Mid-life crisis is still not ticked off from my long list of annoying things I need to complete or at least start. Unfortunately, I still couldn't come up with a decent one. The closest I could think of is still a an expensive sports car but given my current financial prospects -based on some vague numbers I've run through my mind while writing this- mid-life crisis should wait until when I'm about 109 and probably able to afford a decent Porsche. Unfortunately, patience is one of the very few qualities I'm short of, so that's too a long time to wait. Unless you're a volcano waiting on a rift. Or a man at the mall who's stupidly agreed to go clothes shopping with a woman during the weekend. In these cases, it's a rather short time if you ask the volcano or the woman, but I'm neither. Also, 109 is not really mid-life but rather dangerously stepping in the fourth-quarter territory, based on other loose estimations pf my life-span, which amount to a significant percentage of my style of devising watertight-plans. If I were one of the people who find witty expressing percentages by slices in a pie chart, I'd say they're a rather a big slice. Usually those people are accountants. Or overly appreciative of Excel. I'm not an accountant.
With the Porsche out of the picture, the feminist in me decided she was quite happy with my breasts and lips size and she was quick to dismiss implants out of the picture, too. But while in the area of sensitive body parts, she decided some sports would be beneficial. This is something no sane man would conceive unless it involved a TV, snacks and some alcohol, but the feminist side dismissed those, too. Feminists tend to be quite dismissive quite often, with an average of twice per paragraph.
Moving on with a new paragraph, just in case more dismissal is required.
Given how significant feminism is in my life, I decided to get to it. Not directly into sports, but into evaluating the consequences. I may not a very patient person, but I'm not hasty either. It's not something trivial you can just stampede into and then evaluate the consequences later, like buying cheap milk because it's close to the expiration date (and colour). Or a relationship. This is an important endeavour, as some form of physical effort may be involved.
Now that I'm thinking about it, it's a pity I'm not very appreciative of Excel, as it could help me create a table with 2 columns containing all the pros and cons and even come up with a nice pie chart outlining my conclusions based on that table. But as I've confusingly said, I'm not a volcano at the mall. Confusion is very high up that long list of qualities I possess, right next to humility and never having told a lie. It's such a long list that I would have organized it somehow if I had known how, but I am not aware of any tools for maintaining large collections of items.
That being said, I managed to remember several random effects of picking up on sports and a healthy life-style. I should start by pointing out that I'm a committed vegetarian already. Well, part-time vegetarian, but still; I'm no stranger to healthy choices. I don't eat bacon tiramisu every day, I check the label on the beer cans to make sure they don't contain palm oil and I'm always making sure those blue-cheese barbecue Pringles are ethically harvested from free-range potatoes (they're fine, there are no potatoes in them).
Even if you're already prepared, adopting a sporty life-style brings some significant changes. For instance, you start wearing tight clothes that could have looked decently probably 20 kg ago (that's 3 stone if you're British or a rounding error if you're American). Decent is a stretched (ha!) term, since even if you were fit you'd still be covered in 3 quarters of all the shades of a rainbow, mostly from the areas with savage shiny fuchsia, bright venomous orange, seizure-inducing purple and Predator-blood-retina-bleeding-fluorescent-green. Performance sporting gear and monochromatism are not the best friends. Also, it helps if you're into the habit of checking the label, thusly being able to get only the best synthetic nylon stretch pants and lung-crushing tops. Natural ingredients may be good in the kitchen but they're an outrageous faux-pas at the gym. And while we're on the topic of ingredients, the same goes for hydration gels packets, ergonomic energy drink buckets, muscle stimulant steroids and 3-gallon (that's mid-size for the American audience) protein shake canisters. If you thought cooking meth -the easiest way to get skinny- was difficult, wait till you read these labels; you may hold a chemist diploma and still struggle figuring out the list. That's a sign you're on the right track, though. Don't let complicated terminology intimidate you: as long as you can carry them
on your $200 waist-band (performance clothes don't bother with
pockets unless they're in places you cannot reach to) these items will be your loyal companions on the path to a fit and
healthy lifestyle (or until you get kidney failure or a stroke).
