afraid)
Song of the Day: A Fenway classic.
Neil Diamond - Sweet Caroline
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsLyI1_R01M
-Samuel Johnson
Howdy folks,
A few of you have asked me to give a brief recap of my time on the Eastern Seaboard, and while I don't plan on writing down an extensive journey of the trip I took to Boston and New York last week, I may as well give you a few general thoughts. I find it's way more fun to share stories of your travels in person (usually it's a back and forth) so I'll definitely keep this blog limited. If you care to know more (doubtful) just ask, and I'll gladly oblige.
So, Boston and New York. Overall, I had a fantastic time. The highlight was obviously the fact I got to see my dear friends Wannes and Elise again (even if the rendez-vous with the latter was a bit short), but really, the entire trip was great. I had never been to the United States before, and as a European who grew up watching American TV shows and soaking up American culture, I entered Boston with a bunch of stereotypical images in the back of my mind. I'm glad to say most of those turned out to be false.
For one, Americans are ridiculously nice. I understand my strong foreign accent may have something to do with that (I sound quite British, to the hilarity of the people I met last week who refused to believe I was from Belgium), but still, it was incredible to see how open these people were, both in Boston and New York. To give you an example; Elise and I had dinner in Brooklyn with a complete stranger we met less than 10 minutes before entering the restaurant. He even joined us for drinks in the most random nightclub I've ever set foot in afterwards, and after that, we went our separate ways. Just like that. And this is New York, a place where everyone supposedly stares at the ground and minds their own business. The same happened in Boston--people are chatty and just generally helpful and nice.
I only spent roughly 25 hours in NY (and 10 hours on the bus), so I can't in good conscience give a fair assessment on the city. I got to see most of the landmarks I wanted to see, had the best milkshake and hotdog of my life and met up with Elise to go to a kind of modern speak-easy, filled with hipsters and general outcasts. And it was awesome. Brooklyn and Manhattan are so different, and I think I may go back and explore the place a little more at some point in the future. New York is the kind of city I'd love to spend a year just to get a feel for the place, although I'm sure I'd never want to permanently locate.
Boston is more my kind of town, however, and not just because I'm a Red Sox, Celtics and Patriots fan (Fenway and gameday from the Bleacher Bar certainly ranked among my favourite moments of the entire trip). There's a surprising amount of historical buildings to visit, and on our first day Vincent and I did the Freedom Trail, a path that leads you past a ton of landmarks connected to the Revolutionary War. Unfortunately it was raining (it even snowed at some point during our trip, while people in Belgium were getting their tan on) but it was still an incredible experience. The Freedom Trail ends at the Bunker Hill Monument, a massive obelisk commemorating the Battle of Bunker Hill (which was fought at Bree Hill, because). There's a fantastic view over Charlestown and downtown Boston from the top, but there's no elevator (which may be the most un-American thing of all time). We were knackered from doing the trail, but I'm glad we still found the energy to get to the top.
The food was everything we had hoped for, and then some. In general, American food is insanely greasy, salty and sweet, but that didn't stop us from going to town. We were eager to try clam chowder (my personal favourite from the trip) and lobster rolls, along with a bunch of typical fast-food chains we don't get in Europe. It's not shocking to hear Wannes has gained a ton of weight in the few months he's spent there, even if most of it is muscle from hitting the gym 4x per week.
Speaking of, Americans are big. We stayed at a frat house (during pledge week) and those guys must live in the gym (and all have the same hair dresser). All those college movies you watched growing up, with the keggers and ridiculous parties, are all true. We were invited to one of those parties, and while I'll refrain from sharing the details, it was pretty mental.
Boston is kind of awesome. It's not too big, has great public transportation, a ton of green sites and beer that's affordable, compared to some other places. I'm actually kind of jealous Wannes gets to spend a semester there, even if I think four-five months would be enough. Like New York, I'm pretty sure I'd never want to permanently relocate to Boston, even if it means I would get to watch the Red Sox play on a regular basis. And since we couldn't stay to watch the game from Fenway itself (our flight left on Opening Day), we're kind of obliged to go back at some point.
So, I think that's about it. The trip home was a bit of a disaster and after spending way too much money in the States, I had to go buy a new laptop first day back in order to work as my old one had crashed (goodbye money). Work and normality resumed the day after we got back, even if I was far from ready for it (I still am not). The busiest sports day of the year is fast approaching (May 2, and it's going to be insane) so there will be little time to readjust. But there's plenty to look forward to in the immediate future, and life is fairly good.
Take care guys, and I'll see you soon.
(Photo's of the trip can be found here. It's mostly Fenway, I'm afraid)
Song of the Day: A Fenway classic.
Neil Diamond - Sweet Caroline
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NsLyI1_R01M
donderdag 2 april 2015
On Lists and Relatives
Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
-Simone and Garfunkel
Hey guys;
Originally, this entry had been planned as some kind of pre-Boston feature. I was planning on making two lists (the subject of said entry), one on fantastic one-liners that ended a film (a discussion we had last week in a bar, think Gone With The Wind's "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn" or Das Leben Der Anderen's "Nein, es ist fur mich," which was my personal favourite) followed by a list of things I absolutely want to see in Boston and New York (which I may still put in this entry, providing I actually go to NY, which is somewhat a mistery). If anything, this entry may serve as a clear lesson to myself: Procrastination is a bad thing. Because I had planned to write this entry for weeks, and I wa sort of looking forward to it.
And then my grandfather died.
Now, some perspective is in order. My mother has been married and divorced three times on the record, and along with those three marriages, she's had two long-term partners. I've never once blamed my mother for anything. She's an incredible woman who has spent the bulk of her life caring for a large family which was subject to change. My mother did everything she could to make sure me and my syblings would never want for anything, no matter what it took. As I was the oldest, we never really connected. She was working or taking care of the kids, and I was on my own more often than not. We never really connected, and I'm okay with that. I love my mother, and I have nothing but respect for her and what she did for my and my brothers and sisters.
But, as a result of those marriages and long-lasting relationships, I have quite an extended family. Vake, as I used to call him, was my sister's grandfather, the father of my mother's second husband. I hadn't seen him in years, just twice since he had a stroke some 10 years ago. We weren't related, but like Herman, his son and my sister's dad, he took care of me for years. He was always kind to me when I was still a child. There's no logical reason for any of that. I was not his grandson. I was just this little kid, who happened to be Maitë's brother, and he took care of me regardless. He was kind, and when my mum divorced his son, we lost all contact. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry we saw each other just twice after all of that went down.
He died yesterday. He went to play a game of petanque, returned home, sat down at the table, told Moeke he wasn't feeling to good and dropped dead, right there at the table. I was at work when my mother called me to let my know, and I just didn't know what to think. I informed my boss to let them know I might have to cancel a shift due to the funeral, and that was that. I just didn't know. And then I sat down and cried. Maybe for a good 10 minutes, while I tried to eat, I cried and then I was okay. Except I really wasn't. I finished work, went out to have a drink and tried to pretend everything was fine, but it really wasn't. I just couldn't believe Vake was dead, even if he had suffered a stroke a good 10 years ago and had been hanging by a thread ever since.
