I am flying.
I have spread my wings and I am flying. One of the oldest human dreams, besides riches or glory or Cleopatra and her sister. I am not flying like you, that would be a painful experience. Spend one hour squeezed in the bus between sweaty people with fat suitcases. Hoping to make it two hours in advance to the airport. Because you need time for the security queues. Go through the detector, thank all your deities for not triggering the beep after you were stripped off your watch, glasses, wallet, phone, belt, shoes, socks, and dignity. And any liquids, sir? And of course, going again through the detector, and waiting to be swabbed for explosives because the beard qualifies you for the random check. Sometimes men get away with it. Women, less often. You, never. Then passport control queues, with rushed people cutting through because they're running late. Late for overpriced alcohol, and oversized Toblerones, as you see 20 minutes later in the duty-free. And maybe some perfume, too, if it's on sale. How else could they make sure they hoard all the space in the overhead compartment? Well, at least there's the consolation of smashing through their bags, hoping to crush the chocolate boxes when you try to squeeze your backpack in. No? You do not do that? Well...
Well, back to my story. This time it is not crowded, there are no queues. Nobody is rushing anywhere. There is nobody in here. I am flying alone through giant, rustling trees in this quiet forest that stretches as far as my eyes can see. The moon and the stars are painting shimmering pale contours on deep blue trees, and I am swirling and swooshing through the moving shapes. All other beings are asleep, hidden beneath the branches and the leaves and the steely darkness. I am a majestic owl and the forest and the night are mine.
I am flying for hours and now I am hovering over a big city. I see tall buildings and big roads dividing them. I see people on the sidewalks, walking lost in shiny screens glowing in the dark and bumping into each other. I see cars, small and big, with even more people in them. I am thinking some of these people are going to airports so they can fly, too. But not like me, not like here. They squeeze and struggle and suffer, and when they finally get in the air they go too high over the clouds and miss all the beauty from below. I can see everything and hear everything. Which reminds me to drop a little souvenir on that car blaring noises from its speakers and its unpleasant driver. I am a majestic little crow in this big city. The big city is mine, too. But unlike the forest, it is making me tired quickly.
As the dawn breaks I am now out of the city and out of the little crow feathers. The sun is rising now, and I am an eagle above these beautiful green hills, scattered with flowers as colorful as I could have never imagined, painting a scenery as picturesque as in the most beautiful books... just like you can read about in books. For some time, I play trying to fly above a slow, playful shadow drawn below by a cloud from above. Then I notice two hares steadily running across a hill. They are gray and one of them has black and yellow spots on its back and head. The spotted one is bigger, he must be the male. He looks so sweet, I chose him to also be my breeaaaakfaaaast! I swiftly plunge towards him, grasp with my claws, and soar back towards the cloud while the other one is running desperately for the lair. I circle for a few minutes and land in a nice, private spot with the gray and spotted one. Actually, it is rather crimson by now but I was never one to judge other by colour. I feast on its delicious flesh and innards, picking and gnawing through the juicy morsels. Mhhmm, delicious fresh flesh, I cannot comprehend how others can complain about fast food. Come to think of it, it was not that fast. And not that big, either. All that remains is a piece of leg. Maybe the fox that thinks it's sneaking unnoticed in the grass will use it for good luck. It sure did not bring much luck to this unfortunate previous owner. I guess it is time for a quick digestive glide now anyway.
As I go higher I notice the sun is getting stronger and stronger, beaming blindingly into my eyes. And strangely, I also hear voices coming from behind the sun. They are asking me if I know who modified the presentation this morning, there are two graphs missing. How could I know? I never do. But I do know that is not the sun. That is the projector. And somebody fiddling with it whilst trying to connect their stupid adapter is pointing it straight into my eyes in the process. Time to get back on land, wake up and crawl dreadingly through the stinking mud of yet another pointless status report meeting. As Andy takes care of lying about our team progress I figure it is time to take out my little shiny screen and sling some birds in the sky unnoticed for the next 45 minutes.
12 July, 2017
Not out, but not quite in, either (Part VIII)
Dear sender,
Starting next Monday my manager is going on vacation for three weeks. However, I will still be in the office so this does not qualify as an out-of-office auto-reply. Nevertheless, please expect anyway delayed responses or no responses at all during this time-frame.
I plan to leave on vacation, too, but a bit later; most likely 1 or 2 days before her return, thus making sure to avoid potentially uncomfortable overlapping attendance during which the status of how things have been going on while she was gone might be checked upon and making sure that somebody else will have to take care of your inquiry or request if you insist on following up or even calling at the office.
So please do follow up in 2 to 4 weeks to ensure a reassignment and speedier resolution of whatever your problem was as well as clean backlog for me when I return.
Starting next Monday my manager is going on vacation for three weeks. However, I will still be in the office so this does not qualify as an out-of-office auto-reply. Nevertheless, please expect anyway delayed responses or no responses at all during this time-frame.
I plan to leave on vacation, too, but a bit later; most likely 1 or 2 days before her return, thus making sure to avoid potentially uncomfortable overlapping attendance during which the status of how things have been going on while she was gone might be checked upon and making sure that somebody else will have to take care of your inquiry or request if you insist on following up or even calling at the office.
So please do follow up in 2 to 4 weeks to ensure a reassignment and speedier resolution of whatever your problem was as well as clean backlog for me when I return.
18 June, 2017
A useless guide to a politically correct updated version of a classic story featuring three little pigs.
At some point before the story even begins, the compliance lady officer quickly took notice the three little pigs were all rosy white males, sending a wrong message to children that only privileged pigs could get stalked, assaulted, maimed, and eventually killed.
One email later, a committee followed. After which twenty meetings and a significant budget followed. After which a policy followed, which stated at least one should be a sow. Or a gilt, we're not judging. Even better if there's also a minority. Preferably not Arab or Jewish, for the sake of simplicity (and because other reasons are not very easy to explain). Also for the sake of simplicity (and copyright and licensing reasons), it was agreed to call them 3 little pigs, collectively. With a disclaimer on page two that at least one of them is indeed minority. And with the risk of ruining the end of the story, we'll write there that no animal was harm during the writing of this book.
So, the updated story begins one sunny day with three -compliantly represented- little pigs. They had become metaphorically fed up with the fact that they were being literally fed up and cared for by a farmer and ran to live on their own in the woods. As there is not too much sun in the wood, and with winter also approaching, one pig suggested they should build a shelter to protect them from the bad weather. Everyone agreed and a committee was assembled. Then, due to disagreement on budget, building materials and aesthetic aspects related to the project, it quickly disassembled. The common shelter had become three separate houses.
