E tu

In order to maintain that tiny shred of credibility I have left, I will not specify the music happening I attended last night. All I will say is that I was thrown back in time to when I was 10-12, playing old vinyls in my bedroom, some (Leonard Cohen, The Beatles, Dylan, The Doors, De Andre') more credible than others (the gentleman in question). Before I met punk, metal, garage, underground and trip hop. Yes, a looong time ago.

One thing I may have figured out, though. Being an EI may be a case of arrested development. How can I still be the same simple soul in my 30s? Writing a blog about being an EI.. Fat chance of being an adjusted grown up..
Wise people tell me that you can only love for the sake of loving when you are 18, then other 'needs' come into the equation. You know, nesting, stability, life plans. Aaarrrggghhh!!! I refuse to believe this. And I tell you more. These wise people have forgotten what it is like to fall in love. Or are too scared to try again. Mind you, it is pretty damn' scary. Just look at SF#1..

Yes, I know eff'all, but let me suggest one thing. If you are in a relationship, if there is someone in your life, if you are in love, don't waste time. Just go and kiss them. Drag them in bed, if you can/want to. Wisdom can wait.

The sound of silence

Nice.

The ballad of.. EI

Typical of nearing birthdays, I find myself looking back, looking in and looking forward.

You may not believe this, but there is a song out there composed in my name. Actually, there may even still be a tape with the recording in one of my old bedroom drawers. It was a long time ago. I was 20, a young and promising physics student, with too many ideas and not much common sense. Afternoons spent watching French films in dingy indie cinemas, endless cigarettes and cheap red wine, music to make your ears bleed... Not much has changed. Except the price of the wine. And the quality of cinema seats. But the sturm und drang are still here. On the other hand, the guy who wrote the song is now a well-adjusted father of two, who has packed away the guitar for good.

As Lawrence Durrell said, 'There are only three things to be done with a woman. You can love her, suffer for her, or turn her into literature.' I have loved, I have suffered, I have written. Now it may be time to shut up.

Whatever happened to my rock 'n roll

Cool creds: went to see Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Uncool creds: was sitting upstairs (but, hey, the sound is way better)

Cool creds: wasn't the oldest person in the room by far

Uncool creds: was one of the few not wearing black

Cool creds: knew all the songs

Uncool creds: when they came on, I clapped my hands and said 'Exciting!' (Why? Why?)

Cool creds: unlike the guy in front of me, I resisted the urge to air guitar

Uncool creds: wanted to hit the skinny bitch dancing and blocking the view of the stage

You get the gist.. I am not exactly cool. Never will be.

Never mind. 90 minutes of tight R 'n R, oscillating between The Velvet Underground and The Stooges. These Baudelaire and Rimbaud wannabes can play their guitars. And since their latest album Beat the Devil's Tattoo hints strongly to their first, B.R.M.C., with The Jesus & Mary Chain-inspired walls of feedback over gospel blues, the tracks jelled perfectly in a continuum of highly enjoyable moody rock. Shame for the old guitar-breaking cliché at the end (Really? Really).

And all of a sudden, it was all forgotten. A distorted basic guitar/base/drums sound can do that to you. It floods your ears and brain, wiping out unwanted memories, The Man's car crash (wish I didn't see the car), my coping mechanisms (anger.. not good.. sorry), inextricable complications, lack of reasons..
And become a teenager again: I fell in love with a sweet sensation, I gave my heart to a simple chord, I gave my soul to a new religion, whatever happened to my R 'n R.

Hurricane drunk

So, back to Single Friend #1.

As expected the evening with a large bottle of vodka, and several other alcoholic items, resulted in a legendary headache. At least, one thing we have achieved: narcosis. I can't even remember my name, therefore she must have temporarily forgotten about Sexy Guy.

I heard once of a mathematical formula linking the amount of time it takes to get over someone to the time actually spent with this person. I wonder if it is also a function of other variables, such as the intensity of the relationship, the imaginary relationship time (ie, making plans for non existing events), the frequency of communication, the quality of sex, the ability to compartmentalise, to rationalise emotions.

Right now, at least once she sobers up, SF#1 is still in the grip of the hurricane. And is just spinning around aimlessly.

The frustration is to try and figure out what to do to help her out. Especially because I am a sucker for a happy ending, and, somehow, I am secretly hoping that the idiot realises what a mistake he's making. Of course, I would never say that to SF#1. I have rubbished the man flat out for over a week now. And I could hit him in the face if he comes anywhere close to her. What a despicable behaviour, blah blah.

And it is kind of hitting me while a write. This is typical EI, isn't it? To hope against hope, to believe in some magical relationship karma, to be so open and naïve to ignore the harsh reality. To snub straight, fast lines, for the surprises awaiting around the corners of a winding road. To fail to learn from own mistakes. To be emotionally unequipped.