Just last week, I was talking to my dad (my real dad) and told him how I wanted to meet up with my mum's second husband, Herman. He had always been so nice to me, treated me like his own son. Compared to others, he was so gentle and just so great. Looking bad on it, I'm almost sorry he never had the chance to really raise me, have been there in my teens. A part of me even wonders how I would have turned out. He was just so unselfish, and so kind. And when he and my mother split up, we never spoke again. I told my real dad I wanted to call him, meet up with him and thank him for everything he did, tell him how much I appreciated it. And three days later, I was calling him to wish him my condoleances on the death of his father. Three days later, I'm the one consoling him.
I've spent the last several years traveling. Ever since I turned 18, I've spent a good chunk of my time abroad, either teaching surfing or trying to start a new life. During that span, I ruined the only healthy relationship I ever had with a woman, alienated my syblings and built a dam between me and my friends. I know I f*cked up--hell, I remind myself every day. At the time, I thought I was making all the right choices, because millenials are idiots and I'm a prime example. I've since somewhat turned my life around, gotten a decent job and have actually maintained regular contact with the people closest to me. But no matter how you spin it, I've been a bad sybling. A bad brother, a bad son and a bad friend. I've always known this and taken it as a necessary evil. But now, I suddenly realise I've been a bad grandson as well.
This isn't the first grandparent I've lost, nor the closest. I've lost blood relatives before, and it hurt like crap. But perhaps at the time I wasn't old enough to realise what it meant. And maybe now I am. Because this man did everything he could to make sure I was safe, and now he's dead. This man spent so much time looking out for me and keeping me safe, and now he's dead. And like Dominic and my great-grandmother, he died not knowing exactly what he meant to me. And I'm not okay with that.
I'm really sorry. I'll try and update this blog ahead of Boston and New York to give y'all some kind of update on what I'm looking forward to, something positive for a change. But right now, I just can't.
Take care, and if you're someone close to me, please understand how much I love you. I really do, even if I don't always show it.
Song of the Day: Ween - Buenas Tardes Amigo
vrijdag 6 maart 2015
On Tranquility and Peace
“The best place to start an adventure is with a quiet, perfect life . . . and someone who realizes that it can’t possibly be enough.”
-Kevin J. Anderson
Hello dear reader, and welcome to this obligatory update. I fear I have very little news for you, but with the trip to the USA coming up and me not having written in a couple of weeks, I felt as if I had to sit down and start punching some keys or this blog would just sit there and gather dust. With the lone exception of a rather unsettling--and potentially devastating--turn of events regarding my direct family and a minor health scare, which is something I experience roughly every six months, everything has been very quiet. Life sort of carries on like a babbling brook, with few incidents and not too many dark thoughts obstructing my everyday life. This is a very new experience for me, as I usually jump out of my skin when everything is calm like this, but I'm kind of enjoying it. I spend my days working, playing snooker with a friend, going out occasionally and hitting the gym with some consistency. It's all very basic, standard stuff just about every 26-year-old does, and knowing myself I should start bracing because Armageddon is right around the corner (it's when you let your guard down you get hit the hardest). But for now, I'm just fine.
I signed a new contract with the firm I'm currently working with (my third since last March) which included a slight pay-raise, which is always nice. More than the money, it means your hard work is appreciated, something several of my bosses were sure to let me know. I don't think I've ever held a serious, normal job for longer than four months before, and I feel good where I am right now. Sure, I miss working in an office and all of the social interactions that come with it, but there's no reason why that couldn't be on the cards in due time. And in the meantime, I'm perfectly fine with where I am.
So, what have I been up to outside of work? Obviously I'm trying to plan my upcoming trip to see Wannes, Elise and the Land of the Free, although so far I've failed miserably. I bought an actual snooker cue because I could and it's awesome and it was dirt cheap and I think I may have found a new hobby. Carnival is something that usually passes me by, but I actually went to see the parade for a short while before I had to start work (it was awful. The parade, not work). Apart from all that, I've tried to keep up with my social engagements, although, like life in general, things have been fairly quiet on that front. I did have a very lovely evening the other day in the most unexpected way, but going out, I generally spend my time sitting, drinking and immersed in conversations about nerdy TV, literature, politics, football and women (those are the Big Five).
Speaking of nerdy TV--I'm sure going to miss Parks and Recreation. The Little Engine That Could, but the TV version. After a bloody awful first season, that show completely reinvented itself, somehow stayed alive long enough to broadcast a full seven seasons and produced a ton of lovely characters and fantastic one-liners along the way. I loved the finale (were you watching, Dexter/How I Met Your Mother?), and while Parks was never perfect, it was bloody brilliant, regardless. So was the season finale of Suits, which I seemed to enjoy more than most, and the trailer of Season Six of Community (which, among other things, took aim at its biggest "competitor," The Big Bang Theory, a show I actually watched for four seasons before I had to give up. That is the very definition of a laughing-track-dependent show right there. So lazy). TV is awesome.
I kind of feel like this entry is missing something. I have no intention of explaining what's going on with my family, although any other day I might easily fill this blog with a 600-page essay on brotherhood, empty promises and the uncanny ability humans have of forgetting why we no longer trust people and how it's always the ones we love the most who get away with everything and keep f*cking us over long after they're gone. Likewise, my health is fine now after a not-so-slight scare (I was kind of lying earlier), but those who know me well enough likely already know what that means and those who don't have no business knowing anyway. Sorry.
I'll be taking a decent camera with me to the USA (there are certain photo's we simply have to take. TD Garden, here we come) but I won't be bringing a laptop I think, so while I do plan on somewhat documenting the trip, you may have to wait until it's actually over. I will be available and will post the occasional update via Facebook or Twitter, and if you need to reach me asap, both my British and Belgian phone number still work. If there's anything in particular you'd like me to bring back, please let me know. And if you have any suggestions regarding things we absolutely have to see or do, be sure to drop me a line (we'll be in NY for less than 36 hours, but that part of the trip is going to be a Blitzkrieg anyway, so suggest away).
Alright, that's it I guess. Take care, and always remember that even though people are perfectly capable of change, self-preservation is far more important than giving someone another chance. At the end of the day, it's never clear whether people are sincere or not, and it's not up to you to let that alter your decisions. What you have to decide on isn't just whether that person is important enough to you to let them back in, but whether or not the consequences of such a reuinion are worth it to begin with (something that can change with time). And as much as it sucks being on the other end of the decision, you can't fault a person for doing what is best for them. Or what they think is best for them. They say humans are selfish creatures--we may as well heed those words and act on it.
Song of the Day: My Morning Jacket - Rocket Man
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JidndXB_kS0
-Kevin J. Anderson
Hello dear reader, and welcome to this obligatory update. I fear I have very little news for you, but with the trip to the USA coming up and me not having written in a couple of weeks, I felt as if I had to sit down and start punching some keys or this blog would just sit there and gather dust. With the lone exception of a rather unsettling--and potentially devastating--turn of events regarding my direct family and a minor health scare, which is something I experience roughly every six months, everything has been very quiet. Life sort of carries on like a babbling brook, with few incidents and not too many dark thoughts obstructing my everyday life. This is a very new experience for me, as I usually jump out of my skin when everything is calm like this, but I'm kind of enjoying it. I spend my days working, playing snooker with a friend, going out occasionally and hitting the gym with some consistency. It's all very basic, standard stuff just about every 26-year-old does, and knowing myself I should start bracing because Armageddon is right around the corner (it's when you let your guard down you get hit the hardest). But for now, I'm just fine.
