“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
woensdag 18 februari 2015
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/
woensdag 31 december 2014
On the Holiday Season and the New Year
“It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
-F Scott Fitzgerald
Hey everyone.
I'm sorry it's been a while since I last wrote you. If I have to be completely honest, I wasn't planning on doing it again. I made the decision to retire this blog a couple of weeks ago, and after going back and forth on whether or not to write up a goodbye, I ultimately decided against it. I use writing as a form of therapy, and I recently discovered another outlet that suits me better than this sort of semi-journal, in which I have to censor myself in fear of writing things you might not want to read, or can't really fully express myself. The fact my last update was read by pretty much no one at all didn't help, either (writers are vain by their very definition--they need an audience). Of course, just as I had made my decision, three of you had to go and ask me when the next update was going to come in the span of four days. So, understand I'm doing this for you, and not for me, as I'm want to do.
The holiday season is nearly over, and I couldn't be happier. I used to love the holidays, but for some reason, they've always turned into a massive disappointment these past few years, to the point where I now dread them. Apart from the usual reasons to hate the entire business (the awful questions from relatives and friends, having to sit through dinners with people you don't really know and care about even less and the whole contrived nature of the entire process), I've just gotten a personal distaste of it all. Eight months ago I thought I'd be in London right now, coming home for Christmas to meet up with friends and family and counting down the final seconds of this monumental year underneath Big Ben. Instead, I'll be working, while the city of Leuven is literally celebrating and watching the fireworks roughly 30 feet from my door.
Thankfully, Christmas was actually sort of enjoyable this year. I got some pretty cool gifts, had two wonderful dinners (my parents are divorced) and it was over in about 24 hours. I worked pretty much throughout the holiday period and never got into the spirit (the nearly tropical weather certainly had an impact), so all in all, it was okay. These past few weeks have been pretty rough, and it was nice just to have a little break. I guess the holiday period is a time when things can get tough for most of us :) for me personally, I couldn't get over London, among other things. I missed the place so much and got so upset over the fact I came back ,some days got nearly unbearable.
It's the curse of Christmas, really. This one magical day we pretend is about so much more than what it actually is. To quote the great Abed Nadir: "The meaning of Christmas is that Christmas has meaning." I think I learned that just in time. It's really just a nice night you get to spend with some of the people you care about, make fun over some of the gifts you exchange and be thankful the night is over and won't come back for another year.
On those presents: My mum got me a panini-maker (I really wanted one, so thanks mum), and on that side of the family I also got a gift card for a media store and some lottery tickets (I won nine Euro, little sis. I promised we'd go 50-50, not sure you still want it). My dad asked me what I wanted and I e-mailed him some websites that sold reproductions of Degas and Constable (those are painters, fyi), but he thought the posters were too small for what they were charging. Ultimately, he settled on a really nice London-themed frame I can use to hang up some photos and these awesome grown-men pyamas, almost like Barney Stinson's if I were wearing a tie. Again, awesome gifts, so thank you guys.
So, what else is new? Very little I guess. I survived the month of December (barely), work is good and I'm not looking forward to January at all. Everyone is either studying or moving abroad for the semester (good luck Wannes and Elise. I'll visit you guys in April!), so things are going to get pretty lonely here in Leuven. I managed to get my birthday off and the next day as well, and if there's anyone up in London down for a drink, I'd love to come over there for a day or two. Not to celebrate or anything--I just need to get away for a day or two, and see the place again. My lease doesn't expire until October, but with nearly everyone graduating and leaving Leuven in the near future, I'm not quite sure what to do to be honest. Things really aren't all that different from six months ago, with the notable exceptions being that I get to see my old friends and family a bit more often, at the cost of no longer living in an awesome city and really sort of stagnating. Somehow, the future looked much brighter in London. But I'm getting carried away. This is the holiday spirit talking, please ignore.
I'm hoping you guys enjoyed the holidays and had a great 2014, and I wish you an even better 2015. Thanks, for being here with me. This past year has been a trip, and while there were a lot of highs and a lot more lows, some of you were with me every step of the way, even if it was only because you read about it a few days later. I'm not going to pretend I had a great year, or that everything is going swell and I managed to find happiness during my little journey. The whole point is that I'm still on my way, still playing the game. I might not be very good at it, but the board is still set.