One pig built a house from straw. For the second, wood was used. And the third one built his (or hers; it's not important which did which because they are all equal, but it was suggested that it is important to state that it's not important) from bricks, concrete, and slate shingles. This is a modern story, and asbestos was out of the question.
We're not going to get bogged down in details about how hoofed mammals with not a great reputation for handling tools and heavy construction materials did it, but in the end the houses were ready before winter. Not by much, though: the house made of wood took a long time to complete. The building phase was, in fact, significantly shorter from for the other two, as construction material was nearby in abundant quantities. However, additional time was required to make sure the rules of Feng-shui were followed at every step, that the appropriate furniture, rugs, paintings, and other decorations were bought, that they matched and gave it a warm, welcoming vibe and so on.
In the end, they were all happy in their houses and spent each night visiting each other, discussing over a glass of wine the advantages of each construction choice and concluding every time that the house made of wood was the most beautiful after his (or her) owner began to oink and cry whenever the other two would dare to suggest otherwise for even the tiniest details. For instance, the fact that the brick house also had a heating system and excellent thermal insulation for the upcoming winter.
Until one day...
On this one day, the proverbial big bad wolf was walking through the part of wood where the houses were built. Somehow the wolf managed to ignore the noise and ruckus from three construction sites in a place famous for being dead quiet, save only for the rustling leaves in the gentle wind. Unlikely for a predatory animal famous for its excellent senses on which its survival depended across millennia, but hey, in stories anything is possible. Also, we are going to assume the wolf had probably missed the town meetings where the new dwelling projects were discussed before being evaluated and approved. It is important for children to know that abiding the law and regulations are important. It is also important for them to know that it is okay to assume bad things about aspects of life we don't agree with, no matter how unlikely. Such as a wolf being a senseless, irresponsible citizen of the forest. Or other predatory animals for whom the pigs would be food for their cubs, ensuring the survival of their species. And all that on top of their careless acceptance of the drastic impact of construction sites in a delicate ecosystem of a forest. While everybody else was contented to dwell in burrows improvised in caves, trees or even underground.
Anyway, the wolf noticed the houses and went to check things out. The pigs managed to see the wolf first, despite having less developed sense of vision or smell, and quickly locked themselves in the house made of straw. Ignoring the futility of a latch mounted on such flimsy material, the wolf took a deep breath and blew the walls and roof away. The pig who owned the straw house was devastated that it was once again homeless and that the other two could see where he (or she) hid the stash of naughty magazines that would keep him (or her) warm during the cold and lonely winter. However, the adrenaline pump pushed him (or her) to drag the other two into the wooden house while the wolf struggled to catch its breath.
The wolf followed them to the wooden house but this time he couldn't blow the walls. He tried and tried, but to no avail. At this point it was not only a matter of hunger, but rather one of ego. So, he quickly glanced around and saw some tools left outside and started to hack and saw away at the walls. You see, children, this is why mommy and daddy say it is important to keep your things in order and not leave your toys all over the house. Order and cleanliness can save your life one day. They can also prevent uncle Harris from yelling at night when he steps on a piece of Lego while searching his way to the bathroom in the dark because that aunt Susanne makes a scene if he turns on the light and wakes her up. And you should keep order every day, not only when we have guests that stay overnight. Anyway, while the wolf hacked and sawed and puffed away the pigs used the back door to escape to the brick house. They had to move swiftly but quietly, which prompted the owner of the wooden house to ask them to take their dirty shoes off while crossing the house and put them back on when they reached the patio. To avoid making noise on the creaking wooden floor, of course.
As the wolf managed to cut his way into the wooden house, the three pigs found their escape into the solid brick house. The wolf blew and he hacked and he sawed, but he could not enter. The pigs were safe and sound, finally.
Or so they thought. Because you see, children, while the wolf could not get in this meant the three pigs could not go out, either. And they would run out of food and water soon. Hydration is important, you know. This is why your parents make sure you drink your water or milk or fruit juice at each meal. And one day, when you grow up, you will be able to have a beer, too. But in moderation, because alcohol is only good in moderation. Otherwise you'll need to go to the bathroom at night, like uncle Harris. And there might be other complications, too.
The wolf knew all that. Except for uncle Harris' drinking habit. Patiently, he waited. He made sure all the doors were locked and the pigs could not go out like they did at the wooden house. After that, he made a quick run to the ruins of the straw house and took the magazines to pass the time. Although for different reasons, the graphical depictions of revealing and provoking pigs were of great interest to the hungry wolf, too.
Inside, the pigs were waiting, too. For a miracle. And since this is a children story, the miracle arrived right when they would get desperate and start to lose hope.
Worried about the missing pigs, their owner had been looking for them. With the winter closing in, the farmer was growing impatient, too. One day, you'll understand why. Or maybe you know already from aunt Susanne, who goes on and on about how meat is murder and everybody should turn vegetarian like she did three weeks ago.
Long story short, because daddy has an important presentation to do review tonight, the farmer chase the wolf away and rescued the pigs who lived happy ever after. Why are you crying? What? What do you mean brick and tiles are the most polluting materials, while straw and wood are sustainable? You know what, that Susanne is a hippie cow. Yes, Timmy, she probably is worse than the wolf. But don't tell your mom. No, that wouldn't mean lying. It would be like our secret. If daddy knows, it's enough. Good ni... What now? Yes, if the pigs had gone to the brick house first, the other two houses would have survived. And the wolf would have gotten bored and left the pigs alone eventually. And yes, in the end it's not that important that one of the pigs is a lady pig. But yes, anything could happen. For instance, your biscuits might disappear by morning. Yes, again. No, I'm not eating them sometimes. No, no. No, you've seen wrong. It's probably aunt Susanne. She only had a salad this evening, she might get hungry during the night. Don't go to hide them now, you go to bed. It's late. Yes, daddy's taking care. Sure, I promise, why not. You go to bed now, I will protect the biscuits. But you don't tell mom what we talked about aunt Susanne. You know how she gets upset. Good night. Good night!
One email later, a committee followed. After which twenty meetings and a significant budget followed. After which a policy followed, which stated at least one should be a sow. Or a gilt, we're not judging. Even better if there's also a minority. Preferably not Arab or Jewish, for the sake of simplicity (and because other reasons are not very easy to explain). Also for the sake of simplicity (and copyright and licensing reasons), it was agreed to call them 3 little pigs, collectively. With a disclaimer on page two that at least one of them is indeed minority. And with the risk of ruining the end of the story, we'll write there that no animal was harm during the writing of this book.
So, the updated story begins one sunny day with three -compliantly represented- little pigs. They had become metaphorically fed up with the fact that they were being literally fed up and cared for by a farmer and ran to live on their own in the woods. As there is not too much sun in the wood, and with winter also approaching, one pig suggested they should build a shelter to protect them from the bad weather. Everyone agreed and a committee was assembled. Then, due to disagreement on budget, building materials and aesthetic aspects related to the project, it quickly disassembled. The common shelter had become three separate houses.
