All things come to a beginning

Henry Rollins @ AB

2008-01-25T17:11:00.000+01:00

Last night I caught above guy making fun of this quote down below:

The "he killed all the Mandelas" bit inspired Henry ("What could he possibly be talking about?! Is there a level of how Mandela-istic people can be?") to invent the word "Mandeliciousness". Word of the day? Try year. I'm going to make 2008 as Mandelicious as possible.

When people inspire you

2008-01-23T14:53:00.000+01:00

At a time at which a British documentary about the atrocities that take place in Bulgarian orphanages has mobilised Belgian reporters, politicians and citizens alike, my friend Clayton has posted documentary work of his own. Looks like he's been spending his post-Leuven time in Vancouver doing very useful & interesting things. How do you go about becoming a documentary film maker? My guess is you need idealism, drive, tenacity & yourself.

A week in www

2007-12-16T21:39:00.000+01:00

Thursday - www.improvisatietheater.be with H&M
Friday - Www.lalalahumansteps.com with I&J
Saturday - www.wisper.be & www.amuseevous.be with K&S
Sunday - www.wisper.be & www.stuk.be with K&differentS
Tomorrow - www.iak.be with A&J
Tuesday - www.ontroerendgoed.be (maybe)
Wednesday - www.hetdepot.be (definitely)
Thursday - www.rits.be with H&T

Column Renske De Greef kicks ass

2007-12-10T13:36:00.000+01:00

"Waarom ben je pas echt jezelf als je bezig bent met zeeslakken en zandmuizen? Waarom ben je pas echt jezelf als je alleen bent en niets hebt als referentiekader? Bestaan mensen niet juist bij de gratie van dat kader? Wat betekent jezelf zijn nog als je alleen een warme rots hebt om het tegen te vertellen? Gekleurde letters maken dwingende zinnen op glanzende tijdschriftcovers. 'Met succes solliciteren, gewoon jezelf zijn', 'De perfecte relatie: als je maar jezelf bent', 'Red het regenwoud, verlies enorm veel kilo's en kom 15 keer klaar: enkel door jezelf te zijn'. Het is geen advies meer, het moet. Kleed zoals jij, praat zoals jou, gedraag je zoals jij bent. Wees jezelf. Nu. Godverdomme. Wees jezelf (...) Jezelf zijn is de meest loze kreet van het jaar, een luchtbel, een zin zonder betekenis. Zeg tegen mij 'wees jezelf' en ik verstar. Veilig zijn, je op je gebmake voelen: ja, dat zijn begrippen maar ik naar wil streven. Maar jezelf zijn: hoe moet dat? Iedereen past zich aan, iedereen is altijd anders, en dank God daarvoor"

De Morgen, 10 december

Moving on up

2007-12-06T17:21:00.000+01:00

Dalai Lama says his successor could be a woman
Agence France-Presse
Last updated 07:55pm (Mla time) 12/06/2007

MILAN -- Tibet's spiritual leader the Dalai Lama on Thursday suggested that his successor could be a woman. "If a woman reveals herself as more useful the lama could very well be reincarnated in this form," the 14th Dalai Lama told reporters in Milan, where he arrived for a private visit on Wednesday. The 72-year-old Dalai Lama, who has lived in exile since 1959, said last week that his successor could be chosen outside of Tibet if he were to die abroad. He also mooted the possibility of choosing the 15th Dalai Lama himself. According to centuries of tradition, high-ranking monks in Tibet choose the Dalai Lama's reincarnation after the death of the incumbent.

Granted, the use of the words "this form" make it sound like the next Lama could very well be plankton, but hey, it's a start.

Say what?

2007-12-05T17:00:00.000+01:00

Boobs or brains

2007-11-28T15:01:00.000+01:00

I'm not one to ever pass up a costume party and the one I'm going to next weekend has "stereotypes" for a theme. "Dumb blonde" seems like the obvious choice, but these ads from the 50s and 60s have given me a naughty housewife idea...

Amusez moi

2007-11-28T10:52:00.000+01:00

Gisteren iets vroeger naar Leuven getrokken voor een persco in Gasthuisberg.

Tonya, Claudia Decaluwé en Mama's Jasje zingen voor Leuvens Kinderziekenhuis

"Niet alleen". Zo heet de single die Tonya (Eurosong for Kids 03), Claudia Decaluwé van Spark (Eurosong 02) en Mama's Jasje (Eurosong 96-02) hebben ingeblikt voor het goede doel. 27 november wordt de single voorgesteld in de personeelscafetaria van Gasthuisberg in Leuven. De opbrengst gaat deels naar de Cliniclowns en deels naar mUZtival, een muziekfestival voor en door de patiëntjes van het kinderziekenhuis UZ Leuven.

Vanaf 7 december vindt in Leuven de jaarlijkse kerstmarkt plaats. De vzw die verantwoordelijk is voor de organisatie plaats jaarlijks een goed doel in de kijker. Voor de twintigste editie is de keuze gevallen op het kinderziekenhuis van de universitaire ziekenhuizen in Leuven. Tonya, Claudia van Spark en Mama's Jasje hebben besloten om hun muzikale medewerking aan het project te verlenen. Zij hebben samen met enkele patiëntjes uit het kinderziekenhuis het nummer "Niet alleen" op cd ingezongen. Het plaatje zal te koop worden aangeboden op de Leuvense kerstmarkt. De opbrengst van de verkoop van de single gaat deels naar de Cliniclowns, deels naar mUZtival, een muziekfestival voor en door de patiëntjes.

AmuseeVous, waar ik vrijwilliger ben, heeft een stand (een salon, met zachte zetels, tapijten en kunst niet-aan-de-muur) op de Kerstmarkt en zal later ook meewerken aan culturele initiatieven in het kinderziekenhuis zelf. Van harte gekletst, onder andere met een hilarische Egyptische ober/amateurfotograaf, mijn ogen & oren de kost gegeven en veel goed volk gezien. Waaronder Jean-Marie Pfaff én, nog spannender, een jongetje dat - merkte ik nu - sinds zijn 12de een pak minder jongetje geworden is. Ik heb 'm nog niet durven aanspreken ("Doesn't 1995 feel like it was yesterday?" houdt net iets te veel gênant sorry-hoe-zouden-wij-elkaar-moeten-kennen? risico in), maar eens ik op de Kerstmarkt sta te kleumen en de vrieskou mijn trots tot rozijngrootte doet krimpen, wil ik 'm toch eens van dichterbij bekijken.

Langs de kant

2007-11-27T10:36:00.000+01:00

Gisteren zwartgereden - eerste keer in maanden, ik zweer het. Metro niet meegeteld - en natuurlijk net op die dag door vier authoriteitsfiguren in donkerblauwe outfits van de bus geplukt. In rokje en H&M pantykousen langs de steenweg staan bibberen (enkel van de kou, uiteraard) terwijl ze een flinterdun geel papiertje invulden en in één wolkjesadem met mij sympathiseerden. Lieve kerels, eigenlijk, en omdat het mijn first offence was, "zou 'k messchin toch nog geen boet" krijgen.
Vandaag voor het eerst echt gepraat met een elke dag meebussende collega, "Awel, ge zat in de problemen gisteren precies!". Of hoe te gierig zijn om een dubbele euro te betalen niets dan warme gevolgen heeft.

Thomas mét foto in de krant en ik vind dat cool

2007-11-27T10:29:00.000+01:00

Over de irrationele kant van geweld

Peter E. heeft 'een' moord gepleegd op 'een' vrouw. Waarom? Met UIT HET LEVEN VAN DE MARIONETTEN houdt het Mechelse theater 't ARSENAAL de brandend actuele vraag 'wat is irrationeel geweld?' boven de vlam.

Twee projectschermen waarop beelden van een stad en groen worden geprojecteerd, cultuur en natuur, ratio en dwangmatig instinct. Daarom heen - deels aan het zicht ontrokken - loopt een lange houten tafel. Als een kruisgang. Als een tribunaal. Aan het uiteinde de onderzoeksrechter. Hij ondervraagt de psycholoog waarbij Peter E., al jaren klant/patiënt was. Wat volgt is een lange flash back. Peter bekent aan zijn psycholoog de droom waarin hij zijn vrouw Katarina vermoordt. De psycholoog doet er wat lacherig over: een pilletje, eens goed slapen en wat minder drinken. Dat moet Peter ook horen van zijn vrouw, met wie hij een open relatie heeft waar vreemd gaan erbij hoort. "We hebben de spelregels uitgedacht maar we hebben het talent niet om het spel te spelen," zal Katarina in een zeldzaam moment van oprechtheid zeggen.