I signed a new contract with the firm I'm currently working with (my third since last March) which included a slight pay-raise, which is always nice. More than the money, it means your hard work is appreciated, something several of my bosses were sure to let me know. I don't think I've ever held a serious, normal job for longer than four months before, and I feel good where I am right now. Sure, I miss working in an office and all of the social interactions that come with it, but there's no reason why that couldn't be on the cards in due time. And in the meantime, I'm perfectly fine with where I am.
So, what have I been up to outside of work? Obviously I'm trying to plan my upcoming trip to see Wannes, Elise and the Land of the Free, although so far I've failed miserably. I bought an actual snooker cue because I could and it's awesome and it was dirt cheap and I think I may have found a new hobby. Carnival is something that usually passes me by, but I actually went to see the parade for a short while before I had to start work (it was awful. The parade, not work). Apart from all that, I've tried to keep up with my social engagements, although, like life in general, things have been fairly quiet on that front. I did have a very lovely evening the other day in the most unexpected way, but going out, I generally spend my time sitting, drinking and immersed in conversations about nerdy TV, literature, politics, football and women (those are the Big Five).
Speaking of nerdy TV--I'm sure going to miss Parks and Recreation. The Little Engine That Could, but the TV version. After a bloody awful first season, that show completely reinvented itself, somehow stayed alive long enough to broadcast a full seven seasons and produced a ton of lovely characters and fantastic one-liners along the way. I loved the finale (were you watching, Dexter/How I Met Your Mother?), and while Parks was never perfect, it was bloody brilliant, regardless. So was the season finale of Suits, which I seemed to enjoy more than most, and the trailer of Season Six of Community (which, among other things, took aim at its biggest "competitor," The Big Bang Theory, a show I actually watched for four seasons before I had to give up. That is the very definition of a laughing-track-dependent show right there. So lazy). TV is awesome.
I kind of feel like this entry is missing something. I have no intention of explaining what's going on with my family, although any other day I might easily fill this blog with a 600-page essay on brotherhood, empty promises and the uncanny ability humans have of forgetting why we no longer trust people and how it's always the ones we love the most who get away with everything and keep f*cking us over long after they're gone. Likewise, my health is fine now after a not-so-slight scare (I was kind of lying earlier), but those who know me well enough likely already know what that means and those who don't have no business knowing anyway. Sorry.
I'll be taking a decent camera with me to the USA (there are certain photo's we simply have to take. TD Garden, here we come) but I won't be bringing a laptop I think, so while I do plan on somewhat documenting the trip, you may have to wait until it's actually over. I will be available and will post the occasional update via Facebook or Twitter, and if you need to reach me asap, both my British and Belgian phone number still work. If there's anything in particular you'd like me to bring back, please let me know. And if you have any suggestions regarding things we absolutely have to see or do, be sure to drop me a line (we'll be in NY for less than 36 hours, but that part of the trip is going to be a Blitzkrieg anyway, so suggest away).
Alright, that's it I guess. Take care, and always remember that even though people are perfectly capable of change, self-preservation is far more important than giving someone another chance. At the end of the day, it's never clear whether people are sincere or not, and it's not up to you to let that alter your decisions. What you have to decide on isn't just whether that person is important enough to you to let them back in, but whether or not the consequences of such a reuinion are worth it to begin with (something that can change with time). And as much as it sucks being on the other end of the decision, you can't fault a person for doing what is best for them. Or what they think is best for them. They say humans are selfish creatures--we may as well heed those words and act on it.
Song of the Day: My Morning Jacket - Rocket Man
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JidndXB_kS0
woensdag 18 februari 2015
On Anniversaries and Reflection
“I suspect the truth is that we are waiting, all of us, against insurmountable odds, for something extraordinary to happen to us.”
-Khaled Hosseini
Hey guys,
Sorry for the long wait. So much has happened in the past few weeks (mainly trivial stuff), but I didn't really feel like writing and kept pushing this particular entry ahead of me, until today. As a result, I'll probably have to summarise most of it in an attempt not to turn this into a 10,000-word essay, although that might be a good thing. So, let's get to it.
My birthday. It was actually quite great. I stayed in, had a glass of scotch, read a good book and just enjoyed my me-time. I do lead a busy life these days, so it was nice to just take the weekend off and relax. I had dinner with my dad a few days later and he gave me the coolest birthday present ever (an actual, classic pocket-watch. He gets me), and I'll be seeing the other side of the family this Friday, so all in all, things worked out pretty well.
I crossed the 20-million readers treshold a few weeks ago at work, which is kind of insane. I remember how excited I was when I hit my first million, or how an article with 10k+ readers would impress me, and it's kind of odd to look back at all of that and see how far I've come in a professional capacity. My early work certainly wasn't bad, but man, I've learned so much in the past year or so. And now my work has been read by 20 million people. I have "fans" contacting me on a weekly basis from all over the world, people who rely on me for information (I'm a goddamn blogger with 358 followers on Twitter. Why the hell would you come to me?) and regular readers who bug me when I haven't written about a particular subject in a number of days. The word "career" is something people throw around far too often and something I never really cared about, but if I allow myself to take a step back and just look at what's going on, I wonder why I shouldn't believe it would be possible? Yeah, that's right--me, of all people, could actually be making something of himself.
Onto the SuperBowl. As you might imagine (if you know me at all), I may have lost five years of my life in the span of 30-some minutes. As a Patriots fan, it was utter insanity. The joy of the excellent start, the depression of the meltdown that started late in the second quarter, the utter jubilation when the comeback was on and that sinking feeling of "oh no, not again" inside the final two minutes. I went through all the stages of grief in about 35 seconds and had resigned myself to the fact we would lose yet another SuperBowl on yet another freak catch, and then Malcolm Butler jumped the pick play. I very nearly cried. Sports are amazing. There is nothing in life that can make you feel this way, and I couldn't be happier that this is the year I'm visiting Boston. You can be damn straight I'm going to Patriot Place, visiting Gillette Stadium and spending at least 200 US Dollars on Patriots and Red Sox memorabilia.
Glad we got the trivial stuff out of the way (I an assure you, the SB did not feel trivial at the time). I guess that means it's time for the real stuff.
Today is February 19th, which means I wote my very first blogpost exactly one year ago. At the time I hated the idea and I was sure this blog-thingy was going to be a complete disaster, which is why it's a little surprising I managed to produce 42 posts in a single year, with a surprisingly large readership. Of course it had to be 42. Of course.
There's this unwritten rule where, after you make a statement in the vein of "A year ago I did this," it is followed by the words "and much has changed in that time." But I'm not sure that's true. In fact, I know I've changed, and I hope for the better, but outside of the inner workings of yours truly, I can't really see all that many differences. I no longer live in London, although I'm not sure whether that's a permanent state or not. Yes, I'm entertaining the idea of moving back to London, which probably sounds absurd. I've made no final plans yet, but I am covering my bases and I've already talked to several people about it.