One pig built a house from straw. For the second, wood was used. And the third one built his (or hers; it's not important which did which because they are all equal, but it was suggested that it is important to state that it's not important) from bricks, concrete, and slate shingles. This is a modern story, and asbestos was out of the question.
We're not going to get bogged down in details about how hoofed mammals with not a great reputation for handling tools and heavy construction materials did it, but in the end the houses were ready before winter. Not by much, though: the house made of wood took a long time to complete. The building phase was, in fact, significantly shorter from for the other two, as construction material was nearby in abundant quantities. However, additional time was required to make sure the rules of Feng-shui were followed at every step, that the appropriate furniture, rugs, paintings, and other decorations were bought, that they matched and gave it a warm, welcoming vibe and so on.
In the end, they were all happy in their houses and spent each night visiting each other, discussing over a glass of wine the advantages of each construction choice and concluding every time that the house made of wood was the most beautiful after his (or her) owner began to oink and cry whenever the other two would dare to suggest otherwise for even the tiniest details. For instance, the fact that the brick house also had a heating system and excellent thermal insulation for the upcoming winter.
Until one day...
On this one day, the proverbial big bad wolf was walking through the part of wood where the houses were built. Somehow the wolf managed to ignore the noise and ruckus from three construction sites in a place famous for being dead quiet, save only for the rustling leaves in the gentle wind. Unlikely for a predatory animal famous for its excellent senses on which its survival depended across millennia, but hey, in stories anything is possible. Also, we are going to assume the wolf had probably missed the town meetings where the new dwelling projects were discussed before being evaluated and approved. It is important for children to know that abiding the law and regulations are important. It is also important for them to know that it is okay to assume bad things about aspects of life we don't agree with, no matter how unlikely. Such as a wolf being a senseless, irresponsible citizen of the forest. Or other predatory animals for whom the pigs would be food for their cubs, ensuring the survival of their species. And all that on top of their careless acceptance of the drastic impact of construction sites in a delicate ecosystem of a forest. While everybody else was contented to dwell in burrows improvised in caves, trees or even underground.
Anyway, the wolf noticed the houses and went to check things out. The pigs managed to see the wolf first, despite having less developed sense of vision or smell, and quickly locked themselves in the house made of straw. Ignoring the futility of a latch mounted on such flimsy material, the wolf took a deep breath and blew the walls and roof away. The pig who owned the straw house was devastated that it was once again homeless and that the other two could see where he (or she) hid the stash of naughty magazines that would keep him (or her) warm during the cold and lonely winter. However, the adrenaline pump pushed him (or her) to drag the other two into the wooden house while the wolf struggled to catch its breath.
The wolf followed them to the wooden house but this time he couldn't blow the walls. He tried and tried, but to no avail. At this point it was not only a matter of hunger, but rather one of ego. So, he quickly glanced around and saw some tools left outside and started to hack and saw away at the walls. You see, children, this is why mommy and daddy say it is important to keep your things in order and not leave your toys all over the house. Order and cleanliness can save your life one day. They can also prevent uncle Harris from yelling at night when he steps on a piece of Lego while searching his way to the bathroom in the dark because that aunt Susanne makes a scene if he turns on the light and wakes her up. And you should keep order every day, not only when we have guests that stay overnight. Anyway, while the wolf hacked and sawed and puffed away the pigs used the back door to escape to the brick house. They had to move swiftly but quietly, which prompted the owner of the wooden house to ask them to take their dirty shoes off while crossing the house and put them back on when they reached the patio. To avoid making noise on the creaking wooden floor, of course.
As the wolf managed to cut his way into the wooden house, the three pigs found their escape into the solid brick house. The wolf blew and he hacked and he sawed, but he could not enter. The pigs were safe and sound, finally.
Or so they thought. Because you see, children, while the wolf could not get in this meant the three pigs could not go out, either. And they would run out of food and water soon. Hydration is important, you know. This is why your parents make sure you drink your water or milk or fruit juice at each meal. And one day, when you grow up, you will be able to have a beer, too. But in moderation, because alcohol is only good in moderation. Otherwise you'll need to go to the bathroom at night, like uncle Harris. And there might be other complications, too.
The wolf knew all that. Except for uncle Harris' drinking habit. Patiently, he waited. He made sure all the doors were locked and the pigs could not go out like they did at the wooden house. After that, he made a quick run to the ruins of the straw house and took the magazines to pass the time. Although for different reasons, the graphical depictions of revealing and provoking pigs were of great interest to the hungry wolf, too.
Inside, the pigs were waiting, too. For a miracle. And since this is a children story, the miracle arrived right when they would get desperate and start to lose hope.
Worried about the missing pigs, their owner had been looking for them. With the winter closing in, the farmer was growing impatient, too. One day, you'll understand why. Or maybe you know already from aunt Susanne, who goes on and on about how meat is murder and everybody should turn vegetarian like she did three weeks ago.
Long story short, because daddy has an important presentation to do review tonight, the farmer chase the wolf away and rescued the pigs who lived happy ever after. Why are you crying? What? What do you mean brick and tiles are the most polluting materials, while straw and wood are sustainable? You know what, that Susanne is a hippie cow. Yes, Timmy, she probably is worse than the wolf. But don't tell your mom. No, that wouldn't mean lying. It would be like our secret. If daddy knows, it's enough. Good ni... What now? Yes, if the pigs had gone to the brick house first, the other two houses would have survived. And the wolf would have gotten bored and left the pigs alone eventually. And yes, in the end it's not that important that one of the pigs is a lady pig. But yes, anything could happen. For instance, your biscuits might disappear by morning. Yes, again. No, I'm not eating them sometimes. No, no. No, you've seen wrong. It's probably aunt Susanne. She only had a salad this evening, she might get hungry during the night. Don't go to hide them now, you go to bed. It's late. Yes, daddy's taking care. Sure, I promise, why not. You go to bed now, I will protect the biscuits. But you don't tell mom what we talked about aunt Susanne. You know how she gets upset. Good night. Good night!
18 January, 2017
A useless guide to minimalism
Modern minimalism is generating quite some buzz these days, and what better time to explain it a bit than when I'm at work and supposed to do some report I don't want to do? My manager is sitting next to me and my clickety thrumming seems to keep him quiet and hopeful I'll do the report after all. Let's dig in, then.