Happy New Year, everyone.
PS: Read this f*cking sh*t, or I'm seriously canning it and you can all start following me on Twitter to see how I'm actually doing.
Song of the Day: The Pixies - Where Is My Mind?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFAnn2j4iB0
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
-F Scott Fitzgerald
Hey everyone.
I'm sorry it's been a while since I last wrote you. If I have to be completely honest, I wasn't planning on doing it again. I made the decision to retire this blog a couple of weeks ago, and after going back and forth on whether or not to write up a goodbye, I ultimately decided against it. I use writing as a form of therapy, and I recently discovered another outlet that suits me better than this sort of semi-journal, in which I have to censor myself in fear of writing things you might not want to read, or can't really fully express myself. The fact my last update was read by pretty much no one at all didn't help, either (writers are vain by their very definition--they need an audience). Of course, just as I had made my decision, three of you had to go and ask me when the next update was going to come in the span of four days. So, understand I'm doing this for you, and not for me, as I'm want to do.
The holiday season is nearly over, and I couldn't be happier. I used to love the holidays, but for some reason, they've always turned into a massive disappointment these past few years, to the point where I now dread them. Apart from the usual reasons to hate the entire business (the awful questions from relatives and friends, having to sit through dinners with people you don't really know and care about even less and the whole contrived nature of the entire process), I've just gotten a personal distaste of it all. Eight months ago I thought I'd be in London right now, coming home for Christmas to meet up with friends and family and counting down the final seconds of this monumental year underneath Big Ben. Instead, I'll be working, while the city of Leuven is literally celebrating and watching the fireworks roughly 30 feet from my door.
Thankfully, Christmas was actually sort of enjoyable this year. I got some pretty cool gifts, had two wonderful dinners (my parents are divorced) and it was over in about 24 hours. I worked pretty much throughout the holiday period and never got into the spirit (the nearly tropical weather certainly had an impact), so all in all, it was okay. These past few weeks have been pretty rough, and it was nice just to have a little break. I guess the holiday period is a time when things can get tough for most of us :) for me personally, I couldn't get over London, among other things. I missed the place so much and got so upset over the fact I came back ,some days got nearly unbearable.
It's the curse of Christmas, really. This one magical day we pretend is about so much more than what it actually is. To quote the great Abed Nadir: "The meaning of Christmas is that Christmas has meaning." I think I learned that just in time. It's really just a nice night you get to spend with some of the people you care about, make fun over some of the gifts you exchange and be thankful the night is over and won't come back for another year.
On those presents: My mum got me a panini-maker (I really wanted one, so thanks mum), and on that side of the family I also got a gift card for a media store and some lottery tickets (I won nine Euro, little sis. I promised we'd go 50-50, not sure you still want it). My dad asked me what I wanted and I e-mailed him some websites that sold reproductions of Degas and Constable (those are painters, fyi), but he thought the posters were too small for what they were charging. Ultimately, he settled on a really nice London-themed frame I can use to hang up some photos and these awesome grown-men pyamas, almost like Barney Stinson's if I were wearing a tie. Again, awesome gifts, so thank you guys.
So, what else is new? Very little I guess. I survived the month of December (barely), work is good and I'm not looking forward to January at all. Everyone is either studying or moving abroad for the semester (good luck Wannes and Elise. I'll visit you guys in April!), so things are going to get pretty lonely here in Leuven. I managed to get my birthday off and the next day as well, and if there's anyone up in London down for a drink, I'd love to come over there for a day or two. Not to celebrate or anything--I just need to get away for a day or two, and see the place again. My lease doesn't expire until October, but with nearly everyone graduating and leaving Leuven in the near future, I'm not quite sure what to do to be honest. Things really aren't all that different from six months ago, with the notable exceptions being that I get to see my old friends and family a bit more often, at the cost of no longer living in an awesome city and really sort of stagnating. Somehow, the future looked much brighter in London. But I'm getting carried away. This is the holiday spirit talking, please ignore.