UIT HET LEVEN VAN DE MARIONETTEN, gebaseerd op de gelijknamige film van Ingmar Bergman, blijft bij 't ARSENAAL lang steken in degelijk maar wat energieloos verteltheater dat onder de Temesta's lijkt te zitten. Het vuurwerk komt pas als ook in het leven van de personages theater erbij komt kijken: schrijnend grappig is de scène waarin Peter (een subtiel acterende Han Kerckhoffs) en Katarina (Katelijne Verbeke die met brio alle registers mag opentrekken) aan het ruziën gaan in het bijzijn van een vriend.

Aan het slot vermoordt Peter 'toevallig' een prostituee die 'toevallig' ook Katarina heet. De psycholoog verklaart dat zijn cliënt alleen maar in staat was tot die daad omdat hij in een ander, marginaal milieu terechtkwam. Daar houdt het stuk op, met antwoorden die er eigenlijk geen zijn, omdat verklaringen niet altijd rationeel zijn. Dat is het gevaarlijke aan de mens, die de marionet in zijn eigen leven is en zelf de touwtjes in handen heeft: ooit moet het knappen. De waarom-vraag is in zo'n gevallen al even zinloos als de daad.

Thomas Bellinck en Katelijne Verbeke: vuurwerk.

De Morgen - Liv Laveyne.

The long & short of it

2007-11-27T10:25:00.000+01:00

This Saturday, the umpteenth edition of the Leuven Short Film Festival, where I interned last year, kicks off. A little taste of Thursday's menu:

Outspiration

2007-11-23T20:41:00.000+01:00

I won't go as far as saying I'm learning more now than I did when I was still in school...but it's not too far off. This stage of my life is at least as challenging, as new and as fall-and-get-back-up-off-your-bum as any previous one.
Long days at work, filled with firsts & faux pas. With every meeting I attend, every proposal I write up, every question I face and every outfit I choose I aim & shoot - with varying degrees of success. Some days I seem to float through the corridors, getting things done and feeling great about where things are headed. I'm in touch with talented people and overflowing with ideas and plans. I give the bus driver a big smile, the old man reading a gossip rag over someone's shoulder a grin, and my job the best I've got. Other days I'm so far out of it picking up my cup of coffee when the machine stops rattling and the next person in line shoves me aside is the most efficient and goal-oriented thing I'll get done, second to trying to hide the run in my pantyhose and wondering if a time warping black hole could explain why setting my alarm earlier makes me get to work even later. But all in all I'd say things are swell, I still like the thought of coming in every day and I can see myself sticking around for a lot longer. Turns out I'm more ambitious than I've always thought I was.

I never realized this would be such an awesome stage in life. No house or car to pay off, no significant household to manage, no old maid concerns just yet (speaking of which: a single friend of mine who's 24 went to the bank the other day to ask about possible loan options. The guy she talked to advised her to "find a man". Yup, 2007, folks. If this company is so fundamentally unaccomodating to the growing demographic of single people - at all ages - I have serious concerns for its future), the kind of taken-for-granted health, limited need of sleep and stamina that comes with being in your early twenties, a planner filled with concerts, expositions and birthday parties but...more money and a more clearly defined future than I had as a student. And plenty of time to hang upside down in theme parks, walk along the beach, indulge in pillow talk, approve of friends' spanking new boyfriends, let my eyes wander, commit to projects (I need to get it through my head that there is a limit to the amounts of plates I can keep up in the air simultaneously, but then again I don't consider having one or two shatter to the ground as complete failure), shop, read and absorb.

It's not that I have things more figured out than before, but there seems to be very little pressure to do so. There's no "So, what will you do after graduation?" anymore and it's still too early for "Well, fair enough, but shouldn't you be manager by now?" or "How is it my teenage kids seem to have a better grasp of life than I do?". I feel like once you hit a certain age people expect Olympic performances, whereas now the simple fact that I'm not sinking to the bottom of the pool or standing idly by praying the chlorine will do its job is good enough. It's only natural that I don't have a company car, that the guys I date aren't marriage material and that I haven't cooked a warm meal for myself in 5 months. All that will be expected eventually, but until that time I'm happy with my daily dozen of mini triumphs and trip-ups.

Proj...

2007-10-29T22:16:00.000+01:00

I had hoped that the “Project Bxl” thread would become a long account of my brave quest for an affordable room (I’ve already learned that “cuisine américaine” means no kitchen at all) and decent roommates. You know, I’d meet some loveable new age nutjobs (scented candles, soy milk, bake your own bread, non-ironic tie-dye clothes), some überstrict overly intense people, some living dead (“He’s had three different roommates in the past year and I have reason to believe they all died of BOREDOM and he KILLED them with his BORINGNESS and now they are DEAD because of it. And friggin bored”) and, like dates, it would be either a good time or a good story. And eventually, I would stumble upon the perfect little abode - something colourful and warm I would enjoy coming home to every night.

However, it looks as though the Proj Brux is on hold. Already. Instead, I’ll be staying where I am (different neighborhood, same town) for a little while longer and I feel really good about that. The moving card is still on the table, but if and when I play it, it'll be for the right reasons.

Een grap is leuk
Als je `m helemaal niet verwacht
Ellende kun je hebben
Als je er eigenlijk om lacht
Verdriet is best te dragen
Als je `t eerst zelf hebt bedacht
De blues is echt te gek
Als er iemand op je wacht

Project Bxl (2)

2007-10-27T19:30:00.000+02:00

I spent most of my day - which, admittedly, thanks to a festive Friday night started about halfway - walking around Brussels, trying to get a taste of the place. I had a fantastic lunch, saw some charming neighborhoods, but in general...I'm so glad to be home. Brussels and I didn't exactly shake hands today. Not that anything in particular went wrong, and maybe it's largely due to some PMS/dead tired from last night, but I just didn't feel it. There's no love, yet. I am incredibly glad to be home again, with a big cup of tea, my laptop on my lap SATC style, the TV on, comfortable slippers on my feet. Did I turn 47 overnight? Is this just a temporary slump? Would I be happier living where I live now?

Project Bxl

2007-10-26T09:29:00.000+02:00

I pingpong on a daily basis about this issue but...when our lease ends in February and we all have to move out of our house, I'm thinking I could find a new place in Brussels. Closer to work - no more daily commute - and just a general changement de décor. I've been back in my hometown for over a year and a half now. Time to pack up again, move somewhere new & bigger & challenging. Somewhere I don't know my way around. I have itchy feet, but going abroad isn't in the cards right now. I have a job I like too much, and lots of people here that I want close to me. So the capital seems like a good option.

So why am I afraid to jump into the pool? What if the city is far enough for me to be removed from my comfort zone (even just moving a few kilometres apart is enough to decimate the number of times people meet up & it'll take a while before I know enough people in Brussels that I can drop in on whenever I need a good chat) but not far enough to be markedly different? What if I realize it has exactly the same ailments as the ones that bother me now: a small world in which everyone knows everyone, an artificial Emperor's clothes-esque cultural life, lifeless rainy February streets? Except now I'm dealing with that minus the cushy bubble I call home?

My theory is that yes, any issues or problems you may have are always at least partially in your head and will therefore accompany you wherever you go. Still, I am convinced that the physical/geographic context can worsen or soften those issues and that switching things up can be a trigger. It brings out another side of you, and it might just be enough to give you a jolt and look at things from a different angle. So in extensio, moving can in fact be a marked improvement or a big step back. It's funny that I signed up to go to Toronto before my councellor had gotten to the "ron" syllable, and moving 20 add kilometres takes some seriously deep breaths.

Anyway, I just need to do this and try this and see where it goes. Because I can. Project Bxl (Is anyone watching Project Runway? "One day you are in...the next you are out!" Oh, Heidi Klum - after Tyra, I didn't think I would ever cast my eyes on another famous model/show host who so gleefully indulged in her quest for attention, shameless name dropping, sexually ridiculous cohosts and the joys of casting psychological terror over a dozen of wacky hopefuls while still coming across as, I hate to admit, likeable & addictive) is on. If anyone knows of a place opening up sometime in February, holla.

Life is music, eh? (4)

2007-10-20T17:56:00.000+02:00

Yesterday night was phenomenal. After a quick dinner with my bestest colleague, I hopped on the bus heading towards downtown Brussels. I fell down in a seat next to a blonde guy, about my age, rubbed my hands together and breathed on them to warm up. "That cold, huh?". A simple phrase that went straight into a 20 minute conversation about coldness and moving and our jobs and choosing kitchens (he did say "We just bought an appartment"...) and the Feist gig I was on my way to see. He raved about an artist named Mocky who did a duet with Feist a while back - I totally should have asked him to come, shouldn't I? Sure, it was sold out but there were scalpers all over, he could have scored a ticket. Instead, he told me at which stop to get off and we waved at each other through the window. I don't even know his name...Just where he works (the biggest building in town. Great lead)

I found the Cirque Royal easily (just follow everyone you see with bangs who's wearing lots of black, skinny jeans and flats/wrinkly boots. Damn. I'm such a stereotype), found my friends and ran into more people I didn't even know were coming. It's funny how the Brussels crowd has such a defined "look" to them...I have to move to a new place in February, and am seriously considering switching cities. I think I could live in our little capital - and more importantly, I think that I should. Mix things up a bit, you know, challenge myself. I don't have a big social network there just yet, but should that stop me? Would I lose my Leuven circle?