First of all, this isn't something new; we all have a dose of minimalism within ourselves and employ it in day-to-day activities and interactions, to a certain extent. It is not a recent discovery, unless for the uneducated and irrational that waste paper and screen estate with their copious gushing. It is nothing more than common sense that helps with self-preservation and avoiding the unnecessary. For instance, you may wish to manifest it when you're supposed to chip in for a gift for a person you don't really like. I choose to employ it whenever boring tasks are being assigned. Or any task that doesn't involve eating some cake. In reasonable amounts, it makes life better and comfortable. Take it to extreme, though, and it ends up doing more harm than good. Just like anything in excess (except for that caramel cake you thought you'd hidden in the back of the fridge behind Janet's salad box before leaving for meetings).
With the risk of sounding like Deepak Chopra, modern minimalists are people for whom enough is not enough, but the other way around. They're boring wasteful nihilist narcissists lacking the afore-mentioned common sense.
Here's how to become one.
Throw away anything that does not bring you joy (their advice). Start with one unnecessary object. Today. Continue with two objects tomorrow. And so on. You get it. For lack of inspiration, start with your boss' umbrella (my advice). Tomorrow chuck one of his gloves and that book you said you'd start reading two years ago. In a four weeks, your life will be less cluttered and you will be happy. If you're married, make it a seven months. Of course, if you were slightly organized when you began you could end up homeless and naked, too. Crass generalization aside, I find some issues with this "logic". It is a narrow view that can only suit people with more money and useless stuff than common sense.
Sooner or later, this approach will incur additional costs.
There are objects that do not bring joy but you should not throw away, for obvious reasons. The snow shovel, for example. It brings me no joy when I use it to clear the driveway and its contribution to the aesthetic outlook of the shed is rather negligible. It beats being hungry and snowed in at home, though. It could even bring some satisfaction, however, if I used to beat the pompous pricks who find it smarter to pay someone else an amount of money to shovel their snow while they're shaking their ass at the gym because they cannot imagine another way to work out a bit. I could also use it to beat the inconsiderate minimalists that find it pointless to spend money on headphones and listen to crap music on the phone speaker on the subway near me. Come to think of it, a shovel would bring me a lot of joy in a lot of scenarios.
Another great example that quickly comes to mind is the toolbox. I sure as hell wouldn't keep it for the joy it brings, save for beating minimalists with a hammer when the shovel is broken. But without it, how could I fix a shelf that's come loose? If it's the shelf where I keep the toolbox, where would I keep the toolbox then?
This is not a very exhaustive list by far, but I hope it helps you understand. Besides, my manager has left for lunch and I can shift my focus away from the keyboard, to the dark quiet conference room I booked for a minimalist afternoon nap.
But before I turn in I would like to end on an optimistic note. Because minimalism is a good thing, that helps you spend less time cleaning up. And if baristas practiced it to get rid of all the joy-killing clutter, the coffee-shops would be more enjoyable without teenagers sporting truck tyre earrings and indoor fake fur jackets whilst hogging the tables all day long with their MacBooks and a coffee with 8 words in the title. And there would be no coffees with 8 words in the title on the menu, either.
First of all, this isn't something new; we all have a dose of minimalism within ourselves and employ it in day-to-day activities and interactions, to a certain extent. It is not a recent discovery, unless for the uneducated and irrational that waste paper and screen estate with their copious gushing. It is nothing more than common sense that helps with self-preservation and avoiding the unnecessary. For instance, you may wish to manifest it when you're supposed to chip in for a gift for a person you don't really like. I choose to employ it whenever boring tasks are being assigned. Or any task that doesn't involve eating some cake. In reasonable amounts, it makes life better and comfortable. Take it to extreme, though, and it ends up doing more harm than good. Just like anything in excess (except for that caramel cake you thought you'd hidden in the back of the fridge behind Janet's salad box before leaving for meetings).
With the risk of sounding like Deepak Chopra, modern minimalists are people for whom enough is not enough, but the other way around. They're boring wasteful nihilist narcissists lacking the afore-mentioned common sense.
Here's how to become one.
Throw away anything that does not bring you joy (their advice). Start with one unnecessary object. Today. Continue with two objects tomorrow. And so on. You get it. For lack of inspiration, start with your boss' umbrella (my advice). Tomorrow chuck one of his gloves and that book you said you'd start reading two years ago. In a four weeks, your life will be less cluttered and you will be happy. If you're married, make it a seven months. Of course, if you were slightly organized when you began you could end up homeless and naked, too. Crass generalization aside, I find some issues with this "logic". It is a narrow view that can only suit people with more money and useless stuff than common sense.
Sooner or later, this approach will incur additional costs.
There are objects that do not bring joy but you should not throw away, for obvious reasons. The snow shovel, for example. It brings me no joy when I use it to clear the driveway and its contribution to the aesthetic outlook of the shed is rather negligible. It beats being hungry and snowed in at home, though. It could even bring some satisfaction, however, if I used to beat the pompous pricks who find it smarter to pay someone else an amount of money to shovel their snow while they're shaking their ass at the gym because they cannot imagine another way to work out a bit. I could also use it to beat the inconsiderate minimalists that find it pointless to spend money on headphones and listen to crap music on the phone speaker on the subway near me. Come to think of it, a shovel would bring me a lot of joy in a lot of scenarios.
Another great example that quickly comes to mind is the toolbox. I sure as hell wouldn't keep it for the joy it brings, save for beating minimalists with a hammer when the shovel is broken. But without it, how could I fix a shelf that's come loose? If it's the shelf where I keep the toolbox, where would I keep the toolbox then?
This is not a very exhaustive list by far, but I hope it helps you understand. Besides, my manager has left for lunch and I can shift my focus away from the keyboard, to the dark quiet conference room I booked for a minimalist afternoon nap.
But before I turn in I would like to end on an optimistic note. Because minimalism is a good thing, that helps you spend less time cleaning up. And if baristas practiced it to get rid of all the joy-killing clutter, the coffee-shops would be more enjoyable without teenagers sporting truck tyre earrings and indoor fake fur jackets whilst hogging the tables all day long with their MacBooks and a coffee with 8 words in the title. And there would be no coffees with 8 words in the title on the menu, either.
04 January, 2017
Struggle
This is serious. You do not know it yet, but it is.
You do not even know what it is when you find it. It just is. Right there, with you. It was an accident, new and confusing. It felt good, though. You want to understand it. You want it to happen again.
But how?
You cannot ask your parents about it. Nor anyone else that could guide you through the maze. You are at a point in life when so many things are happening, but you cannot tell them about a kiss, let alone this. You would not even trust your best friends with such secret. But you do ask, eventually. And they are just as clueless as you are. Some may have done it already, too. For some, that time has not come yet. Regardless, no one is the wiser. Some pretend to.
They aren't.
It is all right, it is not yet the time for you to know. Nor them. You have barely escaped your cocoon and walked a few steps in the dark. Enlightenment is still far. True knowledge is not here for now. It comes later in life. And even then, it is too fragile. Too volatile to put your finger on it and say "there it is".