London was weird, and by the time I left, I was happy to be coming home. But I miss the place. It's a hard city to leave behind. And even more than the city, I miss how I felt for that brief window of time before I took my trip back home in May.
I've been back for half a year now, and there's this sense of hopelessness I can't seem to shake. And I feel absolutely terrible for saying that. I love the fact I have regular contact with my friends, who I talk to and see all the time. I love the fact I'm close to my relatives, even if I don't get to see them all that often. And I hate having to say that it just isn't enough.
The day I left London, I told my closest friend there that I'd be back soon. There was a part of me that knew something didn't feel right, even if the rest of my being was screaming to come back home. I blamed the breakup goggles, as I knew all too well I was uttery miserable just about 95% of the lonely nights I spent there, but that feeling never went away.
When Donald Glover released his album Because of the Internet, it was accompanied by a short film called Clapping for the Wrong Reasons. And it was weird. Like, hipster, I-was-stoned-while-I-made-this-film weird. But the title stuck with me. From the very moment I decided to come back, I couldn't shake the feeling I was leaving London for the wrong reasons. I told my friend I was making a mistake, and I needed to get confronted by it. I needed to bash my head against the wall until it hurt, more than it ever did before. and maybe that would be the end of it. I've contradicted this statement so many times before, but things need an ending. Things can never be complete without an ending.
I don't know. Like I said (and regular readers of this blog well know), I was miserable for the vast majority of my time in London, but there was a sense of an actual future for me that I haven't felt since. Maybe I wasn't ready at the time, or old enough to understand what I was doing, but now I am. Or maybe I'm just getting all nostalgic because exactly one year ago, I sat down behind this very computer with tears in my eyes and started typing from my new place in London. Wide-eyed, full of pain, anger, hate, regret and envy, but with half an eye on the promise of a better life. That person is gone now. The memories remain and occasionally surface, but the person is gone. And as frustrating as it is, the new guy has just as many questions.
We can't have the best of both worlds. I can't live in two places at the same time :)
Yeah, the nostalgia has kicked in. Time to end this.
Song of the Day: Oscar Peterson Trio - Hymn To Freedom
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpCJ3fqtsws
-Khaled Hosseini
Hey guys,
Sorry for the long wait. So much has happened in the past few weeks (mainly trivial stuff), but I didn't really feel like writing and kept pushing this particular entry ahead of me, until today. As a result, I'll probably have to summarise most of it in an attempt not to turn this into a 10,000-word essay, although that might be a good thing. So, let's get to it.
My birthday. It was actually quite great. I stayed in, had a glass of scotch, read a good book and just enjoyed my me-time. I do lead a busy life these days, so it was nice to just take the weekend off and relax. I had dinner with my dad a few days later and he gave me the coolest birthday present ever (an actual, classic pocket-watch. He gets me), and I'll be seeing the other side of the family this Friday, so all in all, things worked out pretty well.
I crossed the 20-million readers treshold a few weeks ago at work, which is kind of insane. I remember how excited I was when I hit my first million, or how an article with 10k+ readers would impress me, and it's kind of odd to look back at all of that and see how far I've come in a professional capacity. My early work certainly wasn't bad, but man, I've learned so much in the past year or so. And now my work has been read by 20 million people. I have "fans" contacting me on a weekly basis from all over the world, people who rely on me for information (I'm a goddamn blogger with 358 followers on Twitter. Why the hell would you come to me?) and regular readers who bug me when I haven't written about a particular subject in a number of days. The word "career" is something people throw around far too often and something I never really cared about, but if I allow myself to take a step back and just look at what's going on, I wonder why I shouldn't believe it would be possible? Yeah, that's right--me, of all people, could actually be making something of himself.
Onto the SuperBowl. As you might imagine (if you know me at all), I may have lost five years of my life in the span of 30-some minutes. As a Patriots fan, it was utter insanity. The joy of the excellent start, the depression of the meltdown that started late in the second quarter, the utter jubilation when the comeback was on and that sinking feeling of "oh no, not again" inside the final two minutes. I went through all the stages of grief in about 35 seconds and had resigned myself to the fact we would lose yet another SuperBowl on yet another freak catch, and then Malcolm Butler jumped the pick play. I very nearly cried. Sports are amazing. There is nothing in life that can make you feel this way, and I couldn't be happier that this is the year I'm visiting Boston. You can be damn straight I'm going to Patriot Place, visiting Gillette Stadium and spending at least 200 US Dollars on Patriots and Red Sox memorabilia.
Glad we got the trivial stuff out of the way (I an assure you, the SB did not feel trivial at the time). I guess that means it's time for the real stuff.
Today is February 19th, which means I wote my very first blogpost exactly one year ago. At the time I hated the idea and I was sure this blog-thingy was going to be a complete disaster, which is why it's a little surprising I managed to produce 42 posts in a single year, with a surprisingly large readership. Of course it had to be 42. Of course.
There's this unwritten rule where, after you make a statement in the vein of "A year ago I did this," it is followed by the words "and much has changed in that time." But I'm not sure that's true. In fact, I know I've changed, and I hope for the better, but outside of the inner workings of yours truly, I can't really see all that many differences. I no longer live in London, although I'm not sure whether that's a permanent state or not. Yes, I'm entertaining the idea of moving back to London, which probably sounds absurd. I've made no final plans yet, but I am covering my bases and I've already talked to several people about it.
London was weird, and by the time I left, I was happy to be coming home. But I miss the place. It's a hard city to leave behind. And even more than the city, I miss how I felt for that brief window of time before I took my trip back home in May.
I've been back for half a year now, and there's this sense of hopelessness I can't seem to shake. And I feel absolutely terrible for saying that. I love the fact I have regular contact with my friends, who I talk to and see all the time. I love the fact I'm close to my relatives, even if I don't get to see them all that often. And I hate having to say that it just isn't enough.
The day I left London, I told my closest friend there that I'd be back soon. There was a part of me that knew something didn't feel right, even if the rest of my being was screaming to come back home. I blamed the breakup goggles, as I knew all too well I was uttery miserable just about 95% of the lonely nights I spent there, but that feeling never went away.
When Donald Glover released his album Because of the Internet, it was accompanied by a short film called Clapping for the Wrong Reasons. And it was weird. Like, hipster, I-was-stoned-while-I-made-this-film weird. But the title stuck with me. From the very moment I decided to come back, I couldn't shake the feeling I was leaving London for the wrong reasons. I told my friend I was making a mistake, and I needed to get confronted by it. I needed to bash my head against the wall until it hurt, more than it ever did before. and maybe that would be the end of it. I've contradicted this statement so many times before, but things need an ending. Things can never be complete without an ending.
I don't know. Like I said (and regular readers of this blog well know), I was miserable for the vast majority of my time in London, but there was a sense of an actual future for me that I haven't felt since. Maybe I wasn't ready at the time, or old enough to understand what I was doing, but now I am. Or maybe I'm just getting all nostalgic because exactly one year ago, I sat down behind this very computer with tears in my eyes and started typing from my new place in London. Wide-eyed, full of pain, anger, hate, regret and envy, but with half an eye on the promise of a better life. That person is gone now. The memories remain and occasionally surface, but the person is gone. And as frustrating as it is, the new guy has just as many questions.