Opening the show was a pianist from Paris called Chilly Gonzalez.
He's all over YouTube, if anyone wants to check him out. Very interesting guy - first time I'd seen anyone play the piano with gloves on - with hilarious French humor, and undoubtedly talented as hell. He entertained the crowd like a pro, and as much as I hate being asked to clap or sing along he actually pulled it off. Feist was brilliant as ever - she sounds even better live and her songs brought back so many good Toronto vibes. Let it die, My moon my man, 1234, Mushaboom, One Evening, Inside and Out, So sorry, Sealion woman, Honey Honey, Intuition...very satisfying. And to see that woman rock out on her guitar makes me want to have her babies. I don't have any big musical plans, but I've taken up my own guitar again. I played for years and years, got deeply sick of it, quit, left my guitar in a corner for a good 4 years - I know - but I think I'm ready for it now. I took it to the store for a brand new set of strings and I've been playing around with it. There's more left in my fingertips than I expected, and knowing there's no homework or exams to work towards, but only my own ears & impulses really changes the picture. We'll see where it takes me...

Des nuits plus blanches que nature de Jean Cayrol

2007-10-17T22:13:00.000+02:00

"Tu ne me laisses jamais le temps de te parler. Quand m'écoutes-tu? Tu souris vite, tes yeux s'éclairent brusquement, tu me serres le bras; c'est le moment ou je ne suis plus sûr de nos paroles ni de notre attente (...) Nous ne sommes plus dans nos gestes, notre timidité devient une intimidation (...) Je n'aime pas ce moment qui ressemble à un adieu provisoire, tu fuis déjà et, malgré ton sourire, je me sens déconcerté"

I was reading this on the bus this morning and it struck a chord. How often people shy away from really seeing each other and showing themselves. The quick as a flash cover ups of battle scars, while fidgeting with a few freak flags that keep poking out. The urge to present yourself, to make a solid impression, to not...lose...face. Doing that on a day to day basis around your colleagues and random people, fair enough. It's when it trickles over into important friendships and promising relationships that the trouble begins. I've learned that lesson so many times, and yet this week it came to me once again. I'm looking forward to the day where it actually sits in my brain.

The letter in the book ends on a beautiful, brave note:
"Ce soir, je t'attends enfin pour te dire que je t'aime comme nous devons nous aimer. Ce qui n'est pas partagé, divise. Nous allions sur la frange de nous vies sans en connaître l'opacité, les ombres, le noir. Or, l'amour demande la transparence afin que nous puissions apercevoir le fond, même si cela nous coûte (...) Nous avons voulu être impitoyables pour nos moments anciens (...) Si j'ai l'air de t'écrire noblement, avec une certaine recherche, ce n'est pas pour flatter notre amour mais pour lui donner ce qu'il n'avait pas encore: un commencement sans panique"

Amen to that.

Mad mad world

2007-10-13T19:52:00.000+02:00

It's on its third edition, but this is the first year I found the Madman's project in Leuven. The location is an abandoned orphanage that's destined to be knocked down in a few months. In bad shape but unspeakably beautiful. The exhibit itself is a mix of film, photography, sculptures, installations, video art, drawings, sketches, music, food, hair cutting and massage. Hard to translate, but these shots might give you an idea anyway.

David Foster Wallace

2007-10-12T12:10:00.000+02:00

From the genius who brought you "Brief interviews with Hideous Men":

"The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day."

Life is music, eh? (3)

2007-10-12T10:37:00.000+02:00

A little while ago I bought an mp3-player that's also a radio. Everyone who's ever driven anywhere with me and who's seen the smoke come off their radio knows I switch channels like it's my job, and I've fallen in love with the little gadget. I swear, hitting that forward button is like a morphine drip.

It's happened a few times now that I stumbled upon the perfect song for that specific moment - such bliss. Just the other day I was riding the bus home, a bi-daily ritual. The evening before I sat there feeling miserable, trying to figure whether the salami smell was coming from the guy sitting in front of me or the grimy seats. But this particular ride, I had a gorgeous jazz song seaping into my ears and I was fully at peace with the world. I was finishing Ken Kalfus' "A disorder peculiar to the country", sitting next to a friendly guy with a New York-ish jewish look, watched the sun set, got a bit sentimental about North America and all of a sudden all the other passengers looked beautiful. The old ladies and their shopping carts, the young women coming from work, every single person. And then...a small ant walked across the seat in front of me. Reminded me immediately of Dan Clark's stand up skit , the too-cute comedian I met at the short film festival last year. And all the while, the music kept going. A natural high, I guess, out of the blue. Which continued straight into the night. I hit up the Broken Social Scene concert, made nice backstage and got to take the band out on the town after the show. They were hilarious, very sweet & a bunch of good people all around. When I dropped them off at their tour bus around 3 (they had to be in Cologne the next day) and walked home, I could honestly say I hadn't felt "meh" that night for a split second.
The same soundtrack-to-life thing happened to me today. I went for a run in the park, passed a gorgeous lake, saw little kids playing together, started thinking about my own niece & nephew and then... Regina Spektor's "Samson" came on. Perfection.

Arrow

2007-10-09T22:05:00.000+02:00

Here's the conclusion I draw out of the past few weeks: what you think of as a guarantee to semi-permanent happiness, something you never imagined you'd be lucky enough to experience, the thing you've always thought of in terms of "If only I could reach that far, man, I'd ask for nothing more" most likely won't live up to such a big promise. At the same time, something you embark on with absurdly low expectations and which you look at as a one-way alley to just a few inches underneath rock bottom can actually work out surprisingly well.

I like when life outsmarts me like that. When the plans I so arrogantly assumed I could make take a sharp turn and I have adjust all my car mirrors. When I catch myself smiling over something that caught me completely off guard. Being guarded is overrated - it tends to pay off to open yourself up to be touched, whether it's by the most gentle finger tips or a king-sized sledge hammer.

Start again

2007-10-05T12:10:00.000+02:00

I had lunch outside today, wrapped up in a cosy woollen sweater. Blue sky, deep red leaves twirling down onto the table, a picture perfect Saturday. I've always been a big fan of fall/autumn and I'm fortunate enough to live in a town that counter-hibernates. October is the month the streets fill up with people, with life. And I couldn't be happier about that. On Thursday night I caught my acting/directing friend Thomas in "Deze beweging wordt vaak niet meer gebruikt" in Tweebronnen. Very cleverly done. We all went down to the bar afterwards where I ran into entirely too many people, stayed way too late, screamed out conversations over the loud music, ended up smoking a cigar and woke up voiceless.

Friday night, I had dinner with a friend who's been abroad for over a year. We tried a new Vietnamese restaurant, filled each other in on the big events of the past 14 months or so and then saw "Het was zonder twijfel een ongeluk", a theatre monologue about a woman who stands by dumbly while her husband seduces a young girl.

It's been a week and weekend of gentle thrills & simple pleasures. Smiling friends, warm hugs, hilarious coworkers, kind gestures. I don't know where things are going or whether I'm handling life the way I should be, I don't know if I deserve all I have and have all I deserve. It could all fall apart with a few gusts of wind, but for now, I cherish it.

Life is music, eh? (2)

2007-10-04T10:23:00.000+02:00

Tired of "Shut your eyes"? Feast them on this. Featuring Canadian-American Martha of the otherworldly Wainwright-McGarrigle clan.

Tell me what you read...

2007-10-03T15:27:00.000+02:00

http://bluepyramid.org/ia/bquiz.htm:

You're Prufrock and Other Observations!
by T.S. Eliot

Though you are very short and often overshadowed, your voice is poetic and lyrical. Dark and brooding, you see the world as a hopeless effort of people trying to impress other people. Though you make reference to almost everything, you've really heard enough about Michelangelo. You measure out your life with coffee spoons.

Life is Music, eh?

2007-10-01T17:36:00.000+02:00

A few weeks ago, I suffered a pricy combination of Canada-nostalgia and the urge to be broke. So I bought a whole stack of concert tickets, tacked them to my bedroom door and take them down one by one as I make my way around the concert venues of Belgium. First up: The Tragically Hip, last Friday, in Brussels. Gordon, gij kunt mij krijgen.