I'm hoping you guys enjoyed the holidays and had a great 2014, and I wish you an even better 2015. Thanks, for being here with me. This past year has been a trip, and while there were a lot of highs and a lot more lows, some of you were with me every step of the way, even if it was only because you read about it a few days later. I'm not going to pretend I had a great year, or that everything is going swell and I managed to find happiness during my little journey. The whole point is that I'm still on my way, still playing the game. I might not be very good at it, but the board is still set.
Happy New Year, everyone.
PS: Read this f*cking sh*t, or I'm seriously canning it and you can all start following me on Twitter to see how I'm actually doing.
Song of the Day: The Pixies - Where Is My Mind?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFAnn2j4iB0
woensdag 3 december 2014
On Mirrors and The World We Live in.
Justice will not be served until those who are unaffected are as
outraged as those who are.
-Benjamin Franklin
Before I get to the
actual topic of this entry, I need to congratulate a couple of people and get
all of the trivial stuff out of the way. Julie, good luck in South Africa. I
know you're going to have the time of your life there, and you have no idea how
jealous I am right now. Please come visit once every while, and make sure you
have a room to accommodate me when I feel like surfing J-Bay.
Jeroen, best of luck
with the studies. I hope my letter of recommendation does what it's supposed to
do and helps you land the gig, but if you don't, I don't doubt you'll find
another way to make your dream of becoming a professional writer a reality.
Every setback is a lesson, and given the passion you have for the craft, it
would be a lesson you'd take to heart. Although I'm sure you'll get in.
Looks like the trip
to the USA will take place early April, because it seems to be the only gap my
friends have in their schedules (Wannes will have to start cramming for his
exams as well soon after). Because the Red Sox open their season on the road,
this means we wouldn't be able to catch a game at Fenway. Which is an absolute
disaster. Seriously, how can we go to Boston and leave two days before the Sox
play their first home game? I mean, that is some depressing stuff.
Now, before I get
started I want to make it very clear what you're about to read is a personal
opinion which does not represent the views of my employer (I've always wanted
to write those words, it makes things sound so ominous).
My job as a writer
sees me spend an awful lot of time on the websites of news outlets and social
media, and when big news breaks or massive events take place, it's sometimes
hard to escape. The past few weeks have been filled with stories about Michael
Brown, Eric Garner and Tugce Albayrak, amid the seemingly endless stream of
horrifying news. Michael Brown was a difficult topic I tried to shy away from
as much as I could—Tugce Albayrak was a story which hit me so hard it made me
want to apologise for my gender. But today's news that the police officer who
choked an unarmed man to death using an illegal move banned by the New York
police department would not be indicted pushed me over the edge. I just
couldn't understand how a man, who was a father, brother and son could die on
the streets of New York in broad daylight, and that the man responsible for his
death, who ignored multiple pleas to stop (Garner repeatedly told the officers
he couldn't breathe) and used excessive force wouldn't even face an indictment.
I was angry, and when I was forced to read a stream of comments from people
justifying the officer's action because Garner resisted arrest, I became
mortified. Regardless of whether or not he resisted arrest, no one deserves to
die in such fashion, right? How can people not see that?
Unfortunately, this
is the world I live in. This is a world where millions of children are
persecuted every day because of the colour of their skin, the religion their parents
chose for them or the geographical location they were born. Where millions of
children suffer from malnutrition, illness and a lack of education. Where women
still earn less than men for equal work because they were born with a uterus.
Where homosexual men and women have to face the consequences of their love for
someone of the same gender because they don't comply with what a certain part
of society deems "normal" or "acceptable." Where the city
of Antwerp wants to have people who own night shops pay so much taxes they'll soon
disappear altogether, because "night shops don't look great on the
streets." Where racial stereotypes used to amuse children aren't even open
for discussion based on "tradition." Where a football team can carry
a name repulsive to Native Americans because it has done so far the past 80
years.
I'm lucky. I'm a
25-year-old heterosexual male of European descent, raised in an Christian household that
turned away from religion when I was 12. I am in reasonable health, don't show any
signs of obesity and I'm not a complete idiot. I won the biological lottery, as
did most of my readers.
Plenty of people like
me will take to the internet and tell me white guilt is something I shouldn't
worry about. I didn't choose to be born like this, I've never done anything at
the expense of other people and it's not my fault other people suffer. All of
this is true.