We can't have the best of both worlds. I can't live in two places at the same time :)
Yeah, the nostalgia has kicked in. Time to end this.
Song of the Day: Oscar Peterson Trio - Hymn To Freedom
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpCJ3fqtsws
vrijdag 23 januari 2015
On Aging and Perspective
“I don't like work--no man does--but I like what is in the work--the chance to find yourself. Your own reality--for yourself not for others--what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.”
“No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.”
-Joseph Conrad
Hey everyone,
Im writing you just a few hours after turning 26, and I'm writing you from Belgium, not London. My travel plans fell through fairly last-minute, which is unfortunate, but certainly not the end of the world. I would love to be preparing for my trip back to the Big Smoke (I'd be asleep, as a matter of fact) as I was really looking forward to seeing the place again, but there will be plenty of chances to do so in the future. Not going to London saves me quite a bit of money (roughly 300 US dollars is my estimate, unless I'd have gone overboard with buying people drinks, which, knowing myself, I probably would have). Instead, I bought myself six new books, a decent bottle of whisky and one of my favourite paintings, which is money well spent and far cheaper than two days in the UK.
I've also booked tickets for Boston (early April) and I'll be in New York for two days, and given the fact I won't be spending much in terms of lodgings, that trip will actually be only about three times as expensive as two days of London, to give you some idea.
The painting in case is The Hay Wain, by John Constable (not the original, duh, but a 75cm by 55cm reproduction on canvas). The fine people who printed it got the colours right and everything, and really, the result is quite marvelous. The original hangs in the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square, while Constable also made an oil sketch (as he did with all of his full-scale paintings), displayed at the Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington.
It's a fantastic work, with subtle but beautiful strokes, which I unfortunately can't appreciate in my reproduction. But it's not my favourite painting--it's not even my favourite Constable. The Hay Wain has special meaning for me, which I'll try to explain without making an ass of myself.
The sketch hangs just outside of the John Constable-wing in the Victoria and Albert Museum, a sort of welcome for visitors interested in his work. The wing itself is located past one of the museum's most famous halls, which includes Edgar Degas' Ballet Scene from the Opera Robert Le Diable, also a fantastic work and one I may be adding to my wall at some point in the future. The point is thousands of people enter that hall every day in search of the Degas (and several other fantastic pieces), lay eye on The Hay Wain and move on. Unless you're a tourist desperate to see everything the museum has to offer or just really interested in Constable, you'll probably pass one of the smaller and "less interesting" wings as you go.
I happen to be a big fan of Constable, and I must have been to the (free) Victoria and Albert Museum at least five times during my seven-somewhat months in London. I saw the sketch at least five times (the original twice, and twice I couldn't stand the massive crowd standing in front of the piece), but around the sketch, things were quiet. For me, The Hay Wain was the last piece I saw before entering the Constable wing, with all its wonders. The painting presents promise, unmistakable joy right around the corner. And as I sit here now, at my desk, all I have to do is look up to feel that slight twitch, the hint of joy that awaits me. Maybe it's a Pavlov thing, but I like it. Our species is built around hope, fabricated or real. And this feels pleasant. Feel free to come check out my ("my") painting anytime you like.
Now, onto the birthday. Outside of a 2 p.m. appointment to get fitted with my first contacts, I don't really have any plans. My dad suggested I'd come around and I told him I couldn't because I may have had plans to meet up with someone. Im sorry to tell you this dad, but that was a lie. To be honest with you, I simply felt like having a quiet night at home with a good book and a glass of whisky once my plans for London fell through.
Any adult will tell you 26 is not old, simply because it isn't. I'm still a young man. But according to the latest censuses, I'm officialy a third of the way in. That's right--the average lifespan of an adult male is 78 as of right now (by the time we reach that age, it will either be higher or humanity will have been wiped out by a mutated virus/asteroid/alien invasion/mass famine/zombies/Judgement Day/nuclear warfare/take your pick). And that got me thinking.
At first, it was kind of depressing. I've mathematically lived roughly one third of my life, and for all intents and purposes, my best days are behind me. My body will start to decay at some point in the future, with the damage being irreversible. The days of playing in the mud without a care in the world are gone. Instead of riding my bike, thinking girl are ickey and struggling with counting to 50, I'm paying taxes, saving money for retirement and forcing myself into eating things I don't like, simply because it's good for me.
After 33.33 percent of the time allotted to me, I've managed to acquire very little. I have a job I like and which provides me with everything I need to survive, a small studio appartment, relatives in reasonable health and a handful of friends I care deeply about but may not see as often as I'd like. There's no girlfriend or love interest, no offspring (thank god for that. I'm 26, and in this day and age, kids come later), no greatness waiting in the wings. In fact, I don't even own a car or a television. Other than the fact I pay taxes, I have very little to offer to this world. Sure, it's bizarre to hear I actually have "fans" of my work as a sports writer in faraway places like Boston (thanks for that anecdote, Wannes), but the day I stop writing is the day they find their fix with another journalist.
What Im about to say to you is meant as a practical viewpoint, and I don't mean it as a depressing thought in any way, but if we're being completely honest, my hypothetical death would have virtually no impact on this planet. Friends and family would mourn, for a while, but given the fact they really don't see me or hear of me all that often, their everyday lives would hardly be impacted. I know they'd miss me--of course they would--but they would manage, and soon pick up where they left off and carry on. My bosses would have to find a replacement, my landlord a new tennant. There's no grieving widow, no child forced to grow up fatherless and no pivotal work going unfinished.
One third into this adventure we call life, I've "achieved" virtually nothing. And seven days out of ten, this botters me tremendously. But not today. Because, when you think of it, I have it pretty good. Sure, most of the time I hate my life and current living situation, but I have a good job I enjoy doing, friends I can count on, a family that will always be there for me, money in my pocket and a good health. I've seen more of the world than most ever will, enjoyed a dream life as a surf coach for several years and now get to do for a living what I dreamt of doing when I was 15--write. I can't help but think of a scene from White Collar (for those of you who know it), in season three, when Jones has to help the husband of a girl he used to date. He sits down with Caffrey in his appartment to have a drink, and for the first time in the series, really, we get a glimpse of the fact he's human, not just a badge. I'm trying my hardest to find a clip of the scene online to link for you, but apart from linking you to the entire episode (illegally), I can't seem to find anything. So, I'm just going to link to the script of the scene here, if you don't mind. Obviously it hardly tells the whole story, and I truly suggest you look up the eiposde and watch it (Season Three, Episode Eight: Come As You Were):
Caffrey: Yeah, so, while we were waiting, I thought maybe you could use a drink.
Jones: Come on in. I'll get a couple glasses.
Caffrey: Okay.
Jones: I screwed up.
Caffrey: Aw, a little bit. But you're a good man, Jones.
Jones: Yeah?
Caffrey: Yeah.
Jones: Then why did I let van Horn get to me?
Caffrey: Mm, same reason that landed me consecutive 4-year prison sentences.
Jones: What, an almost sociopathic need to tell lies of omission and get something for nothing?
Caffrey: I was gonna say "passion.”
Jones: Mm. Passion.
Caffrey: Yeah, it makes the world go 'round. Passion to get what we want, passion to keep what we have, passion to get back to things we lost.