I am starting to fear that I am going to need support in this rescue mission. SF#2's cynicism and Married Friend #1's warmth and wise words will set the path straight again. How can anybody live without friends?

(Ho visto un'alba) Blu

Up at 3 am again. Thinking of crossroads, possibilities and opportunities. Of errors past and errors future. Of choices, decisions, indecisions. Of the ones we lost, and the ones we should hold on to. Of love given, of love taken, of love never to be returned. Of too many cigarettes. Of thoughts spoken and unspoken. Of hearts broken, mended and broken again. Of fear and bravery. Of friends to miss and long for. Of responsibility and duty. Of time rushing by. Of answers looking for a question. Of beautiful numbers that build order from chaos. Of neuroses. Of desire. Of impossible dreams. Of pain and hurt. Of new ends and old beginnings. Of words, words, words, words. Of life having this bad habit of adding another year to your age. Of happy loneliness. Of one way streets. Of blue socks in a white washing. Of a desk still to be cleared. Of goodbyes. Of things not quite going according to plan. Of wanting to jump. Of knowing when you are losing. Of change. Of boxes yet to be unpacked.

Of wishing I didn't suffer from insomnia.

Then, I saw a blue dawn over the city.

Morning dreams

Still under the cloud.

Like in a sci-fi story, there is a glass dome in the atmosphere that we can't see but cocoons us, isolating this island from the rest of the world.

So still weird, still out of character.

Still chasing early morning dreams. The ones you allow yourself to linger on, instead of getting up. On a Saturday. The curtains move. A few more minutes before stepping into the day. Eyes still closed. Resisting life pulling in. Holding on to a backdrop. Somewhere a step before or after imagination. Far away from words. Just flashes. Breaking through the fabric of reality.

Then, the smell of coffee.

That cold black cloud is comin' down

Stranded. Scattered around the world, under a surreally silent sky.

Male Friend #2 is stuck in Thailand, locked up in his hotel room, trying to avoid the political uprising. He sounded so miserable, poor thing. Resist, my friend, you will be home soon.

To add insult to injury, Single Friend #1 gave up her emergency pick-me-up weekend. I foresee a trip around her place with a massive bottle of vodka. Head sore already, just thinking about it.

Lovely Friend had to say adiós to his Spanish holiday.. pesky volcano, you upset him!

Married Friend #2 is obliged to slow down for a couple of days. Work commitments cancelled, she is left to make the most of some quality time with her husband. I hope her BlackBerry is reminding her of her marital duties (duties? Tasks? Contractual obligations? Perks?).

I know it can’t be seen, but I can feel it. I can feel the cloud over my head.
Inside my head? Thoughts muddled up? Hmmm, not sure. More a tidal wave that comes and goes. And when it goes it is all clear and lucid. When it comes, it hits you like a bus. I like the clarity; I like the bus.

Reading back, yes, this is an odd post. Maybe the cloud is closer than it seems.

Nuclear war

Spoke too soon...

Ladies and gentlemen, we have gone nuclear. I was summoned to SF#1's and it was Ground Zero. The fairy tale is over, the monogrammed hand towels have been shredded. Time to clear out the debris.
I wish I could say I saw it coming, but it would be a lie. Mine was a hunch, but even I wasn't expecting this.
Only a few days back Sexy Guy asked SF#1 to pick the kitchen tiles with him. The cabinets, the stove, the oh so convenient foldaway pantry. They were laughing at the sales assistant, posing as a 50's couple in the show apartment, making out in the beds department. Then.. then, he backed off. Just like that. This was becoming too much, too soon.

So, my question is: in a relationship, who makes the rules? And are we allowed to change them half way through? And anyway, what is the point of being right or wrong? Once the damage is done, what are we gaining from flagging a red card, from being the righteous one, if we are also the ones with a broken heart? Sure, saying 'you are an a-hole' may give a momentary satisfaction, but then what? They are gone and we are left rejected, alone and with a shattered confidence. And angry.
So, no, I have not stated the obvious to SF#1. I just sat there with her, holding her tight. She needs to live it, acknowledge it, cry it out and get through it.

The kids are alright

Blank, nothing, zippo, silence.
I stare at the screen and nada.
Creativity: gone.
Words: disappeared.
Language: to a bear minimum.
What’s going on?
No desperate crying.
No hilarious enthusiasm.
I am just.. fine.

Brush up your Shakespeare

Shall the effect of this good lesson keep. As watchman to my heart.

(Drawing) Rings around the world

I am not going to discover a new continent by stating that communication has been the 'silent' revolution of our generation. And most certainly I am not going to waste anybody's time yabbing about it. But you see, such an abundance of hardware and software does not detract from two key issues: men and phones don't go together, an EI needs subtitles, always.