But we live in a
selfish world, where the powerful don't give two cents about the fates of others
and won't lift a finger to change the status-quo if it comes at their own
expense. And we are the powerful. People just like you and me. Like it or not,
but even as we're set to enter the year 2015, the world is still engineered
toward us, the white, middle-class self-proclaimed intellectuals who likely all
had the opportunity to pursue higher education, will undoubtedly find a job
that will allow us to live comfortable lives (I never said we'll get rich, or
even enjoy our jobs) and will never have to worry about the real problems that
plague millions around the world, barring major health problems.
Should we feel any
guilt about this? Is there something we can do? I honestly don't know. As angry
as I am, I was conditioned to believe I'm only a small, insignificant part of
this world, incapable of making a difference. And after everything I just said,
the logical thing to do would be to rejoice in the current status-quo—I'm going
to be just fine. I don't want to be that person, but when I read what some
people just like me dare to say or write on the topic, it makes me sick to my
stomach. And then I start to wonder if I'm not just like them. Is enabling
sexism or racism not the same as being sexist or racist?
I'm not here to
preach to you, or ask you to go stand on the corner of the street holding a
sign while three men in riot gear move in with tasers. But what I'm asking you
to do is take a look in the mirror.
Not right now—the
next time you're feeling down because your boss yelled at you or made you work
overtime, or when you missed the train because that idiot in the BMW wouldn't
let you cross the street. Look in the mirror, and realise just how lucky you
are. How completely and utterly insignificant your problems are compared to
millions and millions of people around the globe.
I'm always finding
reasons to be sad, and convincing myself my life is wretched and hopeless. I'm
not a happy person, not in the slightest. And that's just fine—I don't have to
be. But I'm starting to realise I am incredibly lucky. I have a biological head-start
over so many people and tools at my disposal some never will. And it's not my good
looks, or height, or intelligence—it's the colour of my skin, my sexual
orientation and (lack of) religion (and gender, to a lesser extent). I can't
think of anything more unfair in this world, but I also can't think of any way
to change that.
The next time you're
feeling down, for whatever reason, please try to remember you're just as lucky
as I am. We all won the lottery. You and I won't be the next Michael Brown or
Nic Garner (and I really hope you won't be the next Tugce Albayrak). Even if
you and I are just the next Average Joe, leading perfectly normal, boring,
miserable lives, we'll still be gifted more than millions of people.
I'll be working on a
follow-up to this post, as I try and find a way in which I can make a
difference, as minute and insignificant it may be. In the meantime, I guess
this will have to be the message I leave you with. In this unfair world, you
and are part of the lucky few who were given so much more than the rest. If you
can't make a difference, at least try to enjoy it. You'd be doing so many
people a disservice by not doing so.
Song of the Day: Tom
Waits - Come on Up to the House
vrijdag 21 november 2014
On Suits and Contingency
“Depression presents itself as a realism regarding the rottenness of the world in general and the rottenness of your life in particular. But the realism is merely a mask for depression's actual essence, which is an overwhelming estrangement from humanity. The more persuaded you are of your unique access to the rottenness, the more afraid you become of engaging with the world; and the less you engage with the world, the more perfidiously happy-faced the rest of humanity seems for continuing to engage with it.”
“He was lovable the way a child is lovable, and he was capable of returning love with a childlike purity. If love is nevertheless excluded from his work, it's because he never quite felt that he deserved to receive it. He was a lifelong prisoner on the island of himself. What looked like gentle contours from a distance were in fact sheer cliffs. Sometimes only a little of him was crazy, sometimes nearly all of him, but, as an adult, he was never entirely not crazy. What he'd seen of his id while trying to escape his island prison by way of drugs and alcohol, only to find himself even more imprisoned by addiction, seems never to have ceased to be corrosive of his belief in his lovability. Even after he got clean, even decades after his late-adolescent suicide attempt, even after his slow and heroic construction of a life for himself, he felt undeserving. And this feeling was intertwined, ultimately to the point of indistinguishability, with the thought of suicide, which was the one sure way out of his imprisonment; surer than addiction, surer than fiction, and surer, finally, than love.”
