Tackling an Instant Gratificationist

I was walking around Ghent with a grand of cash in my pocket yesterday (all from legit dealings, rest assured). I had to keep texting my Girrel for some moral support along the way to the bank as I was highly tempted to blow half of it on treats for myself. She jokingly reminded me of the kid's college fund which really didn't help the matter. The argument that finally kept my hand from fondling my pocket, was that this money would substantially alleviate our travel-fund issues.

We've not seen each other for 7 weeks now and will not see each other for another 3. Whilst this is largerly due to time/work arrangements, the financial factor most certainly contributed.

It made me think about how I deal with finances. I've always had a love/hate relationship with money. I can run a really tight ship when needs be, but when I have cash in hand, I feel it buys me the luxury of not having to think. The freedom of temporarily not having to weigh off choices. And freedom is still one of the life-options I value most.

But then... I have lists. Lists of things I want to do. Places I want to go to. Personal projects I want to fund and materialise. I wonder if I will ever cross those of my list if I keep giving into instant gratification. Because if I do, their realisation will depend on luck. Luck of accidentally having enough cash at that certain point in time to do them.

I guess what it really comes down to is making my financial considerations less abstract. Rather than saving for some distant future or vague potential rainy days, I ought to attach visualisable labels to my budgets:

- a month outdoorsiness in Alaska

- a downhilling MTB holiday in Norway

- a trip to Iceland (volcano/glaciers/aurora borealis)

- growing old and still being able to go to Betty's for breakie each Sunday with my Girrel

- being able to work 4/5ths and use the remain 3 days of the week to work on "Project#1"

- a christmas in Lapland

- a lomo Horizon Perfect camera

- a new digital camera

- money for knee/hip surgery on my 50th

- a university degree in Mathematical Biology

- a course in Philosophy and Economics

- money to not have to compromise on a job I love doing

- an internship in the Santa Fe Institute

- three-weekly trips to see my Girrel, until we've figured out how we can be together

- 6 months' sabbatical to go volunteering

- funding to set up Project #2

- work for a think-tank for a year

- money for a flash hearing aid for my right ear on my 35th ;-)

- a safety net, to buy peace of mind, and never HAVING TO

- pay off the mortgage

-...

I bought myself some new finance software a few weeks back. And I know what I need to do now. Visualise. Render the abstract into concrete visuals. There's no need to set deadlines. Deadlines are deterrents. The visuals in itself ought to be motivation enough to stick with it.

Premonitions

About a week ago, I woke up from a nightmare. The plotline was absurd: Mount Ruapehu had erupted and the world was starting to split in two. The very thought that it was, seemed too ridiculous to be taken seriously by most people, so I ended up having to try and convince/warn everyone that this was indeed happening.

I recounted this dream to my Girrel on the phone that morning and mentioned it at work, where one of my colleagues mentioned that if ever I wanted make it big in Hollywood, this was one of those cheesy action scripts that might actually fly there.

I thought nothing of it after that, until I opened a newspaper yesterday. Apparently, Mt.Ruapehu erupted on the 26th. My Girrel has since kindly asked me not to dream of her anymore at night, as previous dreams of her included her handing in her notice at work. I think she would come off easy. I dreamt I got fired for forgetting to wear my trews to an important client meeting.

The Ivory Tower indeed

I'm a big fan of Richard Dawkins. The Blind Watchmaker and The Selfish Gene rank among my top 50 and his latest, The God Delusion, is high on my "I want" list. So when I found his documentaries online, I decided to spend a few choice evenings indulging in stolen TV viewing.

Unfortunately, I'm thoroughly disappointed. As clever as his theories and writing may be, his TV persona comes across rather arrogant and aggressive. It is easy to see why: The man is painfully intelligent, passionate about his subject and has spent the last few years fighting hundreds of science quacks. He has most likely learned the hard way that playing offense often pays off more than defense.

But if you are constructing a documentary series that aims to demonstrate the dangers of diluted or manipulated science (Enemies of Reason, Channel 4), a respectful approach is more likely to gain converts. Instead, Dawkins sneers at "the superstitious" and adopts an aggressive tone on more than one occassion.

His head to head with Deepak Chopra is simply painful to watch. Painful perhaps, because I am an admirer of both men. Chopra has regretfully abused many of the concepts of quantum physics... an act few scientists seem capable of forgiving. But strip away the inflated terminology and Chopra has some very valid points to make that contradict sound science on no level. Dawkins, however, positions himself as a man rarely descended from the Ivory Tower, idly and unconvincingly stabbing away at Chopra's theories.

I doubt this series will manage to convince anyone but the convinced. A lost opportunity if ever I've seen one.

Shite...

.... or the profanities of wireless convo.


J: "I can't hear you properly babe, you're breaking up."

P: "I know, the connection is shite, it's frustrating."

J: "No wait, that sentence came through fine."