Aaaaand we're back in the game

2007-09-20T15:23:00.000+02:00

Un qui aime et un qui est aimé

2007-09-14T11:07:00.000+02:00

Oscar winning actress Reese Witherspoon:

“[My dad and uncle] taught me that in every relationship, the person least interested in maintaining it is going to dominate it, because they’ll never compromise. So you have to always maintain that position of least interest, and you’ll always control the relationship.”

Harsh. And dangerous. But is it true too?

Workin' it (part 2)

2007-09-13T17:27:00.000+02:00

Um, yeah. I may have jinxed it. A single white envelope and bamm, my current job is mine no more. Or it won't be from October onward. "We thank you for...and wish you the best in your future..." I had to sit down for a bit, I can't lie. Right there, in the post office.

The person I replaced is coming back, and there's no need for an extra person, so thankfully it's not a lay off out of discontent with my work. Which doesn't change the fact that in a few weeks, I won't be walkin ginto this office anymore. The prospect of - for whatever amount of time - being out of work (I refuse to call it "in between jobs". When you slip off a chair you're not "in between altitudes", you just fell on your ass) is very dual.
Cons: not having a job. Or an income. Feeling guilty, lazy and inadequate. Getting frustrated reading job postings with less energy & spirit than Britney at the VMA's (seriously, sleepwalk much?)
Pros: my first days off since, oh, August 2006. No more bus rides, doing my make-up in a bathroom stall and having breakfast in the elevator. Time to travel and finally get my driver's license (ha!). And the opportunity to find a new job, somewhere else. Something that relates more to what I studied, or is even further removed. Something closer to home or way out there. Something deeply serious or only-acceptable-when-you're-under-25. I have no family to support, no loans breathing down my neck, little reason to worry. So you know what, October? Try me.

Oh boy

2007-09-13T15:31:00.001+02:00

I wouldn't say I have a specific type in men. Not superficially, anyway. Looking back at the guys I have dated, semi-dated or would have loved to date, they're a smorgasbord of ages, races, heights & widths. Gorgeous in my eyes, but never classic. As far as personalities go, though, I'm starting to detect a pattern. And considering the sorry state of my dating history, maybe it's time to step away from it.

They're quirky, but in an interesting, social way. "Intriguing", I guess, as juvenile as that sounds. They have a story, a history, a fair amount of family-related bagage. Which adds to the interesting-ness. They're professionally or at the least very intensely involved in the arts - photography, music, literature, theatre, you name it. They're verbal, know how to phrase an idea without having to resort to sighs, head scratches and "or something"s. They're creative and have an acute sense of style, as well as issues with compromises and sacrifices. They're determined, firmly behind the wheel. You're more than welcome to climb unto the passenger seat and even push some buttons - something I can rarely resist - but the route is all theirs to call. And the typical scenario so far has been an immediate attraction, a very swift sealing of the deal, a few lovely weeks, a few weeks of nagging doubts & swallowing my words, an emotionally cold conversation and a gradual easing into decent friends. Or not. I feel liberated, released and a little more worried about finding someone who fully and confidently and thrillingly digs me and is himself diggable. The end.

Do I place myself in that position, do I seek out hard-shelled men because I secretly hope I'll be able to crack them? Or is it a "birds of a feather" situation? Both, neither?

I'm meeting some friends tonight at a gallery in Brussels. It's the opening night of a photo exhibit by a famous photographer/choreographer and I suggested we go & crash the reception. The perfect place to meet men who are by no means creative, clever or brooding! Right? Sigh.

Doorgehakt

2007-09-13T11:02:00.000+02:00

That thing that you do

2007-09-10T21:30:00.000+02:00

When you feel like things are going wrong, I feel like part of the solution always lies in making your world both bigger and smaller. Bigger so you put things into perspective. And smaller so you take care of the fundamentals. Sleep, eat, take off your shoes, let your hair down, wrap yourself in something woolly, make some tea, reach out for a hug and take a break from beating yourself up about the million ways you feel you're not cutting it. Quality comes into the picture too. Too many consecutive days of vending machine food, watery coffee and vacuum tv drags down the overall quality of your body & mind in a "you are what you take in" effect. The bit of effort that goes into surrounding yourself with higher quality products (and people!) is more than worth it.

I got my fair share of quality this past weekend, having won two tickets for a visit to the Museum of Eastern Arts sprinkled with extras. It was a bit of a road trip to find the place thanks to confusing directions and poor planning. My friend and I ended up being given a ride by two cops in their police car: a guy with huge biceps and a woman with beautiful dark hair who obviously were happy to be partners, it was straight out of Third Watch and wicked cool. But once we got there, we were first in line for a free 15 minute shiatsu massage. A woman with beautiful wavy red hair took her sweet time to find "pressure points" and pull my back and shoulders in juxtaposed directions.

Another woman carefully prepared Japanese tea (handpicked in the mountains of Somewhere Divine and on the market for a whopping 150 Euro a tin) and pulled out all the stops: a tatami mat, a kimono, white socks, all sorts of nifty tools, and Japanese treats. The museum itself is stunning, and spending time in an oasis of zen (note: I'm sure the use of "zen" is historically and culturally entirely inappropriate here, and it's not simply a synonym of "chillax" as non-Easterners tend to assume, but...humor me) where competent people shared their skills with us was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Last week, I signed up for music lessons. It's funny walking back into the school I spent so many Wednesday afternoons and Saturday mornings as a young teen. It feels ridiculously familiar, I remember exactly where everything is. The only thing I've noticed that is very new are the security cameras. Hmz. Point is, I enjoy sitting next to a teacher on a piano stool, I enjoy listening to their know how, being corrected and guided to a higher level. They know what they're doing, I don't. But I get to be part of it, and that's not half bad.

Workin' it

2007-09-05T13:02:00.000+02:00

Just as I had hoped, I'm fully digging the working life. I don't write about it much here, because I wouldn't be the first person to get in trouble for blogging about their boss's weird mole, coworkers' BO or absurd company policy. Not that I have much to complain about. The fact that, a good couple of months in, I still don't groan when I hear my alarm clock in the mornings, is nothing short of stupefying. I just think "The sooner I get to work, the sooner I get to breeze into the coffee room and maybe hopefully bump into that cute guy who works on the 5th floor" and hop to it. I realize I'm still in the early stages and nowhere near what can be called a "career", hey, it could all be over before I know it, but I'm taking it day by day - tackling new assignments and old routines as I see fit.

Equally satisfying: the "After Hours" part. Having my nights & weekends wide open to go on day trips, get back into old interests (I signed up for music lessons & met my teacher last night, she seems great. Lovely eyes too, which I'm sure will swiftly go from kind to empty with despair and panic when she realizes how little I remember about scales, chords and basic musical theory), take up new ones (cliffhanger!), spend time with good people and go out to restaurants. Like last night, when Stijn and I hit up an amazing Italian place (the garlic/scampi aroma of my main course was so strong it completely infused the outift I was going to wear to work again today. Harsh wake up call on an empty stomach this morning.)

Stijn was probably the first of my same-age friends to start work. After hearing time and again that university is the best time of your life and you should milk it as much as you can, I think we weren't all that convinced of the sense of his choice. No extra degree? Even though you can afford it? Why would you do that? How are you even going to find a job?
Not surprisingly to me, he's done phenomenally well and is perfectly happy in his current position. When you're on a roll professionally, it's such a satisfying feeling. There are methods & procedures to learn, people & deadlines to meet, money & changes to be made. I would love to keep moving forward the way he does - figuring out my strenghts and playing off of them. Rewarding those who trust me to get something done. Rising up to the challenge. With the occasional plate of late night pasta.

NYC 5.9 - 12.9

2007-09-04T17:23:00.001+02:00

Uh, I most certainly did not get bangs, a tight leather jacket and wrinkly brown boots after watching Anne Hathaway/Andy Sachs's "The Devil wears Prada" make over. Nor do I check http://www.gofugyourself.com/ religiously, giving it priority to my work email, serious news websites, sending my grandmother a card for her birthday or even personal hygiene. It is mere coincidence that I know the Fug girls are about to report straight from New York Fashion Week - which kicks off tomorrow - on http://nymag.com/fashion/. Now if you'll excuse me, the latest edition of Wall Street Journal is calling my name.

Watou

2007-09-03T22:25:00.000+02:00

"Politique des Poètes" - Erwin Mortier

Sta in alle tekens op de punt van de tong
In een mond zonder zang.

Omspan met slijtbaar vlees ondenkbare holten
tot gapen.

Toon vormen van genade: Laat steenslag van dorst
naar luchtlaag vergaan.

Betreur het, dat adem geen jaarringen kent.

Verzamel spraakgebrek. Beween daar doden
en daders karig mee.

Kef, scheld als het viswijf, stink uit je bek.
Jank als het moet.

Stamel geduldig vervallen syllaben - maar stamel
niet al te vaardig.

Wankel nooit lenig.
Laat niets in het woord aan het woord.