Back then in the 80's, my dad was one of the first people in the country to buy a cell phone (remember those huge bricks that had absolutely no reception whatsoever?). He then kept updating the whole family's phone pool with the latest models. And yet, if you tried to reach him at any time, for any emergencies, his phone was always off. He just hated even the sound of the phone ringing.
Same with The Man. He has never replied to any of my text messages from around the world, as there was 'no need, as long as he knew I landed safe and sound, and nothing major happened' with him.
And, while Male Friends #1 and #2 keep in touch quite thoroughly by instant messaging, I cannot recall many phone chats, such as the ones I have with Best, Single and Married Friends.

Regarding the subtitles, I am convinced that IMs, SMSs, MSN, MMSs, Facebook and MySpace have actually made me more and not less clueless. I currently carry two BlackBerries plus my old phone, use three laptops and a desktop, four iPods and two digital cameras. Am I any wiser? Not at all.
I still find myself asking for elaboration and clarification; I wish people carried LCDs hanging from their necks explaining what they really mean. I usually cannot even pick up my own signals (why was I smiling? Dunno, just in a good mood, I suppose). And end up standing there wondering 'should I, should I not', only to find myself thinking a few hours later 'I wanted to..'

The facts of life

If you ask for feedback, be prepared for answers you are not going to like.

The Man took me out for dinner to a posh Michelin-starred restaurant recently. Historic setting coupled with ethnic decor. French cuisine and international cellar. Attentive service and tables far enough from each other to have a private conversation. All was going smoothly. Until the main course arrived. Which was nice. Just, too much going on in the plate: turbot, peppers, chives, creamy sauce, bits of parsley sprinkled across the plate. The flavour of the fish was completely lost.

So, when the Hungarian metre d' asked if 'everything fine, madam', well, I couldn't resist. And just told him what I thought.. and he didn't take it well. At all.
That was it. I was black-listed for the rest of the evening. No eye contact, no direct questions. The Man had to order my food and my wine, because I had become invisible.
Really? Really.

Which takes me back to the discussed subject of feedback. To those awful moments when you are at the end of a review request. And it is someone you care about.
What do you do, lie and leave them in complete ignorance of their 'areas of development'? Or brutally say something they will never forget and forgive you for? I am not even going to dignify the 'how was it for you' in bed.. that only happens in films, right? But what if they keep on wearing a highly unflattering ensemble? If their karaoke singing breaks glasses in the storeroom? If you hate tuna and this bloody Salad Nicoise is on the table every single day? If coffee is, yes, delivered to you in bed, but is always burnt?

Management courses tell you that honest feedback is key for professional and personal development and to create a trustworthy work relationship. I see it as two-way road. If you are ready to accept negative as well as positive feedback, if you brace yourself to endure the truth and make something good out of it, then maybe delivering a blow can get a bit easier.

However, rather than being right, sometimes it is still better to do the right thing. To just smile and encourage the ones you love, because, no, they don’t look fat in that coat, and, yes, they are going to make it in the music industry.

Otherwise, be prepared to be shunned for a whole evening. Because some feedback is just too hard a bite to swallow.

(We belong together like) Traffic and weather

How do you know you do?

Sexy boy

After several tos and fros, we finally met Sexy Guy.

Single Friend #1 gave us the coordinates to their latest rendezvous and we just ended up accidentally on purpose in the same bar. Yep, an ambush, in case you are wondering. But he didn't seem to mind. Au contraire, he appeared very pleased to receive some unexpected female attention.

The verdict?

Sexy, he is sexy, no doubt about it. SF#1 cannot keep her hands off him. And so couldn't SF#2, Married Friend #2 and the cocktail waitress. What was going on, I have no idea. It was some kind of giggling hormone craze. I practically had to hit Married Friend #2 under the table to wake her up from a state of stupor as he started talking about his summers sailing in the South Seas. He then had to show us the scar on his left bicepts (apparently SF#1's recount wasn't enough) and check our fitness levels by squeezing our own bicepts ("Touch me and I shall hit you" - worked a treat).

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all bad (I feel like I am sounding more and more like a bitch these days). He is funny, chatty and interested in people's conversations. Most importantly, SF#1 is happy, very happy. Sex is great, apparently. And he seems into her. As in, interested in her. My only worry is that he seems interested in quite a few other ladies at the same time as well. But maybe he is just flirting and playing along, and means no harm.

Now, I just need to stop Married Friend #2 from even considering the possibility of spicing up her marriage and ruining a friendship.. aarrrgghhh!!

From out of nowhere

Have you ever been hit by a moment that was just.. perfect?
A few seconds of palpable happiness that just come.. and go..