-Jonathan Franzen (he's kind of depressing).
The Chinese supposedly have two well-known curses: "May you live in interesting times" (popularised by the fantastic Terry Pratchett novel Interesting Times) and "May you find what you are looking for," a variation of one of the most well-known addages in the English language. Both are rooted in basic human experiences, and the duality of how certain things can be perceived. "Interesting times" sounds like a pleasant alternative to the bland, ordinary lives the vast majority of us lead, but of course, we often come to the realisation those bland, ordinary lives usually end up providing a high level of satisfaction compared to the troubles that come with anything that might be interesting. Likewise, "May you find what you are looking for" draws on the fact we often find the things we wanted the most fall well short of our expectations, leading to disappointment that could have been avoided had we just been content with the status-quo. By the time we realise this, it's too late.
I struggle with this blog because I don't live in "interesting times," and I'm about as far away from finding what it is I'm looking for as can be. In a way, both of those statements are a blessing, despite the fact they sound sad. Writing from London was easy--there was so much new stuff to tell all of you about, and I felt the need to keep in touch with the people at home. Now that I'm back, it all feels rather pointless. There's no need to keep you guys up to speed--you already know what's going on, and the writing material is fairly limited. I lead one of those bland, ordinary lives filled with work, the occasional social encounter and the joys and struggles everybody goes through on a daily basis. Who wants to read about every day life? No one.
The irony is that there is so much I wish to write which shouldn't be put into words, because words have consequences. It's not so much about keeping up appearances as it is about the simple fact some things can't be undone, and some words can't be unspoken (or unwritten). Life must be so easy if you don't give a damn about what may or may not happen as a result of the things you say or do. Ignorance truly is bliss.
So, what's new? As you probably know, I ended up not going to London at all. Friends wanted to meet, my father wanted to help redecorate my new flat and eventually I just ran out of time. It kind of s*cks, but there's still plenty of time. I say this knowing full well I'll probably cancel trips like this again and again, but I do hope to come back real soon.
Work's good, the family is good and friends are good. I had the opportunity to see or talk to several people I hadn't seen or spoken to in a long time, which is obviously pleasant. Ultimately, I'm happy I didn't go to London--my new shelves and the social encounters made it wortwhile.
The holiday season is coming up, and it's going to be a very busy time. As of right now, I won't be working on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I will be sitting behind my laptop on Boxing Day and when the clocks hit zero to signal the arrival of 2015. The latter is a little saddenning, but also fitting. New Year's Eve somehow always ends up as a major disappointment, and I've spent half of the countdowns in my lifetime working anyhow (slight exaggeration). I've always loved the holiday seasons,but the past few years they've always been some of the most depressing periods of my life. Last year was an absolute disaster (I was a wreck 12 months ago) and I was actually really looking forward to Christmas in The Big Smoke--I've been told it's magical. But I'm sure I'll one day have the opportunity to actually experience it.
The dating scene always makes for odd realisations, and this week was no different. The story is as old as the world itself: You meet a nice lady, hit it off before you start to realise there are just one or two fundamental differences between you that simply can't be overcome. From the trivial over the big stuff, and the simple yet harsh reality you two just don't mesh. I like my suits, my bowties, my fancy shoes and coats that are far too expensive for a f*cking coat. And I won't apologise for that.
That was an odd paragraph, but I have to make this title work (I can't be asked to look for another one) and words -> consequences, if you catch my drift. Some things just can't be unsaid :)
Looks like another short entry filled with trivial nonsense that won't satisfy my limited readership. Welcome to the real world, where little happens, expectations generally fall short and the people you elevate onto a pedestal turn out to be little more than ordinary folks. And let's face it--that's how it should be.
Song of the Day: Mama Cass Elliot-Make Your Own Kind of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbSM02_1k34
“He was lovable the way a child is lovable, and he was capable of returning love with a childlike purity. If love is nevertheless excluded from his work, it's because he never quite felt that he deserved to receive it. He was a lifelong prisoner on the island of himself. What looked like gentle contours from a distance were in fact sheer cliffs. Sometimes only a little of him was crazy, sometimes nearly all of him, but, as an adult, he was never entirely not crazy. What he'd seen of his id while trying to escape his island prison by way of drugs and alcohol, only to find himself even more imprisoned by addiction, seems never to have ceased to be corrosive of his belief in his lovability. Even after he got clean, even decades after his late-adolescent suicide attempt, even after his slow and heroic construction of a life for himself, he felt undeserving. And this feeling was intertwined, ultimately to the point of indistinguishability, with the thought of suicide, which was the one sure way out of his imprisonment; surer than addiction, surer than fiction, and surer, finally, than love.”