Het woord is aan ons niet.

People watching

2007-08-30T14:26:00.000+02:00

Moving through the throngs of passengers-to-be in a train station in Brussels or watching Antwerp from a street car window (just the other night I saw one girl hold on to another by her long hair and knee her in the face repeatedly, until a third girl intervened and started cussing her out. Scene of the crime: het Plein voor Verdraagzaamheid, aka "Tolerance Square". Classic.) I am always fascinated by people going about their daily business. Especially in an uncoordinated cosmopolitan mess of tired faces and eclectic styles.
I was bussing it through Saint Josse yesterday, a suburb of Brussels, and in front of a Polish "Sklep" (which, I take it, means "store"?) four men wearing scuffy jeans, work boots and t-shirts with a picture of a teddy bear and the words "Don't forget Beslan" were standing around, having a drink. A man walked past them wearing a worn down greyish suit and a black top hat. Just like that. I wish I could have captured their tough guy "are you seeing this douche?" smirks, too funny.

For more "are they serious?", take a look at: http://www.thesartorialist.com/ (NYC's most trendy), ww.copenhagenstreetstyle.dk (always at least a year ahead fashion wise), http://www.hel-looks.com/ (A Finnish blog - a girl I went to school with actually just left for Helsinki, wonder how much of the local style she'll take on during her exchange year. Knowing her, a hell of a lot) and the alma mater http://www.facehunter.blogspot.com/.

Meeting of minds

2007-08-27T22:30:00.000+02:00

I am fortunate enough to have some friends in my life whom I love. I mean love, madly. I think they are so smart and fascinating and hilarious - and when we hang out, words and thoughts come easily, with no strain, no stress. Just yesterday evening, I was sitting next to a friend, made a snarky comment about someone standing in front of us (but out of earshot, cause I'm brave and mature like you wouldn't believe) which apparently was exactly what she was about to say and she said "Dude, get out my mind!". I got a bit of a kick out of that, I can't lie. I mean, with every human being's background and experiences and memories being unique, what are the odds of getting to spend time with people who see things very close to how you do? Sometimes, friends just know. Like Renée, who sent me an oldie but a goodie:

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked….You’re not as fat as you imagine. Don’t worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing everyday that scares you. Sing. Don’t be reckless with other people’s hearts, don’t put up with people who are reckless with yours. Floss. Don’t waste your time on jealousy; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, it’s only with yourself. Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how (...) Maybe you’ll marry, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll have children,maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll divorce at 40, maybe you’ll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary…what ever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either – your choices are half chance, so are everybody else’s. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can…don’t be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, it’s the greatest instrument you’ll ever own.. Dance…even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you don’t follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, you never know when they’ll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on.

Amen, sister.

So love

2007-08-26T00:29:00.000+02:00

It's my brother's birthday next week and he's throwing a little dinner party. I've been graciously invited, but he has had to admit that my envelope is the only one with a single name on it. All the other guests, his friends, will be coming in pairs. Awesome.
Coincidentally, I have a previous engagement the same night - a (single) friend of mine's housewarming party. I'm not sure who else is coming, but it's bound to have a far higher solo ratio. Which makes it closer to my natural habitat.
Don't get me wrong, I love them both to death and am honoured to be invited to their homes. And I am not a single fascist who looks down on couples or avoids them at all costs. The two parties just have a different vibe about them. He'll take coats and prepare food while she'll tell you to throw your stuff in a corner and grab a drink. He'll have conversations where people illustrate their point by drawing figures on the table surface with their fingers, she'll have people gesturing and mimicing like maniacs because the music's so damn loud. Sitting versus standing. I don't have a problem with either position. I just don't know about being the only person in the room whose line of vision is at a different height than everybody else's.

Da City

2007-08-26T00:15:00.000+02:00

I think that in Flanders, Antwerp has a similar status to NY in the US or Toronto in Canada. Those who live there swear by it, everyone else thinks they need to get over themselves. The fact that Antwerp refers to itself as "'t Stad" or "The City" says it all, no? But in all fairness, it is a pretty cool place. It holds less appeal for me than say, Brussels, but it does have a lot going on eventwise. I've been spending a lot of my summer days there - just last weekend I hit up Jazz Middelheim, I was there last night for a wedding and today to hit the shops, I'll be there again for Cultuurmarkt tomorrow, a press conference on Wednesday and once more for Zuiderzinnen in September.

I've started carrying my camera around more and was able to take some shots of the new central train station - pretty & pretty futuristic.

The Corrections by Jonathan Franzen

2007-08-15T16:01:00.000+02:00

Phee-hew, this one almost killed me. After "The promise of happiness", my tolerance for dysfunctional "3-kids & a shaky marriage" family sagas was already on the low side. And bamm, this mofo throws dementia, depression and incredible emotional cruelty (Read this on the bus to and from work, I can't guarantee I didn't curl my upper lip every 10 pages or so, wrinkle my nose and mutter "wedding rings, pick axes, potato, potah-to" under my breath) at me in a 500+ page hurricane. Lots of dialogue without finding the words, meaningless walks to nowhere, fights at the dinner table, messed up parent-child expectations, trivial middle class suburbia - in a merciless onslaught.

I thought about giving up. I didn't, but it didn't end a moment too soon. Note to self: no more Franzen whilst taking public transportation on rainy mornings. Not that it wasn't very well written. Small excerpt:
She shrugged into her jacket, lifted her bag, and waltzed across the room. At the door she announced in a general way that she was leaving. "I'll see you later," she said, almost looking at Chip. He couldn't figure out if she was immensely well adjusted or seriously messed up. He heard a cab door slam, an engine rumble. He went to the front window and got a glimpse of her cherrywood hair through the rear window of a red-and-white cab. He decided, after five years without, that the time had come to buy some cigarettes.
You can read more here.

Hi, I'll be yours today

2007-08-11T21:16:00.000+02:00

About a week ago, I gave my very first tour. The sun was out, I had a nice group of visitors - including two supportive spies in the back - I welcomed, walked and talked and was thanked at the end with sincere appreciation. One woman especially hit it out of the park by suggesting I become a radio show host. Lady, if you read this, you made my month.
Turns out I like to make myself useful. I spent all day at work yesterday meeting new people, taking them to where they needed to be, making sure that they were happy and comfortable and that the work that needed to get done got done. I chatted, entertained, gasped and giggled, ran up & down stairs, handed out coffees and consolation, shot out some emails and phone calls in between and went home pretty close to ecstatic (like on the tour, a random compliment was the cherry on top: a cherubic little boy asked me if I "was a model". Little fella, you are a misguided fool who clearly lives in a magazine free house. But if I could have put you on a bun and eaten you up, I would have). I've always known I prefer well-rounded tightly planned projects over a gurgling routine, but it's interesting to see it confirmed. Give me name lists, time schedules, information sheets and a smile or two and I've got all my heart desires.

When other people blog it better

2007-08-09T11:50:00.000+02:00

Alli hits the nail on the head, as she so often does:

For most things, the more I do them, the better I get at them (...) But with relationships, the more I’m in them, and out of them, the less I feel like I know. And even as I see my friends in relationships, some happy, some not so happy, some serious, some not so serious, and even as I try to glean knowledge and experience from them, I’m left with feeling like I have no fucking clue what is going on. I don’t know when to draw the line. I don’t know when being there for them is more hurtful to me than it is helpful to them. I don’t know when to be friends and when to let it go. I don’t know when to ask for more if they aren’t giving enough. Or when they are asking for more, I don’t know how to say: “I just can’t give that.” I try to, and sometimes I think I betray myself a little bit to make other people happy.

Norwegian Wood

2007-08-09T09:09:00.001+02:00

It's not the kind of book you can do justice by quoting a short fragment - it's an all-encompassing, submerging experience. So instead, I'll give you the lyrics to the Beatles' song the title is based on, also very appropriate:

I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me.

She showed me her room, isn't it good, Norwegian wood?

She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,

So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair.

I sat on a rug, biding my time, drinking her wine.

We talked until two and then she said, "It's time for bed".

She told me she worked in the morning and started to laugh.

I told her I didn't and crawled off to sleep in the bath.

And when I awoke I was alone, this bird had flown.

So I lit a fire, isn't it good, Norwegian wood.

Dear Mr Cartwright

2007-07-31T16:08:00.000+02:00

I'm halfway through your "The Promise of Happiness" now - and eager to continue reading later today. A family: mom, dad, Juliette, Charlie and Sophie - all struggling with life. The oldest character is frustrated because it may have already passed by (did I marry the wrong person? Why are all of our friends old and fat and burnt out? When did I turn into someone I look down on when I see them walking down the street? Why can't I make myself less helpless?). The youngest one is unable to dig her heels into the ground and keeps floundering - the wrong friends, bad habits, self-destruction. Another is about to tie the knot with the mother of his child, and already feels a resentment and physical disinterest for her usually reserved for long-married couples. And without exception, everyone feels guilty and inadequate, like they should be able to do better at life, to meet expectations more, to fill their own shoes properly.