By the time you're done purchasing all the required gear you may come to realize you would have spent less on a Porsche fit with the racing package, custom performance paint and ceramic brakes (bike rack not included). Speaking of which, posh car manufacturers are more than happy to sell you performance bikes more expensive than any of their cars. They may cost an arm and a leg, but weigh less than a finger. And if you're truly committed and go all the way for the top-of-the-range-titanium-helium-carbon-negative-weight-composite model the price range is bordering Koenigsegg territory. For those not into mid-life-crisis performance cars, Koenigsegg is a word you can only copy/ paste in a sentence, as you can never type it yourself.
However, money is not all, you cannot put a price on health and happiness. You may not have known it, but when you're running your body is releasing endorphins (yes, just like when you're gorging on chocolate biscuits). These make you happy. Your body is also releasing gases. Quite a lot of them. As I said, you cannot put a price on health but if I were to make an educated guess (to avoid over-using loose estimations) it'd be about 8$ per each nutrient-packed flatulent outburst. Anyways, remember that no pain is no gain. Temporary intestinal paralysis and excruciating muscle cramps are the surest path to physical comfort and a happy mind.
There is a social component to working out, too. This also contributes to happiness and a positive state of mind. You will make new friends, many
of them holding impressive and interesting academic degrees in advanced disciplines like personal coaching, underwater yoga, bone-crunching-Pilates or sophisticated-cross-fit. If you're unsure of these credentials, you may be happy to know they are certified by the most exotic and reputable establishments of superior online education, some even endorsed by celebrity athletes like Vin Diesel and that aerobics trainer from Fiji whose diet is only coconuts and Evian water. And even if these new friends are in their very early twenties, some have already published valuable self-help books based on their lifetime experience. These valuable self-help books are available for download for free from their free website. All you need is to subscribe to the newsletter. And provide your credit card details, but that's only to prove you're serious about improving your life.
Anyway, help and encouragement from your new friends will help you get better -not better, the best- in no-time. Soon you'll be posting on Facebook your improved lap times and comparing them with your friends', which is something everybody enjoys reading about every 20 minutes. You should also post pictures of your new look in your new performance outfit. It's called leading by example. You'll lead others into realizing how radical changes are required right now if they want to be physically and mentally prepared for midlife crisis.
You're probably convinced already, but for the sake of fairness, the other column of my pros/cons non-existent table only has sitting comfortably on the couch, enjoying a pizza and a cookie -or the whole box- during a weekend marathon of the sequel to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, called Barely Legal Ninja Turtles. Possibly followed by some thinking about mid-life crisis. Or some brief physical activity in the kitchen.
Showing posts with label long titles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label long titles. Show all posts
10 December, 2014
Conflicting pirates of something that sounds like Carribean but hasn't been used yet in failed puns.
OK, let’s not waste too much time!
First example.
When I was younger I used to watch many movies in which the good guy fights the bad guy for about 10-15 minutes before the movie ends. There's a pattern in the flow, which goes like this: good guy finds bad guy after having beaten everybody else in the bad guy's gang; the bad guy consistently beats the crap out of the good guy for a while; the good guy suddenly remembers the bad guy did something evil to his little sister, mistreated his family or did something nasty to the entire village (rarely did good guys come from big cities) some time ago. Based on that flashback, he suddenly becomes even more motivated and defeats the bad guy easily. There's more to say about this, but maybe some other time.
Here's another example (second example, if you're one of those people that like to keep track of such things).