But then, it happens. Again. When you least expect it. Always caught by surprise. But it does not matter. All that matters is that it is here with you. All you know is that it feels good. It does not matter you still can not fully grasp it. You are on top of the world and enjoying every moment of it. No time to spend on thinking of consequences. You do not even fathom the possibility. You only know it is getting better and better.
You are getting better and better.
And then, you plateau. You still want it, of course. But... Maybe, just maybe, a smidge less? Maybe it is the novelty that has worn off. But then, as time goes by, sometimes you almost feel like you had enough for now. Maybe later. Maybe another day.
Until one day...
That cursed day. The day when you lose control. When it all falls apart. Suddenly, the beautiful universe collapses. You have lost control. And this time it is not like in the beginning. It is no longer something that secret only you knew and cherished. Now you feel exposed. You feel like everybody knows your secret. And nobody can understand your pain and the shame. Fear settles in. You are struggling for a catch of breath. You clench every fiber of every muscle in your body. With surgical precision, you are struggling to fill the void. To avoid the unavoidable. But it is too late now.
You are suffocating.
But it is not too late. Tomorrow is another day, and you are still alive. Yesterday's memory still hurts, but not as much. As time goes by, it becomes bearable. It fades away. And while you never forget it, you learn to live with it.
You even get the courage to try again.
From the moment when you caught that first glimpse of joy to the darkest hour, the blessed of us have been there, too. We got drunk in the blissful moments and fought through the darker ones.
From the first time. To the last. And all the times in between. Basking in the warm, mysterious, light or drowning in the dark unknown.
But no matter where you were, the answer was always there with you.
Grapes and yogurt.
You do not even know what it is when you find it. It just is. Right there, with you. It was an accident, new and confusing. It felt good, though. You want to understand it. You want it to happen again.
But how?
You cannot ask your parents about it. Nor anyone else that could guide you through the maze. You are at a point in life when so many things are happening, but you cannot tell them about a kiss, let alone this. You would not even trust your best friends with such secret. But you do ask, eventually. And they are just as clueless as you are. Some may have done it already, too. For some, that time has not come yet. Regardless, no one is the wiser. Some pretend to.
They aren't.
It is all right, it is not yet the time for you to know. Nor them. You have barely escaped your cocoon and walked a few steps in the dark. Enlightenment is still far. True knowledge is not here for now. It comes later in life. And even then, it is too fragile. Too volatile to put your finger on it and say "there it is".
But then, it happens. Again. When you least expect it. Always caught by surprise. But it does not matter. All that matters is that it is here with you. All you know is that it feels good. It does not matter you still can not fully grasp it. You are on top of the world and enjoying every moment of it. No time to spend on thinking of consequences. You do not even fathom the possibility. You only know it is getting better and better.
You are getting better and better.
And then, you plateau. You still want it, of course. But... Maybe, just maybe, a smidge less? Maybe it is the novelty that has worn off. But then, as time goes by, sometimes you almost feel like you had enough for now. Maybe later. Maybe another day.
Until one day...
That cursed day. The day when you lose control. When it all falls apart. Suddenly, the beautiful universe collapses. You have lost control. And this time it is not like in the beginning. It is no longer something that secret only you knew and cherished. Now you feel exposed. You feel like everybody knows your secret. And nobody can understand your pain and the shame. Fear settles in. You are struggling for a catch of breath. You clench every fiber of every muscle in your body. With surgical precision, you are struggling to fill the void. To avoid the unavoidable. But it is too late now.
You are suffocating.
But it is not too late. Tomorrow is another day, and you are still alive. Yesterday's memory still hurts, but not as much. As time goes by, it becomes bearable. It fades away. And while you never forget it, you learn to live with it.
You even get the courage to try again.
From the moment when you caught that first glimpse of joy to the darkest hour, the blessed of us have been there, too. We got drunk in the blissful moments and fought through the darker ones.
From the first time. To the last. And all the times in between. Basking in the warm, mysterious, light or drowning in the dark unknown.
But no matter where you were, the answer was always there with you.
Grapes and yogurt.
07 August, 2016
The box
They met in the wagon. It wasn't very crowded, but the moment their
eyes met she felt she wanted to stay next to him. They'd be neighbors
with a good conversation to share along ride. It would take more than
four hours to get to the big city from their small village lost in the
mountains. Luckily this time, she felt those hours wouldn't be polite
chit-chat about the weather. After exchanging hellos, pleasantries and
names he was still a bit shy and she asked first what took him to the
city that day.
He seemed lost for a few seconds and seemed to struggle putting some order in his ideas. She turned her eyes to the landscape in the window while waiting for an answer. He closed his eyes to focus; he knew the answer very well, but it was not easy to put it into words.
It was more than four years since he had last been in this train.
His aunt had lived in the big city and he used to visit every other Saturday. She had a small house there but spent the better part of that year in the hospital, with breathing problems. The doctors could not figure out what it was. All tests did not reveal anything wrong, but sometimes she'd suffocate in her sleep. To make it through the night she had to stay tied to artificial lungs.
She used to spend her days tied to the television, her only endeavours outside were during his visits. They'd go in the courtyard enjoying the warm days of spring and sharing stories. It wasn't easy at first, they didn't know each other very well. Her brother, the young man's brother, disappeared when he was only a few months old. And his mother kept him away from her. She took him to meet her when he was five. But the visit brought back painful memories and the following visits got shorter and shorter and more and more far apart. It was hard for the mother to carry on, but she did because the aunt was the boy's only relative beside her; if something were to happen to her, she'd be his only family.
When mother went away the visits stopped. When he grew up he did not know how to reach her, she had moved to the big city and left no address.
She wrote him from the hospital. It was their first contact in twenty years. He was saddened to see her old and sick but also eager to finally find out more about the father that was never mentioned at home. His only memories of him were a few pictures he found hidden in a drawer under other papers. But now he'd come every fortnight to visit her and hear more stories about his dad.
And as hard to believe as it was, quite a story it was. His father had been working for the government. Officially, he was a diplomat. But in reality he was almost like a spy, going on secret missions to remote parts of the world. He couldn't talk much about his work and what he did in his travels. But beside the few bits he could reveal he'd tell his sister stories about the places he'd been to and the things he's seen. And now she'd tell the same stories to her nephew. Together they'd spend days following his footsteps in mysterious capitals on far-away continents, hoping he'd still be alive somewhere in this wide world and imagining what he'd look like when he comes back home.