No matter which stage of our life we're in or which turn we're about to take, it seems we always look over our shoulder to what should have been or straight ahead to what might be - we yearn and claw and hang on tight until one day we see the back of the train diminishing against the horizon and find ourselves alone on the platform. Why didn't we board? Why did we simply stand there, gazing at our own deformed reflection in the darkened window?

Turning a page

2007-07-30T15:24:00.000+02:00

"Theater aan Zee" is not just about theatre - there's a caleidoscope of things going on, against the deliciously clichéd backdrop of the Belgian city of Oostende. And it was one of those rare artsy events that gives art and culture a good name. I have phases where I couldn't care less about plays, poems or performances. Where I look at it as a waste of time, money and energy and something only a shamefully wealthy part of the world can indulge in. As an upper class self-referential self-congratulatory useless escapist...you get the picture. But not so this weekend! This weekend I saw young people with undiscovered (luckily not for themselves) talent, I saw photos that made me want to be a photographer, actors who made me want to take to the stage and heard about books that make me want to rent an isolated cottage and dig in.

1. The book to come - the panel raved about this one, could be worth a read.

2. The book I read on the train ride over. Love this writer - his work is a bit postmodern: a lack of linearity, multiple perspectives, unanswered questions, loops and repetitions and surreal characters who always turn out to be one and the same person and consistently have red hair, broken bodies and very creative ways to consume strawberries. Sensual, sensuous, books to drown in.

3. The book I bought this weekend and have started reading this morning on the bus. I've read "Leading the Cheers" by the same author, but this one looks to be even better. I was going to go to the library on Saturday instead of the book store (I needed to get my hands on some books, I was getting so desperate to find new material at home I had actually started in "Roots", the Kunta Kinte book. 'Nuff said), but predictably I didn't get there til 5.30, after closing time (I love how it's open on weekdays and closed all day Sunday. God forbid the library staff would have to work on days where other people actually have time to come in and browse). So off to the second hand store it was - looking for familiar names, fair prizes and promising covers.

Art isn't silly. Like so many other things, it's about having the courage to dismiss what you don't like, regardless of current "taste", and following your personal preferences. Follow your gut and you're bound to be satisfied.

On track

2007-07-30T09:50:00.000+02:00

What an incredibly satisfying weekend. On Thursday I went to the opening night of a new exhibit with a girl I've known since I was about 4. The next night I bartended at a birthday party. It'd been close to a year since I last found myself there, but the beers, free champagne and anything-but-virgin mojitos flowed through my hands surprisingly smoothly. Having fun coworkers, an awesome DJ and generally good mojo definitely helped.

Saturday was all about bringing the Toronto feeling home. I went shopping, found a cute pair of 80s style pumps in a second hand store, and met up with a good friend for lunch at a new place called "Nosh". The owners are Belgian-American and have done an amazing job at recreating the North American diner atmosphere: muffins, bagels, smoothies, coffee on your table before you've even uttered the word, lots of small talk, laughs and pats on the back and a general easy-does-it demeanor. Good times - I think I may have found my new Future's Bakery! More shopping in the afternoon, more friends, and then I hit the town flyering for AmuseeVous. People were surprisingly friendly (especially older people and men, I have to say. Women can be pretty damn cold. The prettier the colder and more snooty, in fact. Shame) and by 8.30 - just as the sky was getting overcast - I had distributed my stack of flyers, went home, kicked off my shoes, and settled down with a big kettle of tea.

Yesterday, I trained it up to Oostende for "Theater Aan Zee" with my friend Eva. A beautifully sunny day by the seaside, some culture - with some Vero Moda and H&M thrown in bien sûr - and hours of chatting with a girl who offers a delightful combination of sarcasm and sincere concern.

These past few days were a breath of fresh air and truly the first time in a while that I felt happy, relaxed and...well. In the words of Acda&De Munnik: "Als het vuur gedoofd is, dan komen de wolven". It is of the essence to throw a new log on the fire once in a while, and to watch the beautifully unpredictable sparks. I had somehow dozed off into hibernation, forgotten what I'm about, and what is at my fingertips waiting for me to be picked up. Friends, trips, food, books, clothes, socializing, culture, music, train rides. I can find everything I need right here in Belgium, and more.

Kroniek van een aangekondigde rammeling

2007-07-27T09:18:00.000+02:00

Drie dagen geleden, Leuven. Sofie komt even langs om post op te halen.

Papa: "Zeg eh...laat niet met uw voeten rammelen, he?"
Sofie (stopt met sms-en): "Hoezo?"
Papa: "Oh, ik weet niet, door mannen die sms-en ofzo"
Sofie: "Ach papa, gerammeld wordt er sowieso, heb ik de indruk".

Profetische woorden! But it's all good. Everything's so much clearer now. En mijn voeten weer stevig op de grond, right where I like them.

Opinion piece

2007-07-24T18:08:00.000+02:00

"About five years ago I was checking my email in a cybercafe in Sydney. Being nosey, I began sneaking discreet peeks at my neighbours' computer screens. On my left, an American backpacker was writing to a man she'd met in India, debating whether they should arrange to meet again and take their relationship further or whether they should leave it as it was, as a Bogart-and-Bergman we'll-always-have-Dharamsala memory. On my right, a man in a turban was writing to a woman not his wife about how his wife did not understand him. It struck me that everybody on the net is sitting alone at a computer screen, and many of them are wishing they weren't alone, while also, often, in some deep way, preferring that they are alone and being nervous of the alternative. Sit someone at a computer screen and let it sink in that they are fully, definitively alone; then watch what happens. They will reach out for other people; but only part of the way. They will have "friends", which are not the same thing as friends, and a lively online life, which is not the same thing as a social life; they will feel more connected, but they will be just as alone. Everybody sitting at a computer screen is alone. Everybody sitting at a computer screen is at the centre of the world. Everybody sitting at a computer screen, increasingly, wants everything to be all about them. This is our first glimpse of what people who grow up with the net will want from the net. One of the cleverest things about MySpace is the name".

Source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/weekend/story/0,,1937496,00.html

Caught between 12 en 42

2007-07-24T12:45:00.000+02:00

One of the best things about having finished school and started working - other than the delicious clichés of the life of a young professional (BO issues with fellow passengers on public transportation, sharing a house with friends and having to face them when you come home at 8 in the morning, writing blog posts on your work computer) - is having my nights wide open to reboost my social life. I have no papers to write, no books to plow through, and instead: plenty of bars, barbeques and belated friend encounters. Sitting down after a movie with a friend the other night, she zinged one of those statements that makes your bone structure click: "I've gotta say, you're the only person I know who's both a 12-year old and a 40-year old".

It's not the first time someone's told me that, I think actually Alli was the first one to blast "You're a 40-year old trapped in a 20-year old's body!" at me (over the phone, when I hesitated to pack my bags and leave for a backpacking trip uh, like, right now). And it's so true it makes my eyelids flutter.

The 12-year old in me enjoys building sand castles, watching glamorous ladies on tv and magazines and thinking about how one day when I'm all grown up I'm going to be just so. I listen to the pop music channel, get too carried away when it comes to Boyz 'n Men (they played that "Til the end of the Road" song on the radio the other day, MAN, 1992 is way underappreciated), hide out in my old room at my parents' house, playing around with scrapbooks and photo albums, think sleeping in a tent or on the floor is fun & adventurous, and try to overcome all kinds of awkwardness and insecurities as best as I can.

The 42-year old in me takes things far too seriously, feels an immense pressure to do better than average, thinks a lot about money & how not to lose it, is hopelessly cynical and defensive when it comes to men, listens to the jazz and classical channels, reads "Teach yourself [insert language/skill/instrument/kitchen appliance]" books voluntarily, is incapable of irresponsible actions and gets giddy only after half a bottle of wine.

And yet, I like to think I'm taking a decent shot at the middle road too. And somehow, the right people know - or will learn - how to deal with the bipolar age issue. Hang in there, I'll grow into my personality eventually.

When other people say it better

2007-07-23T11:49:00.000+02:00

"Dat zit meer vanbinnen dan vanbuiten. Je ziet het niet altijd, het knagen. En ik voel het meer dan dat zij het doen, denk ik. Wellicht beeld ik me regelmatig in dat er aan me geknaagd wordt, terwijl er in werkelijkheid alleen maar iemand wil knabbelen"
Uit - http://maanzand.com/proza/konijnemeisjes

It's in your eyes (part trois)

2007-07-21T20:57:00.000+02:00

I haven't come up with a name for it yet but for now I'll call it the "Public Transportation Rating". Your PTR refers to your desirability as someone to sit next to on the bus or train. I have a very high rating. It happens regularly that out of all the empty seats, people choose the one next to me. I don't take up more space than my own seat, I'm usually reading and minding my own business, no loud music blasting out of my head phones, I try to monitor my BO, I'm a young woman...and all of that put together apparently makes me entirely non-threatening to the average passenger.