When I was even younger, I used to be a pirate. Not like the ones that download music on the internet, but a proper one (well, almost; explanation below). This was hundreds of years ago, when internet connectivity was not that good, on account of not having been invented yet. To put things in perspective, it was even worse (not by much, though) than it is today in less civilized parts of the world. For instance, the area between Canada and the United Mexican States. Being an almost proper pirate meant I was sailing and searching for treasures, but I hadn't lost a leg or an arm, mainly because I find them more convenient and ergonomic than using a hook or a stump. Also, my vision was quite good back then, and my eyes were unobstructed by any patches, which can be inconvenient when trying to spot remote islands or competing/ enemy ships lurking just below the horizon. Also, patches are not easy to keep dry while sailing the rough seas. Ironically, patches are quite relevant today in the age of the modern internet and people trying to quit smoking. Those are different patches, though (I suppose you could still use a nicotine patch over your eye to kill two birds with one stone -looking like a pirate and quitting smoking, in case you got confused- but I am not certain about the effectiveness for the latter scenario). One more thing before we go back to the current example. Yes, yes, the second example; that's very good, very good indeed. You should reward your distributive attention with a cookie or a piece of candy. I don't find it easy at all to kill one bird with one stone, let alone two; either task is complicated enough to render the comparison pointless. It's a misleading trope. And stones are not that hard to find, are they? And what idiot likes to kill birds with stones, anyway?
So: I was a pirate, but I had all my limbs, didn't wear stupid clothes and didn't have a parrot talking gibberish on my shoulder. I used to find practical waterproof clothes more important than fashionably tacky black and white garment, with buckles, ruffles and bird droppings on the shoulder. No matter how cute talking parrots are, you get fed up with them after a while and are tempted to kill them with a stone.
Besides due customs or random conflicts with authorities, locals or other sailors, we'd often set sail towards remote islands where treasures were to be found. In those days it was not uncommon to find mysterious maps, which could be found in bottles on the shore or in the basement of taverns. A mysterious map should contain at least 3 of the following elements in order to be credible: a forest or at least a clump of palm trees, dotted lines starting from the trees or from a rock in the shape of a skull, a cross encompassed by a circle with rich ornaments and a big N indicating the North, the tropic of Capricorn (usually the island is below it on the map, treasure islands above it, let alone the Northern hemisphere, are rather scarce), a big X pointing to the treasure and some warning of hidden dangers lurking ahead. Also, a small lake or waterfall are not uncommon.
Once we got the map (I wouldn't go alone, I'm not very fond of waters deeper than my height), we'd face many dangers such as fights with other pirate ships (but only during storms, you never witness a fight in fine weather), over-tanning, boredom and other things which I cannot remember so I'll label them as miscellanea. Women were not allowed on the ships back then, as they were considered bad luck and the sailing feminist community was not that developed in order to come up with relevant protests. One major downside of this (besides being in the company of superstitious people) was that nobody could ask for directions when we got lost. Fortunately, fights or riots were a reliable sign you were near your destination, as most of them broke out very soon before someone on the mast would yell "Laaaaand!" Once we'd get on the land we'd go through other perilous adventures such as cannibals, poisonous insects, running out of water or food or someone from the crew running away with the map to get the entire treasure for themselves. More than often we'd find the traitor dead in horrible conditions, hanging from a tree or behind some bushes that someone would happen to go to in order to look for berries (or so they'd say). Finding their bodies was preceded by the camera zooming on the area and ominous music. And followed by cheers of people whose belief in karma was reinforced (although it wasn't known as karma back then), which was right up their superstitious alley. If there's a cave on the island, the treasure is always buried there (unfortunately, this pattern was noticed after many hours of digging in the wrong places). If there's no such cave, it's in the sand or under some scary ancient statue covered in ferns. Either way, as a rule, it's always in the furthest place from where you've parked the ship (or dropped anchor, for those more accustomed to pirate parlance).
After the tedious cruise and dangerous trip -tired, hungry and thirsty- we'd usually find the spot where the treasure was buried. Another piece of menacing music was sign we were in the right place. At this point we'd notice we either forgot or lost the shovel (digging in the sand with a knife only works in movies), and since everyone was too exhausted to get back to the ship to get another one, we'd just pack and go back home.