P: "I'm starting to suspect this thing needs profanities to enable a clear connection"

J: "You're breaking up again."

P: "Argh, this thing is SHITE, it's really doing my head in."

J: "OK, I can hear you again."

P: "Right, well that's it. I'm gonna just say SHITE at the end of every sentence. Shite"

J: *giggles*

P: "Anywhooo... what I was saying, shite, is that you need to think about, shite, where you want to go for your birthday weekend, shite. You can pick anywhere, shite. Berlin, Paris, Barcelona, Rome, Prague, shite, Venice, anywhere."

J: "Aye, I was thinking Barcelona"

P: "Ok, shite. Why?"

J: "Cuz it's warm there."

P: "Erm. Shite. It'll be mid-december then babe, it's hardly gonna be warm, shite."

J: "It will."

P: "Well, shite, last time I was there, shite, we had to walk around with sweaters, shite."

J: "Well it'll be warmer than York."

P: "OK. So Barcelona it is then, shite. You sure you wouldn't rather, shite, go to a wintery, christmassy city, shite?"

J: "Nope. I wanna see the Gaudi stuff."

P: "OK, shite"

J: "My word, it's like listening to Tourettes."

P: "I know, shite, but the connection seems to work now, doesn't it, shite ?"

J: "Aye, but you can stop the swearing."

P: "OK. Oooh... we can make out in park Guell!"

J: "I like the sound of that!"

P: "And I can take you to the Mies Vanderohe pavillion and the Sagrada Familia"

J: "OK, start swearing again, cuz I didn't catch that last sentence."

P: "Shite"

J: "Isn't it just."

The Sunday Struggle #13

Today's Sunday Struggle is going to be a short one. This is mainly due to the fact that I'm working on a personal project (which will be disclosed once it's finished) and also a little cuz I just got back from the gym and feel sliiiiiiightly dizzy...

Here goes.

1. When design meets function: a belt that tells you exactly what your waist-size is. Could actually do with one myself ;-)

2. I'm gonna let this site speak for itself

3. The Shoe-Project (via i.)

4. Bandages for proper grown-ups:


5. Mp3 of the week: Pinback - Good to Sea

Shut your Eyes

Shut your eyes and think of somewhere
Somewhere cold and caked in snow
By the fire we break the quiet
Learn to wear each other well

And when the worrying starts to hurt
and the world feels like graves of dirt
Just close your eyes until
you can imagine this place, yeah, our secret space at will

Shut your eyes, I spin the big chair
And you'll feel dizzy, light, and free
And falling gently on the cushion
You can come and sing to me

And when the worrying starts to hurt
and the world feels like graves of dirt
Just close your eyes until
you can imagine this place, yeah, our secret space at will

Shut your eyes and sing to me

One must still have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star – Nietzsche

It's late and I'm tired. Though it's a mere five-minute-walk to my bed, my feet seem reluctant to take me. So I stay put.

I lean forward to rest my chin on the bannister and watch the citylights reflect on the canal. My head is buzzing. I'm too tired to distinguish the different thoughts that hammer away at me from the inside, but I suddenly feel very lonely. I jump up and down to shake it off like a cold.

I wish I knew where to start. A simple lead. But all I can see is cobwebs. A tangled mess of thoughts and ideas, of things in the making. Not quite materialised.

I wish I had the guts to stop talking so much during the day.
To stop overshouting my thinking.
The quiet of night like an amplifier in retaliation.

My eye catches a ripple on the water's edge and follows it to the source. In the middle of this bustling city, an out-of-place heron strides across the shallowness of the canal, majestically tilting its head from left to right in its search for food. It makes me feel inexplicably sad.


It's never been simple. Whatever image the world may project onto me, it's a grotesquely blurred portrayal. When the sun's bright glare is traded for a moonlight trickle, the projection comes into focus and reveals its rougher edges only to those who've stuck around long enough to see it. And tonight, that's only me.

They define me. These ups and downs that take control of me whenever they see fit. I never quite seem to have mastered them. And I'm not sure I want to. I resent them as much as I need them.

I fear their intensity and tonight, my hands are clenched around the bannister, an attemptive hold on my reality.

A cough to the left of me shakes me from my daze. As I turn around, two intense eyes stare back at me. The cold air carries a softly spoken "They adapt. No matter how fragile they are, they adapt" over to me, and as I follow the man's gaze, mine too fall back onto the heron. As it flies off, I can see a tiny fish glint in its beak.

The man turns to me, nods in acknowledgement and silently disappears off into the night, taking with him the last traces of this night's low.

The ZZZZZZ-factor

I've not been sleeping well of late, so when I came home from work last night, I decided to take action: Despite disliking the taste of any form of alcohol, I hunted down the bottle of wine that was left over from previous night's family dinner-do, and poured myself a large glass.

I passed out twenty minutes later and it was the best night's sleep I've had in days.

Lightweights've got nuffink on me.