But he did not return and time was passing by. The warm days of spring and then summer turned to gray autumn, and as the stories were nearing the end so was the aunt. It was getting increasingly difficult for her to speak the entire day even though the days were much shorter now. She'd need to stay more and more connected to the breathing apparatus. The days spend together turned to mere hours and then stopped completely. She was no longer in a state to receive visitors. Shortly afterwards, the young man received a second letter from the hospital, but the hand-writing was different.
He went there one last time to sort the last things remaining after her. There wasn't much left, her house and things were sold to pay for the hospital bills and cremation. He was given the few money left, along with a letter and a small box, both addressed to him. In that letter the aunt said goodbye and explained the box was from his father and it would tell his last story.
He spent long hours until he could open it, hoping it would be an answer to his father's mysterious disappearance. He did open it eventually and it overwhelmed the aunt's stories and even his vivid imagination...
His mind slowly returned to the present and the train, still not sure how to put all this in words that would make sense to his companion. He led a lonely life since that moment and never talked about it to anyone. The four years that had passed since still didn't make it easier for him to talk.
Indeed, that small box gave him the answer to his life-long questions about his father, but took away everything else. It isolated him even further from society; shortly after that, he parted ways with his small social circle and banal life and moved to that small village in the mountains, avoiding any human contact.
It was as hard as ever to share his secret with a stranger. How could he expect anyone to understand his story, particularly the unexpected ending? He knew every little detail and it was still hard for him to believe, this was the most exciting and dramatic thing that has ever happened to him. But in a way, he felt excited to share. It was his first chance in many years to get back among other people, to no longer be alone with this burden. At last, he decided: it was now or never. He opened eyes slowly and muttered "I'm going there to buy a drill for ceramic tiles". Then, as he took out a book from his waistcoat he continued just for himself: "Nosy bitch, don't you have games on your phone or something?"
He seemed lost for a few seconds and seemed to struggle putting some order in his ideas. She turned her eyes to the landscape in the window while waiting for an answer. He closed his eyes to focus; he knew the answer very well, but it was not easy to put it into words.
It was more than four years since he had last been in this train.
His aunt had lived in the big city and he used to visit every other Saturday. She had a small house there but spent the better part of that year in the hospital, with breathing problems. The doctors could not figure out what it was. All tests did not reveal anything wrong, but sometimes she'd suffocate in her sleep. To make it through the night she had to stay tied to artificial lungs.
She used to spend her days tied to the television, her only endeavours outside were during his visits. They'd go in the courtyard enjoying the warm days of spring and sharing stories. It wasn't easy at first, they didn't know each other very well. Her brother, the young man's brother, disappeared when he was only a few months old. And his mother kept him away from her. She took him to meet her when he was five. But the visit brought back painful memories and the following visits got shorter and shorter and more and more far apart. It was hard for the mother to carry on, but she did because the aunt was the boy's only relative beside her; if something were to happen to her, she'd be his only family.
When mother went away the visits stopped. When he grew up he did not know how to reach her, she had moved to the big city and left no address.
She wrote him from the hospital. It was their first contact in twenty years. He was saddened to see her old and sick but also eager to finally find out more about the father that was never mentioned at home. His only memories of him were a few pictures he found hidden in a drawer under other papers. But now he'd come every fortnight to visit her and hear more stories about his dad.
And as hard to believe as it was, quite a story it was. His father had been working for the government. Officially, he was a diplomat. But in reality he was almost like a spy, going on secret missions to remote parts of the world. He couldn't talk much about his work and what he did in his travels. But beside the few bits he could reveal he'd tell his sister stories about the places he'd been to and the things he's seen. And now she'd tell the same stories to her nephew. Together they'd spend days following his footsteps in mysterious capitals on far-away continents, hoping he'd still be alive somewhere in this wide world and imagining what he'd look like when he comes back home.
But he did not return and time was passing by. The warm days of spring and then summer turned to gray autumn, and as the stories were nearing the end so was the aunt. It was getting increasingly difficult for her to speak the entire day even though the days were much shorter now. She'd need to stay more and more connected to the breathing apparatus. The days spend together turned to mere hours and then stopped completely. She was no longer in a state to receive visitors. Shortly afterwards, the young man received a second letter from the hospital, but the hand-writing was different.
He went there one last time to sort the last things remaining after her. There wasn't much left, her house and things were sold to pay for the hospital bills and cremation. He was given the few money left, along with a letter and a small box, both addressed to him. In that letter the aunt said goodbye and explained the box was from his father and it would tell his last story.
He spent long hours until he could open it, hoping it would be an answer to his father's mysterious disappearance. He did open it eventually and it overwhelmed the aunt's stories and even his vivid imagination...
His mind slowly returned to the present and the train, still not sure how to put all this in words that would make sense to his companion. He led a lonely life since that moment and never talked about it to anyone. The four years that had passed since still didn't make it easier for him to talk.
Indeed, that small box gave him the answer to his life-long questions about his father, but took away everything else. It isolated him even further from society; shortly after that, he parted ways with his small social circle and banal life and moved to that small village in the mountains, avoiding any human contact.
It was as hard as ever to share his secret with a stranger. How could he expect anyone to understand his story, particularly the unexpected ending? He knew every little detail and it was still hard for him to believe, this was the most exciting and dramatic thing that has ever happened to him. But in a way, he felt excited to share. It was his first chance in many years to get back among other people, to no longer be alone with this burden. At last, he decided: it was now or never. He opened eyes slowly and muttered "I'm going there to buy a drill for ceramic tiles". Then, as he took out a book from his waistcoat he continued just for himself: "Nosy bitch, don't you have games on your phone or something?"
08 July, 2016
Being a president has it perks
In my work with people, leaving a good impression is more important than everything else. And confidence is an important part of leaving a good impression. I am a high-level recruiter, and people's trust is crucial for my success. They put their future in my hands and need to know they can depend on me. Just like I know I can trust the fiber-rich-active-ingredients yogurt in those sensitive days. You know, when I have high-level meetings with people I may hire.
Like today. And I forgot mine at home. Thank god we have an intern now. I can focus on the agenda, he can focus on the yogurt; he's not doing much here anyway. Early start this morning, almost before half past ten. And by 11 the day already looks promising, just like the horoscope said it would be. My first lunch meeting is at 3, with someone that wants to grow in a multi-national, multi-cultural company. Sounds promising, you don't find many candidates with such high aspirations these days. And he's showing initiative, too. By the age of 35 he created his own one-person company and appointed himself president. What better way to relate to other people than working alone and calling yourself president? I think people tend to open up more easily to presidents.
Anyway, the position is local sales representative, which is huge. For that, president still sounds a bit limited, maybe. Let's see what else we have on the short list before jumping to conclusions. Thoroughness is very important when you're working with people. Not quite as important as a leaving a good impression, but it ranks very high nevertheless.
So far we have a mogul, two emperors and a level-eight chief ninja priest.