-Jonathan Franzen (he's kind of depressing).
The Chinese supposedly have two well-known curses: "May you live in interesting times" (popularised by the fantastic Terry Pratchett novel Interesting Times) and "May you find what you are looking for," a variation of one of the most well-known addages in the English language. Both are rooted in basic human experiences, and the duality of how certain things can be perceived. "Interesting times" sounds like a pleasant alternative to the bland, ordinary lives the vast majority of us lead, but of course, we often come to the realisation those bland, ordinary lives usually end up providing a high level of satisfaction compared to the troubles that come with anything that might be interesting. Likewise, "May you find what you are looking for" draws on the fact we often find the things we wanted the most fall well short of our expectations, leading to disappointment that could have been avoided had we just been content with the status-quo. By the time we realise this, it's too late.
I struggle with this blog because I don't live in "interesting times," and I'm about as far away from finding what it is I'm looking for as can be. In a way, both of those statements are a blessing, despite the fact they sound sad. Writing from London was easy--there was so much new stuff to tell all of you about, and I felt the need to keep in touch with the people at home. Now that I'm back, it all feels rather pointless. There's no need to keep you guys up to speed--you already know what's going on, and the writing material is fairly limited. I lead one of those bland, ordinary lives filled with work, the occasional social encounter and the joys and struggles everybody goes through on a daily basis. Who wants to read about every day life? No one.
The irony is that there is so much I wish to write which shouldn't be put into words, because words have consequences. It's not so much about keeping up appearances as it is about the simple fact some things can't be undone, and some words can't be unspoken (or unwritten). Life must be so easy if you don't give a damn about what may or may not happen as a result of the things you say or do. Ignorance truly is bliss.
So, what's new? As you probably know, I ended up not going to London at all. Friends wanted to meet, my father wanted to help redecorate my new flat and eventually I just ran out of time. It kind of s*cks, but there's still plenty of time. I say this knowing full well I'll probably cancel trips like this again and again, but I do hope to come back real soon.
Work's good, the family is good and friends are good. I had the opportunity to see or talk to several people I hadn't seen or spoken to in a long time, which is obviously pleasant. Ultimately, I'm happy I didn't go to London--my new shelves and the social encounters made it wortwhile.
The holiday season is coming up, and it's going to be a very busy time. As of right now, I won't be working on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but I will be sitting behind my laptop on Boxing Day and when the clocks hit zero to signal the arrival of 2015. The latter is a little saddenning, but also fitting. New Year's Eve somehow always ends up as a major disappointment, and I've spent half of the countdowns in my lifetime working anyhow (slight exaggeration). I've always loved the holiday seasons,but the past few years they've always been some of the most depressing periods of my life. Last year was an absolute disaster (I was a wreck 12 months ago) and I was actually really looking forward to Christmas in The Big Smoke--I've been told it's magical. But I'm sure I'll one day have the opportunity to actually experience it.
The dating scene always makes for odd realisations, and this week was no different. The story is as old as the world itself: You meet a nice lady, hit it off before you start to realise there are just one or two fundamental differences between you that simply can't be overcome. From the trivial over the big stuff, and the simple yet harsh reality you two just don't mesh. I like my suits, my bowties, my fancy shoes and coats that are far too expensive for a f*cking coat. And I won't apologise for that.
That was an odd paragraph, but I have to make this title work (I can't be asked to look for another one) and words -> consequences, if you catch my drift. Some things just can't be unsaid :)
Looks like another short entry filled with trivial nonsense that won't satisfy my limited readership. Welcome to the real world, where little happens, expectations generally fall short and the people you elevate onto a pedestal turn out to be little more than ordinary folks. And let's face it--that's how it should be.