Infinite

When Poet and Scientist romance:

- “I love you to infinity and beyond!”
- “Well that’s a bit redundant.”
- “Ey?”
- “The beyond bit. It’s redundant.”
- “What?”
- “Infinity has no beyond.”
- “Yes it does.”
- “No it doesn’t. Infinity is never-ending, therefore there is no beyond. The beyond itself is part of infinity. So it’s redundant.”
- “That’s not true. Infinity is an entity in its own right and as such, it has a beyond.”
- “No, it’s plain basic physics my dear.”
- “No, it’s semantics dear.”
- “Well then.”
- “Well then.”

Silence.

- “I love you too by the way.”
- “Good.”
- “Hm.”

Parallel Conversations

Jo and I spend hours on the phone at night. Tapping into each other. Extending our wee antlers across the distance that seperates us. Sometimes, we simply listen to each other's silence. Me on the sofa here, she on hers miles away, listening to one another's breathing and pretending we're lying right next to each other. It always reminds me of that defining moment between us. Where I first knew: "This is it."

It was late. We'd been online for hours and it had gotten dark without me turning on the lights. We had the MSN chat window open alongside a Skype call. Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes we'd type, sometimes we'd do both at the same time. It was a communication on two levels: the direct communication of speech and the implicitly written lines of thought. It made our conversations so much richer than either of the levels alone could have been. We'd been gently exploring our feelings for each other. I'd often struggle to find the words. I'd type down the things I couldn't get said aloud. And then the intensity of it all got to me. I'd run out of words entirely.

For about 5 minutes, I said nothing. She was on the other end, her own head in turmoil, and then I wrote: "Sorry for my silence."

I could hear her breathing falter.

Then the sound of her fingers on the keyboard.

From across the distance, her words flew back to me.

"I can hear anything but silence."

She knew.

The silence was pregnant with feelings crossing over between us.
We didn't speak for another ten minutes.
We just sat there.
Telling each other without words, the intensity of us.

That's when I knew.

One sore thumb and three holes in the wall later...

...it's finished. It's not a grand masterpiece, but I like it.

The canvas now has a blackboard coating which means it's not easy to photograph as it either reflects or absorbs the light unless u get the perfect angle. That's why the overview shot turns out so dark and the close-up so light. Anyway, you get the idea. Now all I need is a band-aid for my thumb.

Everyone needs a hobby

Had a busy week, which means lots to blog about, but I need to unwind a bit before I sit down and spill the beanz.

I happen to have the perfect little project to unwind with. Last weekend I spotted a postcard that I really liked and I've been racking my brains since, trying to find a way to copy it on a larger scale canvas. The lines of the drawing are too sketchy to do with spraycans. I'm not a steady hand at any rate, so taking my chances with an expensive canvas and some paint would be a big risk as you really only have the one chance to get it right. Photographing it and enlarging would be too easy, too expensive and not much fun.

So I was browsing the artstore today for some inspiration and I think I may just have found the trick. I bought a 100x120cm canvas for acrylic paint that was priced down. I also bought two very cheap bottles of blackboard paint. You normally use it to decorate kids' rooms so they can use crayons on the walls. The bottles state that the paint is acrylic-based, which means it SHOULD stick to the canvas without blistering. Although it's a risk as it's not a hard surface. Anyway, I'm willing to take my chances.

The idea is as follows: I'm going to put two layers of blackboard paint on the canvas, hopefully creating a large simple, non-shiny blackboard. Then I can use white crayons to sketch the drawing on it. If I get it wrong, I can erase and re-start. Also, if, after a few weeks, I tire of the sketch, I can start over and do something else with it.

I'm not very good with permanent things.

So, here's the situation today:

Will hopefully come back with a nice result by the end of the weekend (paint needs to dry 24 hours). Fingers crossed.

Ministry of Truth - Part 2

Slight relief: It would appear England was created by Walt Disney. My Girrel and I still have something in common after all. Babe, if you put in for a transfer to Walt Disney's Disney World Paris, you can share my pod with me! ;-)

Ministry of Truth

It seems my worries about the latest governement crisis are irrelevant if not entirely redundant. And I am making peace with the fact that I myself am highly fictitious.

If you believe you live in Belgium, you would do well to try this link instead. Scroll down and click on "Belgium doesn't exist". Mentally prepare yourself to have your fundaments thoroughly reshuffled. When you're ready to accept your lot, come find me at my fictitious address and we can go hunt down a fictitious pint to wash away our highly fictitious troubles.

Thx Tom, for opening my eyes! It goes a long way to explaining my persistent existentialist crisis.

Meh

I am having a total brainfart.

Driving home, I had thousands of blogtopics lined up in my head. Strung together kadzillions of eloquent sentences and nuanced hundreds of delightfully literal words.

But now I'm coming up blanks. One after another.

I'm off to ring my girrel.

She's good at filling in my blanks.