And more than anything, the fact that I'm white, blonde and blue-eyed. I took the bus home Friday night, rush hour, pretty packed, and sat down next to a black man. I looked around and noticed that the four or five empty seats left in the bus all just happened to be next to the four or five black passengers on the bus. As the bus drove on, more and more people got on, looked around, got visibly uncomfortable...and decided to stand. In that little space in front of the doors. I couldn't believe my eyes. The absurdity of having four, five people choosing to stand up for a good half hour when there were available seats in front of their nose - it was such a blatant rejection of human beings, I felt like bursting into tears. I was embarrassed and frustrated, but too much of a coward to say anything. Fuck. I'm not claiming Rosa Parks status or that I'm free of prejudice or racism myself, but it's been a day and I still can't wrap my head around what I saw.

"De culturele diversiteit van ons land, als we ze goed beleven, is een geweldige troef", aldus koning Albert.

Felices y comieron perdices

2007-07-20T16:53:00.001+02:00

Hardcore cynics - you know who you are, it's a big part of why we're friends - who think life ends after the "I do" part, take a look at this: Lieve and James, who married last summer, are embarking on a South American adventure in Ecuador. They'll be working with a non-profit organisation called IntiSisa and will be keeping a blog. I started my Canada blog a few months prior to take-off too, so I'm cool posting the link a bit early: http://www.intisisajl.blogspot.com/.

For those who are impatient for Far Away Adventures - and can read Flemish - a group of TV Brussels reporters is driving 11000 kilometres, all the way to Beijing in 5 weeks' time. They're keeping people back home in the know via http://www.brusselpeking.be/

They're hoping to come out of this

* alive

* with an excellent travel documentary under their belt

* able to donate the cars & a hefty sum to charity

Sometimes I think the surest way to happiness is climbing up a hill. On the steep side. "Simple" is not a bad word, au contraire. It's "easy" you want to look out for. If you see it heading toward you, do a quick shoulder check left & right and get your ass to the other side of the street.

Feast your eyes

2007-07-20T11:04:00.000+02:00

After having passed a nuit blanche, I sleepwalked myself through the day yesterday. I think I may have been a wee bit hungover too, reading made me spontaneously nauseous. So instead of checking my regular pit stops yesterday, I spent some more time on the photo blogs (I know, isn't my job stressful? I may need to start considering vitamin supplements). They continue to stun me. Check out:

- http://www.drieduizend.be/ (local prodigies) - recently a spin-off www.tweeduizend.be came into being for the Antwerp region. Both of these are very much about celebrating the beauty and sometimes absurdity of the day-to-day urban environment.

- http://www.oogsnoep.be/index.php (a local boy)

- http://wvs.topleftpixel.com/ (Downtown Toronto throughout the seasons, with some travel pics from Europe)

- http://www.foundmagazine.com/ (pics found on the street, hidden in old pieces of furniture or left in library books, a treat for the melancholic soul)

If you're more of a moving-images kinda fella or gal, I recommend coming down to the botanical garden this weekend for one of three previously discussed movies. It may not be dry, but it's sure to be cosy.

Inner voice

2007-07-19T13:46:00.000+02:00

I sat down with a coworker for lunch yesterday, and embarked on what I thought was pleasant conversation about all sorts of things: how train station neighborhoods always seem sketchy, how awkward encounters with bums are, his girlfriend's career plans, stuff that's happened to friends of ours, and the food on our plates. A good twenty minutes in, we're talking about how some people are the life of the party while others never say a word. He goes: "You know, sometimes I kinda like when no one says anything. I mean, I don't think it's necessary to constantly be talking over lunch. We're all in the same office all day anyway, so on my break, I want to just finish my plate and chill, nice and quiet. Especially when it's busy". I was very relieved to hear him add that last bit, because as of now things are super calm what with everyone being on summer hiatus. I smiled and said "I'll remember that once September rolls around" and we had a laugh about it, but I still felt a bit self-conscious about having chatted so much when maybe he'd been looking forward to a quiet lunch. I haven't been here long, we don't know each other that well, it seems to me that a silence would have been awkward at this stage. So I made conversation.

Then very early this morning, I'm sitting in a car - passenger's seat, bien sûr. I know they call it the "dead man's seat", which, you know, I'd feel a lot more comfortable with something like "rainbow seat" or "kitten lying in the grass on its back seat" but I guess you have to just go with what's on the buzz table, even if that table has been set by morbid car constructers, still my favorite seat by far - in the early hours, driving along a gorgeous sunset, past foggy fields that almost make you think Belgium can actually be quite pretty, with just the right kind of tune on the radio. A bit groggy from festival jetlag after roaming the streets of Ghent all night, but otherwise feeling excellent. And not saying a word.

I try not to ramble on. I also try not to kill the mood by being silent as the grave. But anything in between that, it's a tough balance to strike. I don't even want to think about all the time, energy and brain cells I've wasted fretting about "should I call? Should I email? Should I send a text? Or just say nothing?" - to talk or not to talk, to say or not to say, to go all contortionist and overanalytical or do just do what you feel like and not give a hoot about whether you might come off as too eager/loud/quiet. Bah.

Luckily, you don't need words to connect to people, as demonstrated on http://www.pieples.com/index.php. These pictures and drawings took form at the Cactus Festival - I didn't notice anything like this going on when I was there, but then, I was probably too busy chatting about what bands I wanted to see and how you can't just make up new rules in the middle of a game.

Angry faces

2007-07-17T17:12:00.000+02:00

Doctors Without Borders (AZG) launched a new campaign a few weeks (months?) ago, with messages in a bottle as a motif. During the four-day Werchter music festival they extended their campaign, and gave people the opportunity to express their anger at the injustice in the world as far as access to medical care and poverty in general are concerned. A "best of" selection of every festival day is now available on http://www.noodkreten.be/.

Maybe it's me, but the large majority of these festivalgoers end up half-smiling in their shot, looking wide-eyed, surprised or just plain confused. Turns out people, especially those who are enjoying live music, are really bad at making an angry face. That might just be the best news I've heard all day.

I dare you

2007-07-17T12:01:00.000+02:00

Bullseye.
- "So, how come you're single?"
- "I don't know!"
- "Isn't it just that you're scared?"

An online relationship test I did a few months ago threw this at me: "Maybe you aren't cynical. Just a little cautious. Either way, you've managed to keep your head on your shoulders. You do have a little bit of misanthropy going on up in there, but hey, when you build your solar powered cabin in the woods everything will be fine [...] Your best seduction move: be your honest and insightful self. A straight shooter (even a slightly damaged one) is a fine catch for anyone". Cautious? Misanthropy? Slightly damaged? True, true and true.

I still refuse to make a project out of it. Last night, I even crossed out a ripening Amélie plan. You know the kind. Writing a sweet note, making an arts&crafts kinda gift, playing off an inside joke, sliding something into a mail box or underneath a door, picturing the moment when they'll find it, frown, grin and fall for you a little more cause you're, oh so different and original and whimsically adorable. Been there, done that. I don't think there's anything necessarily wrong with that approach per se, and god knows i'd appreciate in someone else, I'm just...kinda done with it. I don't know if it works. I don't know if it's not one of those myths girls hang on to cause it makes sense in their minds while guys couldn't care less about scrapbooks, cards and mysterious clues. And, most importantly, I don't find it very sincere. You're not really doing it for the other person, but to show off your own personality, are you not? I could be entirely wrong, but to me having to try too hard to "hook" someone is a red flag in and of itself. Aren't things supposed to flow naturally? If you have to stop the other person in their tracks and spell it out for them, using all sorts of intricate, creative, elaborate methods, doesn't that say enough about where you stand? Shouldn't it be a matter of spending time together, plain & simple?

Hey, I'm single, no rational reason to take my word for it.

Silent Revolutions

2007-07-16T16:12:00.001+02:00

You know that "Do one thing every day that scares you" mantra? I went there. Boy, did I go there. I signed up to be a guide at an art exhibit of abstract art right here in Leuven. It's on all summer, in Tweebronnen as well as the Botanical Garden (Kruidtuin) and I'm currently plowing through all the info I've found & have been given on the 13 artists. Page after page of bios, interviews, profiles and I'm Sharpie-ing my way through all of it in fluorescent blue (Can ya tell I'm not done being a student? The idea is that groups can sign up for a personal tour, after which the organization tracks down a volunteer who's available and willing to slip into her Chancart t-shirt (remarkably cute for being green).