Well, I'm convinced at this point the conclusion of these strikingly similar examples is already quite obvious, but there you go anyway: some people will do a brilliant job only up to a certain point, while others only can get to do something only after they've been pushed past a certain point (hint: this is from the first example). Either way, everyone can be nice people, no matter how different. And regardless of where they come from and what they do, you could always learn something valuable from someone's life story. So pay attention to all people! You never know when you can exploit their stories for quasi-philosophical purposes.
First example.
When I was younger I used to watch many movies in which the good guy fights the bad guy for about 10-15 minutes before the movie ends. There's a pattern in the flow, which goes like this: good guy finds bad guy after having beaten everybody else in the bad guy's gang; the bad guy consistently beats the crap out of the good guy for a while; the good guy suddenly remembers the bad guy did something evil to his little sister, mistreated his family or did something nasty to the entire village (rarely did good guys come from big cities) some time ago. Based on that flashback, he suddenly becomes even more motivated and defeats the bad guy easily. There's more to say about this, but maybe some other time.
Here's another example (second example, if you're one of those people that like to keep track of such things).
When I was even younger, I used to be a pirate. Not like the ones that download music on the internet, but a proper one (well, almost; explanation below). This was hundreds of years ago, when internet connectivity was not that good, on account of not having been invented yet. To put things in perspective, it was even worse (not by much, though) than it is today in less civilized parts of the world. For instance, the area between Canada and the United Mexican States. Being an almost proper pirate meant I was sailing and searching for treasures, but I hadn't lost a leg or an arm, mainly because I find them more convenient and ergonomic than using a hook or a stump. Also, my vision was quite good back then, and my eyes were unobstructed by any patches, which can be inconvenient when trying to spot remote islands or competing/ enemy ships lurking just below the horizon. Also, patches are not easy to keep dry while sailing the rough seas. Ironically, patches are quite relevant today in the age of the modern internet and people trying to quit smoking. Those are different patches, though (I suppose you could still use a nicotine patch over your eye to kill two birds with one stone -looking like a pirate and quitting smoking, in case you got confused- but I am not certain about the effectiveness for the latter scenario). One more thing before we go back to the current example. Yes, yes, the second example; that's very good, very good indeed. You should reward your distributive attention with a cookie or a piece of candy. I don't find it easy at all to kill one bird with one stone, let alone two; either task is complicated enough to render the comparison pointless. It's a misleading trope. And stones are not that hard to find, are they? And what idiot likes to kill birds with stones, anyway?
So: I was a pirate, but I had all my limbs, didn't wear stupid clothes and didn't have a parrot talking gibberish on my shoulder. I used to find practical waterproof clothes more important than fashionably tacky black and white garment, with buckles, ruffles and bird droppings on the shoulder. No matter how cute talking parrots are, you get fed up with them after a while and are tempted to kill them with a stone.
Besides due customs or random conflicts with authorities, locals or other sailors, we'd often set sail towards remote islands where treasures were to be found. In those days it was not uncommon to find mysterious maps, which could be found in bottles on the shore or in the basement of taverns. A mysterious map should contain at least 3 of the following elements in order to be credible: a forest or at least a clump of palm trees, dotted lines starting from the trees or from a rock in the shape of a skull, a cross encompassed by a circle with rich ornaments and a big N indicating the North, the tropic of Capricorn (usually the island is below it on the map, treasure islands above it, let alone the Northern hemisphere, are rather scarce), a big X pointing to the treasure and some warning of hidden dangers lurking ahead. Also, a small lake or waterfall are not uncommon.