Boys don't cry

Ladies, if you think that personal image is a female problem, think again. All the men in my life, before or later, have confessed insecurities you would expect from a teenage girl. I usually end up staring at them trying to figure out what they are going on about. They seem perfect to me. While they complain about getting old (no, that's maturity), fat (where, where?), bold (no, just sexier) and grey (ever heard of somebody called G. Clooney?). And even if they do.. Well, so do we.
However.. last night, Male Friend #3 went on a date with a lady.. 12 years his junior. Before going out, he called me in a state of panic. The conversation went pretty much like this:

"Beard or no beard?"
"What do you mean? You look good with a beard"
"Yeah, but it is going white, it makes me look old"
"No, it doesn't. It makes you look dependable and financially secure"
"Hmmm, not sure.. What do I wear?'
"Where are you going?"
"Usual, French bistro"
"Imaginative, uh? Then jeans, shirt and jacket, easy"
"My punk-rocker jeans?"
"Noooooo, don't even think about it!! First of all, they are AWFUL! What got you into your head when buying a pair of stonewashed grey jeans ripped at the front? You are over 45!! Second, don't use the expression 'punk-rocker' to describe yourself. You are a lovely middle class guy, just deal with it'
'Thank you so much for reminding me that I am over 45.."
"Sorry, sorry, I am an ass.."
"BTW, did you see, I have removed my year of birth from my Facebook profile.."
"I did notice. Ehm, would you mind also removing that you are interested in 'women'? It is kind of creepy.."
"Why? I am. Interested, not creepy"
"Do you want the truth?"
"Why? Am I ever going to get something different?"
"'Course not. It looks desperate. And the photo is creepy too.. I mean that shirt.. How many times do I need to tell you that hawaiian shirts should be burnt!"
"What's wrong with that photo?? It looks perfectly fine to me. Are you going to kill my confidence just before a date??"
"Sorry, still an ass.. OK, so, you are going to the bistro, then what?"
"Well, I want to take it very slow. I am not sure.. I will probably just see her off"
"..."
"What's the silence about?"
"Trying not to be an ass for the third time in less than 10 minutes.."
"That wouldn't be the first time.."
"Touché.. Anyway, I understand how you feel, and admire you for being so considerate. However, you don't want to risk missing out on this fine young lady, do you? How long do you think she will hang around for? Go for drinks!! If you don't want to move too fast, spend the evening talking, show her your vulnerable and sensitive (?) side. Otherwise, after saying goodbye to you, she'll jump in a cab and go out with somebody else.."
"Would she?"
"Ehm... Yes"
"Would you?"
"What's that got to do with me?"
"Would you go out with somebody else after dinner with me?”
"... Darling, sorry, the cat needs feeding. Got to go. Love you. Good luck!"
"..."

Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans

Within less than a week, three different people, who know me in different measures, said that I am mad. And it wasn't just a reaction to something I did or said, it was a matter of fact statement. Apparently, I am slightly deranged. I took it as a compliment the first two times. The third one... I got worried. Well worried, not really.. more.. curious. Have I really lost it?

Sure, I quit my job during times of financial crisis without another employment awaiting for me. Sure, I write a blog about my emotional shortcomings. Sure, I have ditched all life plans and decided to take everyday as it comes. Sure, I wear my heart on my sleeve and have the worst poker face in the world. Sure, I share far more than I should, and very often end up regretting it.

And yet, there is some method in this madness. Becoming a blank canvas is scary and at the same time exciting. Not being defined by what you do means that you have to remember who you are. When your job is the number one player, you tend to forget that there is a person behind the role. When you start slowing down, you notice that thing called life that apparently went on happening while you were not looking. People, friends, lovers, family, seasons: that's where they all were.

I know, this is not really attainable in the long run. Stopping to smell the daisies can only take over for a limited amount of time. And I can't spend my life in the playground on my own, while everybody else is growing up.
But for now, I have a white page that is rapidly filling up with 'what to do in the next months'. No timelines, no deadlines. Just a bit of inspiration when waking up in the morning.

Remember the story of the professor who was invited to lecture on Efficient Time Management? If you fill a jar with, in this order, stones, pebbles, sand and water, they will all go in before the jar becomes completely full. But if you try and do it the other way around.. well, the stones will never make it.

Right now, I am emptying the jar.

The lost art of keeping a secret

Out for dinner with Male Friend #2 and The Venerable, both in a very funny mood (funny ha ha as well as funny oh oh).

After a short while, it was quite clear that the three of us are absolutely useless at gossip. We had no idea whatsoever of what was going on with most of the people around us. So, to counterbalance, we decided to make up some rumors to spread around.

And their imagination went wild! Most of the stories they could come up with involved nakedness (ehm, sleepwalking naked to work may result in arrest before being sacked..), ghosts (of dead soap opera characters!), woman on woman action (of course), affairs with incredibly ugly dudes (really?).. absolutely nothing believable.

Awesome.

I know my secretes are very very safe with them.