Jones: No. I left Isabelle...for a reason.
Caffrey: Which was?
Jones: Which was, if we had stayed together, she would have been miserable. She would've had to quit her job, move to the city, and you know the hours that I keep at the Bureau. We never would have seen each other. So I made a choice.
Caffrey: To leave?
Jones: To leave. We can't have it all, right?
Caffrey: Well, why not?
Jones: Why not?
Caffrey: Why not?
Jones: Why not?
Caffrey: Why not?
Jones: Well, because choices are sacrifices. And, inevitably, that means giving up something that you want for something that you want more. So, now I have to ask... What does "having it all" mean to Neal Caffrey?
Caffrey: Never having to worry about money. Um, doing something that's meaningful, being surrounded by people I care about and respect, you know. That's pretty much the dream.
Jones: Screw you.
Caffrey: Screw me?
Jones: Screw you. You're already living the dream.
Caffrey: Oh, come on.
Jones: No, you are the damned dream with a tracking anklet. Am I wrong?
Caffrey: Well, screw you back, Jones, 'cause you got the same things I do.
Jones: Yeah, well, maybe not the same living arrangements. Am I right?
Caffrey: Yeah.
Jones: I guess I do have it pretty good, don't I?
Caffrey: Yeah. Guess we both do.
What it comes down to is that Jones is upset over the things he lost, but he and Caffrey (the main character) come to the conclusion that, while both of their situations are less than ideal, they both ended up in a pretty good situation, living a fulfilling life by any standards. It feels odd (and almost wrong) to compare my life to a TV show, but in a way, that's how I feel right now. I'm 26 years old, and I'm living a pretty good life. Sure, I'm not an FBI agent (that would be freakin' awesome) but there's nothing wrong with my job, and I love doing it. There's plenty I've lost in these past 26 years. There has been heartache, tears, misery in its purest form. There have been countless disappointments, times I had no clue how I was going to pick myself up from what had happened and even times I seriously contemplated making sure I'd never reach the age of 26. And yes, there are nights I still cry myself to sleep, to this day. And all of that is fine. It's part of who I am, and part of who most of us are. And if I die tomorrow (God forbid), I'll still have lived a great, full life, and I'll go smiling. Life's pretty awesome for most of us, guys.
Back when I was still a surf coach (my boss would refer to this period as "Beachboy," which is incredibly embarrassing), I had this one song I'd periodically turn on. I'd dance like an absolute maniac, and I wouldn't care less people were looking at me as if I was having a stroke. I loved acting out and just having fun, and I still do. And before long, people would join in, and we'd all have a blast. Because that's what life is--a blast. Considering this is my birthday (aka "my day"), I'll play you out with my song.
Song of the Day: Gigi D'Agostino: L'Amour Toujours
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w15oWDh02K4
“No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence--that which makes its truth, its meaning--its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream--alone.”
-Joseph Conrad
Hey everyone,
Im writing you just a few hours after turning 26, and I'm writing you from Belgium, not London. My travel plans fell through fairly last-minute, which is unfortunate, but certainly not the end of the world. I would love to be preparing for my trip back to the Big Smoke (I'd be asleep, as a matter of fact) as I was really looking forward to seeing the place again, but there will be plenty of chances to do so in the future. Not going to London saves me quite a bit of money (roughly 300 US dollars is my estimate, unless I'd have gone overboard with buying people drinks, which, knowing myself, I probably would have). Instead, I bought myself six new books, a decent bottle of whisky and one of my favourite paintings, which is money well spent and far cheaper than two days in the UK.
I've also booked tickets for Boston (early April) and I'll be in New York for two days, and given the fact I won't be spending much in terms of lodgings, that trip will actually be only about three times as expensive as two days of London, to give you some idea.
The painting in case is The Hay Wain, by John Constable (not the original, duh, but a 75cm by 55cm reproduction on canvas). The fine people who printed it got the colours right and everything, and really, the result is quite marvelous. The original hangs in the National Gallery at Trafalgar Square, while Constable also made an oil sketch (as he did with all of his full-scale paintings), displayed at the Victoria and Albert Museum in Kensington.
It's a fantastic work, with subtle but beautiful strokes, which I unfortunately can't appreciate in my reproduction. But it's not my favourite painting--it's not even my favourite Constable. The Hay Wain has special meaning for me, which I'll try to explain without making an ass of myself.
The sketch hangs just outside of the John Constable-wing in the Victoria and Albert Museum, a sort of welcome for visitors interested in his work. The wing itself is located past one of the museum's most famous halls, which includes Edgar Degas' Ballet Scene from the Opera Robert Le Diable, also a fantastic work and one I may be adding to my wall at some point in the future. The point is thousands of people enter that hall every day in search of the Degas (and several other fantastic pieces), lay eye on The Hay Wain and move on. Unless you're a tourist desperate to see everything the museum has to offer or just really interested in Constable, you'll probably pass one of the smaller and "less interesting" wings as you go.
I happen to be a big fan of Constable, and I must have been to the (free) Victoria and Albert Museum at least five times during my seven-somewhat months in London. I saw the sketch at least five times (the original twice, and twice I couldn't stand the massive crowd standing in front of the piece), but around the sketch, things were quiet. For me, The Hay Wain was the last piece I saw before entering the Constable wing, with all its wonders. The painting presents promise, unmistakable joy right around the corner. And as I sit here now, at my desk, all I have to do is look up to feel that slight twitch, the hint of joy that awaits me. Maybe it's a Pavlov thing, but I like it. Our species is built around hope, fabricated or real. And this feels pleasant. Feel free to come check out my ("my") painting anytime you like.
Now, onto the birthday. Outside of a 2 p.m. appointment to get fitted with my first contacts, I don't really have any plans. My dad suggested I'd come around and I told him I couldn't because I may have had plans to meet up with someone. Im sorry to tell you this dad, but that was a lie. To be honest with you, I simply felt like having a quiet night at home with a good book and a glass of whisky once my plans for London fell through.
Any adult will tell you 26 is not old, simply because it isn't. I'm still a young man. But according to the latest censuses, I'm officialy a third of the way in. That's right--the average lifespan of an adult male is 78 as of right now (by the time we reach that age, it will either be higher or humanity will have been wiped out by a mutated virus/asteroid/alien invasion/mass famine/zombies/Judgement Day/nuclear warfare/take your pick). And that got me thinking.
At first, it was kind of depressing. I've mathematically lived roughly one third of my life, and for all intents and purposes, my best days are behind me. My body will start to decay at some point in the future, with the damage being irreversible. The days of playing in the mud without a care in the world are gone. Instead of riding my bike, thinking girl are ickey and struggling with counting to 50, I'm paying taxes, saving money for retirement and forcing myself into eating things I don't like, simply because it's good for me.
After 33.33 percent of the time allotted to me, I've managed to acquire very little. I have a job I like and which provides me with everything I need to survive, a small studio appartment, relatives in reasonable health and a handful of friends I care deeply about but may not see as often as I'd like. There's no girlfriend or love interest, no offspring (thank god for that. I'm 26, and in this day and age, kids come later), no greatness waiting in the wings. In fact, I don't even own a car or a television. Other than the fact I pay taxes, I have very little to offer to this world. Sure, it's bizarre to hear I actually have "fans" of my work as a sports writer in faraway places like Boston (thanks for that anecdote, Wannes), but the day I stop writing is the day they find their fix with another journalist.