One emperor already mentioned he could only work part-time; in the morning he needs to drop the dynasty at the kindergarten and then he has another part-time job which he does not want to abandon because it has potential for brilliant growth. I wouldn't normally expect anyone to be able to work full-time in sales anyway, but his can't-do attitude about something that cannot be done ticked him off the list. Beside that, an emperor doesn't sound as promising as you may think, but that's okay, you're not expected to know that if you don't have my experience and feel for people. And if I picked the other one, how would I justify that to the former? Best to be diplomatic and drop them altogether.
The mogul mentioned something about a parole officer and a loan officer which may not be very enthusiastic about him working in anything that involves other people's money.
And there's the priest. Well, he put Latin in 'known languages', I'll give him that; he could probably understand those PowerPoint presentations with "Lorem ipsum" that I see everywhere, but other than that priests are not very experienced with Office applications and computers. And I happen to know for a fact they're rather lazy during the week and then try to make up for it during weekends. Not a great sign. And a sales job involves overtime. It's not written in the job description, but it's common knowledge, you are expected to know in advance. And the rest of his title sounds a bit made-up.
Come to think of it, fingers crossed for the president, the more I think about it the more he seems to be the best fit. Oh, and before I forget: he put in the résumé 'I am a very oriented person'. To an untrained eye such a statement may not sound like much, but it shows he has an oriented attitude. Towards what, it is not that important. What is important is the significant edge you get compared to people who write disoriented attitude. That's a big plus. He also put 'attetnion to details'. Twice. I'm sold. 100% sales material. Oh, if you still think the object of his attention is relevant, it all comes to light a few bullets below: "managing and planning resources for different projects around the globe". Mystery solved. And his voice sounded so nice on the phone. We have a winner!
I'll be proactive and have an offer ready for him, to finish quickly; I just remembered I need to take the cat to the vet afterwards; I cannot step back at this point, no matter how much he asks.
All in all, such a productive day today. If everything pans out -as I planned- I'll only need to set my status to 'Work from home' and leave earlier. An almost perfect day if it weren't for that idiot; this is the second day in a row when he brings full-fat. At least this time it's the one with pro-biotics. University is a waste for some people, I really don't know why we bother bringing interns here. Safe to say, this is not president material.
Like today. And I forgot mine at home. Thank god we have an intern now. I can focus on the agenda, he can focus on the yogurt; he's not doing much here anyway. Early start this morning, almost before half past ten. And by 11 the day already looks promising, just like the horoscope said it would be. My first lunch meeting is at 3, with someone that wants to grow in a multi-national, multi-cultural company. Sounds promising, you don't find many candidates with such high aspirations these days. And he's showing initiative, too. By the age of 35 he created his own one-person company and appointed himself president. What better way to relate to other people than working alone and calling yourself president? I think people tend to open up more easily to presidents.
Anyway, the position is local sales representative, which is huge. For that, president still sounds a bit limited, maybe. Let's see what else we have on the short list before jumping to conclusions. Thoroughness is very important when you're working with people. Not quite as important as a leaving a good impression, but it ranks very high nevertheless.
So far we have a mogul, two emperors and a level-eight chief ninja priest.
One emperor already mentioned he could only work part-time; in the morning he needs to drop the dynasty at the kindergarten and then he has another part-time job which he does not want to abandon because it has potential for brilliant growth. I wouldn't normally expect anyone to be able to work full-time in sales anyway, but his can't-do attitude about something that cannot be done ticked him off the list. Beside that, an emperor doesn't sound as promising as you may think, but that's okay, you're not expected to know that if you don't have my experience and feel for people. And if I picked the other one, how would I justify that to the former? Best to be diplomatic and drop them altogether.
The mogul mentioned something about a parole officer and a loan officer which may not be very enthusiastic about him working in anything that involves other people's money.
And there's the priest. Well, he put Latin in 'known languages', I'll give him that; he could probably understand those PowerPoint presentations with "Lorem ipsum" that I see everywhere, but other than that priests are not very experienced with Office applications and computers. And I happen to know for a fact they're rather lazy during the week and then try to make up for it during weekends. Not a great sign. And a sales job involves overtime. It's not written in the job description, but it's common knowledge, you are expected to know in advance. And the rest of his title sounds a bit made-up.
Come to think of it, fingers crossed for the president, the more I think about it the more he seems to be the best fit. Oh, and before I forget: he put in the résumé 'I am a very oriented person'. To an untrained eye such a statement may not sound like much, but it shows he has an oriented attitude. Towards what, it is not that important. What is important is the significant edge you get compared to people who write disoriented attitude. That's a big plus. He also put 'attetnion to details'. Twice. I'm sold. 100% sales material. Oh, if you still think the object of his attention is relevant, it all comes to light a few bullets below: "managing and planning resources for different projects around the globe". Mystery solved. And his voice sounded so nice on the phone. We have a winner!
I'll be proactive and have an offer ready for him, to finish quickly; I just remembered I need to take the cat to the vet afterwards; I cannot step back at this point, no matter how much he asks.
All in all, such a productive day today. If everything pans out -as I planned- I'll only need to set my status to 'Work from home' and leave earlier. An almost perfect day if it weren't for that idiot; this is the second day in a row when he brings full-fat. At least this time it's the one with pro-biotics. University is a waste for some people, I really don't know why we bother bringing interns here. Safe to say, this is not president material.
29 March, 2016
What happens in your body when you're running or not running.
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.
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.
09 March, 2016
A mentor, a motivational speaker and a hairdresser walk into a bar
Hello. You know me. You all know me.
You don't know me?! Are you sure? Maybe you're confusing, but anyway: here's my story.
Some time ago I was struggling with my career. I was very good at everything, but I wasn't sure which one I should choose. I decided to look for professional advice on Facebook where everybody is successful. One day my friend posted about her colleague having left the beauty parlour she was working at. I am totally an expert on beauty and make-up and haircuts, I can tell immediately if that shade fits those bangs and everybody says my pink lipstick and jewels look classy. This looked promising and I decided it to give the hair salon a chance. I became a professional hair stylist.
I struggled a bit at first but I was given a chance since in the meantime the owner's nephew was now my boyfriend. And after a while I became good. I mean really good, I had always been good. Some customers complained on various occasions for made-up reasons, because obviously they didn't have any professional training and were probably jealous. Anyway, now I was good-good, you know? And now all the important customers wanted me to do their hair while my colleagues were taking care of the less important customers.
After some time I realized I was so good and decided to share my knowledge with those less fortunate that couldn't come directly to my parlour. Well, not mine but you understand. And now I am engaged to the owner's nephew now, I guess we should be taking over soon, since I made it so successful.