Song of the Day: Mama Cass Elliot-Make Your Own Kind of Music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbSM02_1k34
maandag 3 november 2014
On Virality and Stagnation
"Well, what I mean is that I shouldn't mind being a bride at a wedding, if I could be one without having a husband."
"Indifference to fate which, though it often makes a villain of a man, is the basis of his sublimity when it does not."
-Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd
Hey folks,
I know it's been a while and I wish I had both the time and material on hand to write you a decent entry, but unfortunately, I don't. It's my one day off this week and I still need to get dinner before I meet some friends, so don't expect too much. I don't want to say I've been putting off writing you--the will to write simply vanishes after a workday that concludes at one in the morning.
What I need to share with you: The tale of my five minutes of Twitter fame. For those of you that follow me (a vast minority, as the bulk of you don't give a flying toss about Twitter), you obviously already know what happened. For the rest of you, here's what went down:
A couple of weeks ago I finished work at one (as usual), had some dinner and watched some TV, but when I wanted to go to bed, this group of obnoxious wankers was standing outside my window, singing the same 10-second song over and over again, for hours on end. This was a Saturday or a Sunday I think, Usually a relatively quiet night in Leuven. My mindset went from mildly irritated because I could hear them through my headphones to seriously f*cking p*ssed because I was tired and wanted to sleep. At one point, I got so fed up I filled a bucket with water, perched it on my window sill and tweeted out the question whether I should toss it. I live on the fifth floor of a big building--there was no way they'd spot where it came from.
Naturally, everyone replied yes, so I tossed it and started live-tweeting what happened next. People started tweeting about what I was doing, sending folks to my profile, and one of them is one of our Lead Writers with quite the popular account. So before I knew what was happening, I had dozens of complete strangers tweeting at me, asking for updates and handing out suggestions (something about expired yoghurt). The whole experience was surreal, from the group of wankers downstairs shouting, taking another bucket on the head, getting into a verbal altercation with my neighbours across the street and getting doused by the manager of McDonalds, who followed my example, to the multitude of people online urging me on and proclaiming me the "King of the Internet" for about five minutes.
For those of you who want to read the whole thing: Here's my Twitter account, although you may have to scroll down a week or two (I don't generally tweet that much). I'm not sure whether you need an account of your own to read the stuff. After trying it myself, it took me less than two minutes scrolling, including reading everything I've tweeted since (ugh. I hate reading my own stuff).
So, what else is new? The past few days have been a little rough, but that's kind of the definition of life, anyhow. I titled this post "On Virality and Stagnation," but perhaps the word stagnation is a little harsh. Perhaps 'routine' or "rut' are better. We all get these episodes on occasion, I guess, where you feel life isn't moving forward. You work, eat, excercise, go out with the same people to the same bars twice/week and sleep (don't worry, I love you guys). No progress whatsoever. But then again, progress is something humanity fabricated for the sole purpose of separating oneself from the rest of the pack and in a desperate attempt not to spend too much time contemplating what was, or what was lost. How much progress can one make on a normal day? Not so much I reckon. Sure, I'd like to have the feeling I'm actually going somewhere with my life once every while, but the eternal pessimist in me knows living and surviving are synonymous 90 percent of the time.
For you London kids, my planning currently has two gaps in it where I have consecutive days off: November 12 and 13 (Wednesday and Thursday) and November 20 and 21 (Thursday and Friday). I'm dying to see the city again and hear the chimes of Big Ben (don't mock me. As I explained to some friends last week, we all have these little things that make us nostalgic or happy, ranging from certain smells or sounds to certain songs, places and films. For me, one of those is this), so if you guys could let me know whether you'll actually be around, have work or school and would or would not have a place for me to stay, that'd be awesome (alternatively, I don't mind booking a hotel for the night). Preferably the first dates, as I haven't had a Friday off in months and that could be the perfect opportunity to meet up with some people who work as much as I do.
Alright, it's sushi-time. Talk to you guys later. Enjoy Bonfire Night (please don't post the V for Vendetta-thingy. It's obnoxious) and be safe.