What Im about to say to you is meant as a practical viewpoint, and I don't mean it as a depressing thought in any way, but if we're being completely honest, my hypothetical death would have virtually no impact on this planet. Friends and family would mourn, for a while, but given the fact they really don't see me or hear of me all that often, their everyday lives would hardly be impacted. I know they'd miss me--of course they would--but they would manage, and soon pick up where they left off and carry on. My bosses would have to find a replacement, my landlord a new tennant. There's no grieving widow, no child forced to grow up fatherless and no pivotal work going unfinished.
One third into this adventure we call life, I've "achieved" virtually nothing. And seven days out of ten, this botters me tremendously. But not today. Because, when you think of it, I have it pretty good. Sure, most of the time I hate my life and current living situation, but I have a good job I enjoy doing, friends I can count on, a family that will always be there for me, money in my pocket and a good health. I've seen more of the world than most ever will, enjoyed a dream life as a surf coach for several years and now get to do for a living what I dreamt of doing when I was 15--write. I can't help but think of a scene from White Collar (for those of you who know it), in season three, when Jones has to help the husband of a girl he used to date. He sits down with Caffrey in his appartment to have a drink, and for the first time in the series, really, we get a glimpse of the fact he's human, not just a badge. I'm trying my hardest to find a clip of the scene online to link for you, but apart from linking you to the entire episode (illegally), I can't seem to find anything. So, I'm just going to link to the script of the scene here, if you don't mind. Obviously it hardly tells the whole story, and I truly suggest you look up the eiposde and watch it (Season Three, Episode Eight: Come As You Were):
Caffrey: Yeah, so, while we were waiting, I thought maybe you could use a drink.
Jones: Come on in. I'll get a couple glasses.
Caffrey: Okay.
Jones: I screwed up.
Caffrey: Aw, a little bit. But you're a good man, Jones.
Jones: Yeah?
Caffrey: Yeah.
Jones: Then why did I let van Horn get to me?
Caffrey: Mm, same reason that landed me consecutive 4-year prison sentences.
Jones: What, an almost sociopathic need to tell lies of omission and get something for nothing?
Caffrey: I was gonna say "passion.”
Jones: Mm. Passion.
Caffrey: Yeah, it makes the world go 'round. Passion to get what we want, passion to keep what we have, passion to get back to things we lost.
Jones: No. I left Isabelle...for a reason.
Caffrey: Which was?
Jones: Which was, if we had stayed together, she would have been miserable. She would've had to quit her job, move to the city, and you know the hours that I keep at the Bureau. We never would have seen each other. So I made a choice.
Caffrey: To leave?
Jones: To leave. We can't have it all, right?
Caffrey: Well, why not?
Jones: Why not?
Caffrey: Why not?
Jones: Why not?
Caffrey: Why not?
Jones: Well, because choices are sacrifices. And, inevitably, that means giving up something that you want for something that you want more. So, now I have to ask... What does "having it all" mean to Neal Caffrey?
Caffrey: Never having to worry about money. Um, doing something that's meaningful, being surrounded by people I care about and respect, you know. That's pretty much the dream.
Jones: Screw you.
Caffrey: Screw me?
Jones: Screw you. You're already living the dream.
Caffrey: Oh, come on.
Jones: No, you are the damned dream with a tracking anklet. Am I wrong?
Caffrey: Well, screw you back, Jones, 'cause you got the same things I do.
Jones: Yeah, well, maybe not the same living arrangements. Am I right?
Caffrey: Yeah.
Jones: I guess I do have it pretty good, don't I?
Caffrey: Yeah. Guess we both do.
What it comes down to is that Jones is upset over the things he lost, but he and Caffrey (the main character) come to the conclusion that, while both of their situations are less than ideal, they both ended up in a pretty good situation, living a fulfilling life by any standards. It feels odd (and almost wrong) to compare my life to a TV show, but in a way, that's how I feel right now. I'm 26 years old, and I'm living a pretty good life. Sure, I'm not an FBI agent (that would be freakin' awesome) but there's nothing wrong with my job, and I love doing it. There's plenty I've lost in these past 26 years. There has been heartache, tears, misery in its purest form. There have been countless disappointments, times I had no clue how I was going to pick myself up from what had happened and even times I seriously contemplated making sure I'd never reach the age of 26. And yes, there are nights I still cry myself to sleep, to this day. And all of that is fine. It's part of who I am, and part of who most of us are. And if I die tomorrow (God forbid), I'll still have lived a great, full life, and I'll go smiling. Life's pretty awesome for most of us, guys.
Back when I was still a surf coach (my boss would refer to this period as "Beachboy," which is incredibly embarrassing), I had this one song I'd periodically turn on. I'd dance like an absolute maniac, and I wouldn't care less people were looking at me as if I was having a stroke. I loved acting out and just having fun, and I still do. And before long, people would join in, and we'd all have a blast. Because that's what life is--a blast. Considering this is my birthday (aka "my day"), I'll play you out with my song.
Song of the Day: Gigi D'Agostino: L'Amour Toujours
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w15oWDh02K4
zaterdag 17 januari 2015
On Craziness and Caring
“This hill though high I covent ascend;
The difficulty will not me offend;
For I perceive the way of life lies here.
Come, pluck up, heart; let's neither faint nor fear. ”
-John Bunyan
I could probably pen a few thousand words on everything that has happened in the past week, from the dreadful attack in Paris to the state of siege Belgium currently finds itself in after a series of arrests and shootouts two days ago. As I am writing this, well-armed policemen are just finishing their patrol of the Oude Markt in Leuven--truly a sight I had never seen. Media coverage of the ongoing operations are continous; people don't seem to care all that much.
What happened in Paris was terrible, but I don't feel like getting into it. To be frank, I'm tired of writing down everlasting monologues on morality. The world is a f*cked up place, and if the first two weeks of 2015 are any indication, we're in for a rough year. When journalists are being targeted over satire, you can't escape the feeling you may have reached a point of no-return.
But what bothers me even worse is the reaction so many people in the West appear to have. An assault on freedom of speech is answered by a proposition to limit what one can sya on the internet, seemingly to the joy of all who hear it. The major of Antwerp, or the self-professed saviour of conservative Flanders if you prefer, is answering the elevated terror threat by mobilising the military in the centre of one of this country's populous cities (let's face it, it stopped being my country a long time ago). Openly racist marches are being organised on my bloody birthday (since moved to the 26th, thank you very much), with the organising committe made up of 40-year-old housewives whose favourite slogan is "what of the children" and whose 13-point program contains a literal assault on "political correctness," a term that, as my colleague King Kaufman adequately stated, "is what people accuse you of if they don't like it when you aks them to respect other people."
But like I said, I don't feel like getting into it. I don't want to get preachy or launch an extended rant in a desperate effort to convince one or two of you of the fact that I am right and everybody else is stupid. Because in the end, that's all it is. And if those Pegida motherf*ckers can mobilise thousands to march, who am I to tell them they should refrain from reproducing for the betterment of our species?