Once we got the map (I wouldn't go alone, I'm not very fond of waters deeper than my height), we'd face many dangers such as fights with other pirate ships (but only during storms, you never witness a fight in fine weather), over-tanning, boredom and other things which I cannot remember so I'll label them as miscellanea. Women were not allowed on the ships back then, as they were considered bad luck and the sailing feminist community was not that developed in order to come up with relevant protests. One major downside of this (besides being in the company of superstitious people) was that nobody could ask for directions when we got lost. Fortunately, fights or riots were a reliable sign you were near your destination, as most of them broke out very soon before someone on the mast would yell "Laaaaand!" Once we'd get on the land we'd go through other perilous adventures such as cannibals, poisonous insects, running out of water or food or someone from the crew running away with the map to get the entire treasure for themselves. More than often we'd find the traitor dead in horrible conditions, hanging from a tree or behind some bushes that someone would happen to go to in order to look for berries (or so they'd say). Finding their bodies was preceded by the camera zooming on the area and ominous music. And followed by cheers of people whose belief in karma was reinforced (although it wasn't known as karma back then), which was right up their superstitious alley. If there's a cave on the island, the treasure is always buried there (unfortunately, this pattern was noticed after many hours of digging in the wrong places). If there's no such cave, it's in the sand or under some scary ancient statue covered in ferns. Either way, as a rule, it's always in the furthest place from where you've parked the ship (or dropped anchor, for those more accustomed to pirate parlance).
After the tedious cruise and dangerous trip -tired, hungry and thirsty- we'd usually find the spot where the treasure was buried. Another piece of menacing music was sign we were in the right place. At this point we'd notice we either forgot or lost the shovel (digging in the sand with a knife only works in movies), and since everyone was too exhausted to get back to the ship to get another one, we'd just pack and go back home.
Well, I'm convinced at this point the conclusion of these strikingly similar examples is already quite obvious, but there you go anyway: some people will do a brilliant job only up to a certain point, while others only can get to do something only after they've been pushed past a certain point (hint: this is from the first example). Either way, everyone can be nice people, no matter how different. And regardless of where they come from and what they do, you could always learn something valuable from someone's life story. So pay attention to all people! You never know when you can exploit their stories for quasi-philosophical purposes.
11 November, 2014
The queen comes on the inside. It's moving swiftly and overtaking the bishop. The bishop fights back. It pulls out a knife and...
... and things get ugly. Chess is a brutal sport. And complicated. It's not all black and white. Except for the board. And the pieces. It's quite racist, actually. There are no pawns with exotic accents. Not all pieces are allowed to go wherever they want. Only the queen can do that. And the other queen. And the kings, but slowly. But they don't go anywhere anyway. Not until most of the pieces are off the board. They get moving once the plebs are pretty much all dead.
I don't play chess often. But when I do, it's rare. I've just mentioned that. Sometimes it is medium or even well-done. I guess many chess players enjoy a bit of blood. It's quite brutal. I've said that, too.