Cheers,
Gianni
Song of the Day: Harry Lauder - It's Nice When You Love a Wee Lassie
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ed5AZ_cMpo
Just kidding: Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion: Never Too Far From my Heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETA48cdx7Ts
"Indifference to fate which, though it often makes a villain of a man, is the basis of his sublimity when it does not."
-Thomas Hardy, Far From the Madding Crowd
Hey folks,
I know it's been a while and I wish I had both the time and material on hand to write you a decent entry, but unfortunately, I don't. It's my one day off this week and I still need to get dinner before I meet some friends, so don't expect too much. I don't want to say I've been putting off writing you--the will to write simply vanishes after a workday that concludes at one in the morning.
What I need to share with you: The tale of my five minutes of Twitter fame. For those of you that follow me (a vast minority, as the bulk of you don't give a flying toss about Twitter), you obviously already know what happened. For the rest of you, here's what went down:
A couple of weeks ago I finished work at one (as usual), had some dinner and watched some TV, but when I wanted to go to bed, this group of obnoxious wankers was standing outside my window, singing the same 10-second song over and over again, for hours on end. This was a Saturday or a Sunday I think, Usually a relatively quiet night in Leuven. My mindset went from mildly irritated because I could hear them through my headphones to seriously f*cking p*ssed because I was tired and wanted to sleep. At one point, I got so fed up I filled a bucket with water, perched it on my window sill and tweeted out the question whether I should toss it. I live on the fifth floor of a big building--there was no way they'd spot where it came from.
Naturally, everyone replied yes, so I tossed it and started live-tweeting what happened next. People started tweeting about what I was doing, sending folks to my profile, and one of them is one of our Lead Writers with quite the popular account. So before I knew what was happening, I had dozens of complete strangers tweeting at me, asking for updates and handing out suggestions (something about expired yoghurt). The whole experience was surreal, from the group of wankers downstairs shouting, taking another bucket on the head, getting into a verbal altercation with my neighbours across the street and getting doused by the manager of McDonalds, who followed my example, to the multitude of people online urging me on and proclaiming me the "King of the Internet" for about five minutes.
For those of you who want to read the whole thing: Here's my Twitter account, although you may have to scroll down a week or two (I don't generally tweet that much). I'm not sure whether you need an account of your own to read the stuff. After trying it myself, it took me less than two minutes scrolling, including reading everything I've tweeted since (ugh. I hate reading my own stuff).
So, what else is new? The past few days have been a little rough, but that's kind of the definition of life, anyhow. I titled this post "On Virality and Stagnation," but perhaps the word stagnation is a little harsh. Perhaps 'routine' or "rut' are better. We all get these episodes on occasion, I guess, where you feel life isn't moving forward. You work, eat, excercise, go out with the same people to the same bars twice/week and sleep (don't worry, I love you guys). No progress whatsoever. But then again, progress is something humanity fabricated for the sole purpose of separating oneself from the rest of the pack and in a desperate attempt not to spend too much time contemplating what was, or what was lost. How much progress can one make on a normal day? Not so much I reckon. Sure, I'd like to have the feeling I'm actually going somewhere with my life once every while, but the eternal pessimist in me knows living and surviving are synonymous 90 percent of the time.
For you London kids, my planning currently has two gaps in it where I have consecutive days off: November 12 and 13 (Wednesday and Thursday) and November 20 and 21 (Thursday and Friday). I'm dying to see the city again and hear the chimes of Big Ben (don't mock me. As I explained to some friends last week, we all have these little things that make us nostalgic or happy, ranging from certain smells or sounds to certain songs, places and films. For me, one of those is this), so if you guys could let me know whether you'll actually be around, have work or school and would or would not have a place for me to stay, that'd be awesome (alternatively, I don't mind booking a hotel for the night). Preferably the first dates, as I haven't had a Friday off in months and that could be the perfect opportunity to meet up with some people who work as much as I do.
Alright, it's sushi-time. Talk to you guys later. Enjoy Bonfire Night (please don't post the V for Vendetta-thingy. It's obnoxious) and be safe.
Cheers,
Gianni
Song of the Day: Harry Lauder - It's Nice When You Love a Wee Lassie
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ed5AZ_cMpo
Just kidding: Sarah Lee Guthrie and Johnny Irion: Never Too Far From my Heart
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETA48cdx7Ts
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