Of all the pains this world has thrown at me, one of the worst I've ever felt is the knowledge someone I care about is struggling. Knowing someone you love is in a place he or she would rather not be in and scarcely having the opportunity to help them just plain s*cks. Whether it's because you're not nearby or for any other of a million reasons, the emptiness you feel when you can't help someone you truly care for can be overwhelming, instantly drowning out whatever personal cr*p it is you have going on. I don't have that many people I truly, deeply care for. Sure, I'm generally a kind person whose friendly to just about anyone, but (and I'm sorry to say this) the vast majority of you are people I like, but care very little about. When you come to me with your problems and issues (which for some reason you do all the time), I'll glady listen, smile, tell you how awful that is and have the smooth sounds of Daybreak playing in my mind the entire time. There's also the select few of you who are dead to me, who generally receive a similar treatment to a different song (take your pick).
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. The point is people around me aren't so well, and it feels terrible I can't seem to help. In a twisted, selfish way that rightly pisses me off, because I want to be there and show those people I care. My general state of mind is one of semi-depression, stuck in a rut in a country I'd rather not be in and having pressed the pause button on the only future I still foresee. Forgive me for wanting to help someone else from time to time. I can't wait for January to be over and my social life to somewhat resume.
I still haven't booked my tickets for London at the end of this month (the cost has likely trippled in the process) as I wasn't sure whether anyone would actually accommodate me and I still had some stuff to take care of here in Belgium, but it now seems like I actually have a place to stay and at least two social appointments I should follow up on (look! These people love me!) so I'm pretty sure I'll be coming down there anyhow, if only for the Mr. Kipling cakes you guys have ordered me to eat. They do look delicious. Women in Boston are apparently easy, according to Wannes, so April can't come soon enough either. Unless they haven't forgotten about the Revolutionary War yet, my British accent should serve me well, so to hell with Wannes' ridiculous 36-point record.
Just kidding, obviously.
Be safe everyone, and take care. Violence and terror can be frightening when you think about it (which is what I tried to do every day as I walked over the site of the 2001 BBC bombing near my home in White City, or came across Shepherd's Bush station), and I'm glad to see just about no one here in Belgium is actively thinking about it at all. I hope my compatriots currently residing in the USA are great (you both make the list of people I care about, Elise and Wannes. Rejoice!) and enjoy as much as they can of the time they have in good 'ol 'Murica. I'll see you guys soon.
And remember, if you ever feel sad, you can counter that emotion with better ones, like sugar or drunk (2 points for whoever catches that reference).
Song of the Day: Mama Cas Elliot - Make Your Own Kind of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbSM02_1k34
PS: This is the greatest website ever. Apologies in advance: http://shipyourenemiesglitter.com/
The difficulty will not me offend;
For I perceive the way of life lies here.
Come, pluck up, heart; let's neither faint nor fear. ”
-John Bunyan
I could probably pen a few thousand words on everything that has happened in the past week, from the dreadful attack in Paris to the state of siege Belgium currently finds itself in after a series of arrests and shootouts two days ago. As I am writing this, well-armed policemen are just finishing their patrol of the Oude Markt in Leuven--truly a sight I had never seen. Media coverage of the ongoing operations are continous; people don't seem to care all that much.
What happened in Paris was terrible, but I don't feel like getting into it. To be frank, I'm tired of writing down everlasting monologues on morality. The world is a f*cked up place, and if the first two weeks of 2015 are any indication, we're in for a rough year. When journalists are being targeted over satire, you can't escape the feeling you may have reached a point of no-return.
But what bothers me even worse is the reaction so many people in the West appear to have. An assault on freedom of speech is answered by a proposition to limit what one can sya on the internet, seemingly to the joy of all who hear it. The major of Antwerp, or the self-professed saviour of conservative Flanders if you prefer, is answering the elevated terror threat by mobilising the military in the centre of one of this country's populous cities (let's face it, it stopped being my country a long time ago). Openly racist marches are being organised on my bloody birthday (since moved to the 26th, thank you very much), with the organising committe made up of 40-year-old housewives whose favourite slogan is "what of the children" and whose 13-point program contains a literal assault on "political correctness," a term that, as my colleague King Kaufman adequately stated, "is what people accuse you of if they don't like it when you aks them to respect other people."
But like I said, I don't feel like getting into it. I don't want to get preachy or launch an extended rant in a desperate effort to convince one or two of you of the fact that I am right and everybody else is stupid. Because in the end, that's all it is. And if those Pegida motherf*ckers can mobilise thousands to march, who am I to tell them they should refrain from reproducing for the betterment of our species?
Of all the pains this world has thrown at me, one of the worst I've ever felt is the knowledge someone I care about is struggling. Knowing someone you love is in a place he or she would rather not be in and scarcely having the opportunity to help them just plain s*cks. Whether it's because you're not nearby or for any other of a million reasons, the emptiness you feel when you can't help someone you truly care for can be overwhelming, instantly drowning out whatever personal cr*p it is you have going on. I don't have that many people I truly, deeply care for. Sure, I'm generally a kind person whose friendly to just about anyone, but (and I'm sorry to say this) the vast majority of you are people I like, but care very little about. When you come to me with your problems and issues (which for some reason you do all the time), I'll glady listen, smile, tell you how awful that is and have the smooth sounds of Daybreak playing in my mind the entire time. There's also the select few of you who are dead to me, who generally receive a similar treatment to a different song (take your pick).
I'm not sure where I'm going with this. The point is people around me aren't so well, and it feels terrible I can't seem to help. In a twisted, selfish way that rightly pisses me off, because I want to be there and show those people I care. My general state of mind is one of semi-depression, stuck in a rut in a country I'd rather not be in and having pressed the pause button on the only future I still foresee. Forgive me for wanting to help someone else from time to time. I can't wait for January to be over and my social life to somewhat resume.
I still haven't booked my tickets for London at the end of this month (the cost has likely trippled in the process) as I wasn't sure whether anyone would actually accommodate me and I still had some stuff to take care of here in Belgium, but it now seems like I actually have a place to stay and at least two social appointments I should follow up on (look! These people love me!) so I'm pretty sure I'll be coming down there anyhow, if only for the Mr. Kipling cakes you guys have ordered me to eat. They do look delicious. Women in Boston are apparently easy, according to Wannes, so April can't come soon enough either. Unless they haven't forgotten about the Revolutionary War yet, my British accent should serve me well, so to hell with Wannes' ridiculous 36-point record.
Just kidding, obviously.
Be safe everyone, and take care. Violence and terror can be frightening when you think about it (which is what I tried to do every day as I walked over the site of the 2001 BBC bombing near my home in White City, or came across Shepherd's Bush station), and I'm glad to see just about no one here in Belgium is actively thinking about it at all. I hope my compatriots currently residing in the USA are great (you both make the list of people I care about, Elise and Wannes. Rejoice!) and enjoy as much as they can of the time they have in good 'ol 'Murica. I'll see you guys soon.
And remember, if you ever feel sad, you can counter that emotion with better ones, like sugar or drunk (2 points for whoever catches that reference).
Song of the Day: Mama Cas Elliot - Make Your Own Kind of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbSM02_1k34
PS: This is the greatest website ever. Apologies in advance: http://shipyourenemiesglitter.com/
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