Sometimes you need to repeat things. When the person you're talking to is not very intelligent. Or not paying attention. Or when you're not. Sometimes you repeat things you're saying even when you're not talking to someone. Maybe it is better to be coherent when you're talking to yourself? As you may have probably realized by now, this is not a very good story. A story needs action, a timeline along which things are happening in a certain order. You're interested in how it goes, it gets captivating, you start liking some characters and disliking others, it gets exciting. You want to know how it ends. But just before that, mom closes the book because it's getting late and you have to wake up early. But you'll continue tomorrow. She then moves to her room, where things start to get exciting for daddy. Now he has to convince mommy he's already brushed his teeth, when mommy was reading you the story. There is some rustle and then an abrupt segue to darkness. You fall asleep, and now you're dreaming. There's a giant spider coming towards you. You wake up scared and realize you're not a child, you're a grown-up and you fell asleep with your face on the keyboard. Your face emailed gibberish in your sleep to random colleagues from the address book. And there's a meeting in 20 minutes. Suddenly, the giant spider is not so bad anymore. Unfortunately, there's no time for another nap. Hopefully, many of your emails are gibberish all the time and probably nobody will notice you sent them whilst asleep. That's why it's great not to set high expectations. 19 minutes left. You can read a bit. A good story to keep your mind off spiders and meetings. Something to relax you. Or coffee, maybe? Never hurts to have one before a meeting. With a bit of luck, someone in the cafeteria may even tell you what the meeting is about. Or maybe you'll meet that new lady from Finance. She looks nice. Will she be in the meeting, too? Of course, there's nobody interesting in the cafeteria, and the coffee is cold. What is this place coming to? You head to the meeting room and realize there's nobody there. Except for a spider. But it's not gigantic, it's tiny. It's hidden on a leaf in the plant in the big pot near the door. Well, it thinks it's hidden; if it were, you wouldn't notice it. Or maybe you're such a great observer. That's what happens when you don't have much to do. Until yesterday you didn't even know there were plants in the meeting room. And until now you didn't even realize the meeting is actually tomorrow. Maybe you're not such a great observer. Anyway, back to your desk. You don't feel like working, and you don't feel like going on YouTube again; you've already spent half your morning there. Time for something new. Something challenging, something to keep you awake for 3 more hours. Maybe some chess; it's such a brutal sport, time will fly in no time. Remember?
Well, anyway... another day at the office.
I don't play chess often. But when I do, it's rare. I've just mentioned that. Sometimes it is medium or even well-done. I guess many chess players enjoy a bit of blood. It's quite brutal. I've said that, too.
Sometimes you need to repeat things. When the person you're talking to is not very intelligent. Or not paying attention. Or when you're not. Sometimes you repeat things you're saying even when you're not talking to someone. Maybe it is better to be coherent when you're talking to yourself? As you may have probably realized by now, this is not a very good story. A story needs action, a timeline along which things are happening in a certain order. You're interested in how it goes, it gets captivating, you start liking some characters and disliking others, it gets exciting. You want to know how it ends. But just before that, mom closes the book because it's getting late and you have to wake up early. But you'll continue tomorrow. She then moves to her room, where things start to get exciting for daddy. Now he has to convince mommy he's already brushed his teeth, when mommy was reading you the story. There is some rustle and then an abrupt segue to darkness. You fall asleep, and now you're dreaming. There's a giant spider coming towards you. You wake up scared and realize you're not a child, you're a grown-up and you fell asleep with your face on the keyboard. Your face emailed gibberish in your sleep to random colleagues from the address book. And there's a meeting in 20 minutes. Suddenly, the giant spider is not so bad anymore. Unfortunately, there's no time for another nap. Hopefully, many of your emails are gibberish all the time and probably nobody will notice you sent them whilst asleep. That's why it's great not to set high expectations. 19 minutes left. You can read a bit. A good story to keep your mind off spiders and meetings. Something to relax you. Or coffee, maybe? Never hurts to have one before a meeting. With a bit of luck, someone in the cafeteria may even tell you what the meeting is about. Or maybe you'll meet that new lady from Finance. She looks nice. Will she be in the meeting, too? Of course, there's nobody interesting in the cafeteria, and the coffee is cold. What is this place coming to? You head to the meeting room and realize there's nobody there. Except for a spider. But it's not gigantic, it's tiny. It's hidden on a leaf in the plant in the big pot near the door. Well, it thinks it's hidden; if it were, you wouldn't notice it. Or maybe you're such a great observer. That's what happens when you don't have much to do. Until yesterday you didn't even know there were plants in the meeting room. And until now you didn't even realize the meeting is actually tomorrow. Maybe you're not such a great observer. Anyway, back to your desk. You don't feel like working, and you don't feel like going on YouTube again; you've already spent half your morning there. Time for something new. Something challenging, something to keep you awake for 3 more hours. Maybe some chess; it's such a brutal sport, time will fly in no time. Remember?
Well, anyway... another day at the office.
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