As I had already a lot of experience on Facebook I started to share professional advice there and I posted some pictures of me and my most interesting hairstyles in assorted outfits. At the beach, in the club, at the mall, in my boyfriend's car. Some even from work, but I was asked to take those down, probably conflict of interest or something like that. Needless to say, it was an instant hit and everybody wanted to become friends with me and see more pictures with me in them.
In a few weeks I had reached the maximum number of friends, but a friend of mine told me I could open a website portal where I wouldn't have this limit and also I could make money. I got someone to build it for me since I was very busy. It was sooo popular that I became even more busy and started running out of time to write professional advice and decided to take information from other websites and make it better with my knowledge. After some time I had so many important things to say that I even started a newsletter which helped my loyal readers to keep track of me and not miss anything. Also, my friend told me this was another good way to make money from advertising or something like that.
Based on my huge success I decided to take things even further. My fans were really into all the things I shared and I decided to do more for them. Why limit myself only to fashion? It can't be the only thing I'm good at, right? And we had a bond already, we resonated so well. Which is why I thought I could provide even better advice, better tailored (ha!) to particular needs for those who could afford it. It was a natural move and so I moved straight into that. I later found out this was called being a personal coach or mentor. This also makes quite good money.
Soon after that, personal mentoring ended up taking even more time from my schedule that was already so full. So I came up with a greater idea: why not share my one-to-one experiences as a personal coach or mentor with more than one person at once? This could help even more people. And also make more money, which is important at this point in my life. I am no longer engaged to that loser and I also had to quit from the parlour when we broke up. But I am not one to make any compromises, he was slowing down my growth and holding back my career. I am moving on. You may no longer find me at my old job, but I'm still very active with coaching and mentoring on Facebook and on my website. I think it's called being a motivational speaker. If you can afford it, you may come watch me at my sessions.
You don't know me?! Are you sure? Maybe you're confusing, but anyway: here's my story.
Some time ago I was struggling with my career. I was very good at everything, but I wasn't sure which one I should choose. I decided to look for professional advice on Facebook where everybody is successful. One day my friend posted about her colleague having left the beauty parlour she was working at. I am totally an expert on beauty and make-up and haircuts, I can tell immediately if that shade fits those bangs and everybody says my pink lipstick and jewels look classy. This looked promising and I decided it to give the hair salon a chance. I became a professional hair stylist.
I struggled a bit at first but I was given a chance since in the meantime the owner's nephew was now my boyfriend. And after a while I became good. I mean really good, I had always been good. Some customers complained on various occasions for made-up reasons, because obviously they didn't have any professional training and were probably jealous. Anyway, now I was good-good, you know? And now all the important customers wanted me to do their hair while my colleagues were taking care of the less important customers.
After some time I realized I was so good and decided to share my knowledge with those less fortunate that couldn't come directly to my parlour. Well, not mine but you understand. And now I am engaged to the owner's nephew now, I guess we should be taking over soon, since I made it so successful.
As I had already a lot of experience on Facebook I started to share professional advice there and I posted some pictures of me and my most interesting hairstyles in assorted outfits. At the beach, in the club, at the mall, in my boyfriend's car. Some even from work, but I was asked to take those down, probably conflict of interest or something like that. Needless to say, it was an instant hit and everybody wanted to become friends with me and see more pictures with me in them.
In a few weeks I had reached the maximum number of friends, but a friend of mine told me I could open a website portal where I wouldn't have this limit and also I could make money. I got someone to build it for me since I was very busy. It was sooo popular that I became even more busy and started running out of time to write professional advice and decided to take information from other websites and make it better with my knowledge. After some time I had so many important things to say that I even started a newsletter which helped my loyal readers to keep track of me and not miss anything. Also, my friend told me this was another good way to make money from advertising or something like that.
Based on my huge success I decided to take things even further. My fans were really into all the things I shared and I decided to do more for them. Why limit myself only to fashion? It can't be the only thing I'm good at, right? And we had a bond already, we resonated so well. Which is why I thought I could provide even better advice, better tailored (ha!) to particular needs for those who could afford it. It was a natural move and so I moved straight into that. I later found out this was called being a personal coach or mentor. This also makes quite good money.
Soon after that, personal mentoring ended up taking even more time from my schedule that was already so full. So I came up with a greater idea: why not share my one-to-one experiences as a personal coach or mentor with more than one person at once? This could help even more people. And also make more money, which is important at this point in my life. I am no longer engaged to that loser and I also had to quit from the parlour when we broke up. But I am not one to make any compromises, he was slowing down my growth and holding back my career. I am moving on. You may no longer find me at my old job, but I'm still very active with coaching and mentoring on Facebook and on my website. I think it's called being a motivational speaker. If you can afford it, you may come watch me at my sessions.
24 November, 2015
Nope, still out (Part VII)
A tad longer than a previous one that was really short, but I need the money. Brevity is not something you can cash on for too long.
I am currently out of office with random email access, which means I'm only reading random emails from random mailboxes and there are considerable chances of similarly random responses. If your email is important to at least one of us -if that one is me- you may text me, IM me or call me. If it's not that important to the one of us that is me, you may send me another email. I cannot evaluate its importance right now, so I leave that for you to judge because I trust you.
If this was about the $800M from your Nigerian uncle please come back with more details because it definitely sounds important, but only if you're serious about it. I have already had my heart and pockets broken a few times by other very rich people your uncle probably knew.
The normal email-answering schedule will resume on 5 Dec. Which means you won't get an automated response like this (yes, I like you but not that much to write it every time to remind you of when I'll be back in the office). Pretty much everything else remains the same in terms of randomness. Until then, I hope you can find some confort in the fact that I trust you and I like you.
In case you're interested, it is 5 Dec. precisely because my regional settings can indicate days in the calendar without the need for st, nd, rd or th appended to the number indicating the day of the month.
I am currently out of office with random email access, which means I'm only reading random emails from random mailboxes and there are considerable chances of similarly random responses. If your email is important to at least one of us -if that one is me- you may text me, IM me or call me. If it's not that important to the one of us that is me, you may send me another email. I cannot evaluate its importance right now, so I leave that for you to judge because I trust you.
If this was about the $800M from your Nigerian uncle please come back with more details because it definitely sounds important, but only if you're serious about it. I have already had my heart and pockets broken a few times by other very rich people your uncle probably knew.
The normal email-answering schedule will resume on 5 Dec. Which means you won't get an automated response like this (yes, I like you but not that much to write it every time to remind you of when I'll be back in the office). Pretty much everything else remains the same in terms of randomness. Until then, I hope you can find some confort in the fact that I trust you and I like you.
In case you're interested, it is 5 Dec. precisely because my regional settings can indicate days in the calendar without the need for st, nd, rd or th appended to the number indicating the day of the month.
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