I might die a little bit the first time I get a group of visitors handed to me. But it's something I want to try out - I've been kicking around the idea of working in a museum setting for a while now, so I figure this is a good way to get my toes wet. 13 artists, slightly more pieces, set up throughout the two sites. Some I think are phenomenal, like the Christoph Fink travel inventories. Others, to me, cross the line from abstract & quirky into "Jesus Christ, are they serio...oh, you're the artist? Hey, look, about the laughing and the pointing and the fishhook eyebrow and the mimicking a nasal huffy socially maladjusted French person, I didn't mean anything by that. No, really, that's umm...my art face. I can't help it. It's how I deal with the overwhelming depth of your...Oh man, don't make me say "piece"...piece". I'm working on finding something sincerely positive to say about each one - betcha I can do it.

In addition to the exhibit, the Silent Revolutions team is organising a few sideline events. July 21st through 23d, SR is joining forces with Cinema Zed in showing 3 open air films in the botanical gardens: "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" (genius, could watch it a million times, one of those movies that always seems applicable and relevant and strikes the perfect balance between tough and tender), "Little Miss Sunshine" (only one I haven't seen, supposed to be awesome and really, can you ever go wrong with Toni Colette?) and "The Village" (Saw this when it came out, the fact that I, who never ever catches on to these things, had the plot figured out within the first 15 minutes means either my popcorn was sprinkled with crack instead of salt OR the movie jusn't wasn't very cleverly done. On the other hand: Joaqui-hee-heen Phoenix. Yum.) So if the abstractness is a bit too "Wait, so you're saying it's the ambivalence of meaning or the absence of ambivalence?" for you, come in to watch a movie & take a look around. No tour guide telling you where to go & what to see, just a walk through the worlds of 13 creative minds. Worth your time, I promise.

Double cross

2007-07-16T13:52:00.000+02:00

Hey you. So, I saw you at the festival a little while ago. I know! When it comes to live music, we cross paths. Granted, you probably go to half the gigs out there, but still.
It was good seeing you there, it had been a while, huh? You sort of half-looked at me and marched on, in a way that still makes me give you the benefit of the doubt and lean more towards "shy" than "arrogant prick". I'm going to be at that party next week that I'm sure you got invited to also. I'll be happy to get you a drink - nothing major, no hour-long conversation, I would simply hand you a drink, shoot you a smile and hope for more than that lame semi-glance you do. What do you say?

Give me sum

2007-07-16T12:51:00.001+02:00

It's been a long time coming, but summer's finally creeping around the corner and throwing my neck of the woods a bone. All it took to get ready yesterday morning(s) was a sun dress and some flip flops, no need to bother with layering, straightening, covering, blushing or brushing. Even though my days are spent at the office, or maybe exactly thanks to that fact, I'm making the most of my nights & weekends. Watching bands on stage with my feet in the grass, flipping through extra thin newspapers with no supplements til September, building a sand castle surrounded by a shark infested moat, showing an ecstatic 2-year old the joys of a waterhose on a hot day, stacks of plastic beer cups, brides & grooms walking out of City Hall, looking up at the lanterns swaying over a chilled out street party, sitting out on a patio with some wine, knowing he'll spontaneously hand me his sweater when the early morning chill finally sets in. I'm living the traveling adventure by proxy, reading friends' emails and tasting the exotic thrills through their stories. And for now, that does the trick just fine.

No one's gonna lose this fight

2007-07-13T10:58:00.000+02:00

My former roommate Tina & her friend Leigh-Ann stayed with me for a couple of days, good times, and inevitably the "When are you coming back to visit?" question popped up. I'd love to touch down in Pearson again... From the looks of it - with thanks to DailyDose, one of the most scintillating photo blogs out there, sober and modest in all its professionalism - the city's going to take some getting used to. The ROM on Bloor St. has finally opened, but apparently SAM on Yonge St. is out of business. No more browsing the racks on my way to Eaton Center. Pleased to meet you again, Toronto. I hope to see you soon.

RSVP

2007-07-09T09:23:00.000+02:00

I graduated yesterday, for the second time. Results were great for me and mine, and it was good to see some of my former profs again and catch up with them. It hasn't sunk in yet that - as is - I won't be part of the university scene anymore. But it's been a good ride, all six years. I learned, I met, I grew, I traveled, I accomplished. And the school's seen me off with a nice handshake: the internship that I got to do as part of my last programme was a big factor (next to skill and a whole lotta luck) in landing my current job. It's a good feeling to be invited back somewhere, to be welcome any time, to know that you left an impression the first time around that made people want to see more of you. Whether it's continued friendship, a second date, someone folding back the still-warm bed sheets on a Sunday morning, getting through to another round in a job application obstacle course, being asked to come back has got to be one of my favorite compliments.

It's in your eyes (part deux)

2007-07-08T21:28:00.000+02:00

I took the train to Brugge this weekend to go to the Cactusfestival - super packed, so I spent the entire ride on my feet in between carriages. I talked to a bunch of Spanish backpackers, a Belgian girl who spent a term in Madrid on exchange and hopes to graduate in September, an American tourist with a set of massive suitcases and a lady with two kids who hadn't taken the train in ten years. Consider me corrected.

Mark my words

2007-07-06T12:35:00.000+02:00

It boggles my mind how the family sitcom continues to work. The middle-class home, the overweight boorish dad, the stay-at-home MILF, a doofus teenage son, a sassy daughter and a precocious third child, a few obnoxious family members/neighbours thrown in, marinated in a blend of stale jokes, rusty stereotypes and tasteless repetition. One of the laws of tv, I guess: certain frames and set-ups can be trusted to work, regardless of how many times they've been used already. Fixed patterns, a predictable order of events, formulas. The A-Team coming up with a disguise for Face. Baantjer talking to his bartender and finding the solution to his case. Hyacinth being barked at by Onslow's dog. René saying "You stupid woman!". The Friends cast sipping coffee and acting constipated and self-centered. And of course, Carrie sitting behind her laptop and voice-overing "But I couldn't help but wonder...". One of those screen shots I particularly liked was the one going "Why are we should-ing all over ourselves?". In that episode, Miranda feels guilty about not enjoying her own honeymoon and they get into how-much-of-what-we-do-is-inspired-by-social-pressure. "Should" is a good one, but I think "could" deserves a spot on the list too.

Now that I'm a working girl and officially done school, I have my nights free for socializing - the only books that pass through my hands these days are fictional and may or may not have a shirt-bereft Fabio and a quivering damsel in distress on the cover. I've been out for drinks pretty much every night so far, and catching up with people I hadn't properly sat down with in ages. And it's on one of those nights that "could" dropped in on the conversation. What you could do. What could happen. The exact context was feeling frustrated at not being able to show people what I am capable of, at under-achieving. I quote: "People can't see what you could do". What an awesome phrase. No matter how many utterly brilliant ideas and plans take place inside your skull, they remain invisible to everyone else until you act on them. Until you communicate them, ask for advice, take steps in the right direction, put your money where your mouth is. There is nothing wrong with daydreaming, doodling and fantasizing, but in the end, isn't the actual doing ultimately more rewarding?

Speaking of which, a girl I went to university with is saying "I do" today at Leuven's city hall. I'm off to an open air music festival straight after work & spending the weekend at the seaside. I had some reservations about the invite at first, but soon decided to just go. It's a minuscule commitment compared to hers - but at 23, I feel far more comfortable with mine.

It's in your eyes

2007-07-06T12:17:00.000+02:00

I've been busing it up to (and back from) work for a little while now, and have been indulging in people watching. I think the most noticeable quality on Belgian buses is a general skittishness. Both those passengers who get on and walk down the aisle as those already sitting look slightly frightened, a bit nervous or, at best, completely vacant. Sitting down next to someone when there are two empty seats is not done. If the bus is packed and you have no choice, fine, but then you're expected to move as soon as the crowd thins out. Forget L.A., that movie "Crash" about how people fear physical contact - especially cross gender & cross race - could just as well have played out right here. No one speaks up, but people on cell phones yell their lungs out. No one looks up, but everyone watches everything. Using air, space and headphones all the passengers isolate themselves and try to navigate around each other as disattached as possible. God forbid two bubbles would collide - and pop.

The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall

2007-07-06T12:06:00.000+02:00

"There were five colours in the tattooing pallet, and a limited archive of symbols to cover the spectrum of life and death. Five colours to capture all the joys and sorrows of the world and hold them down against a piece of body. Red, brown, yellow, green, black. Five colours to say everything that could be said. And what Cy suddenly wanted, more than anything in the world right then, what he wanted was that missing blue, primary and resistant to the trade. Blue that was unstable and misbehaved when left in skin. Blue like the sea that had taken his father. Blue, for his mother's sake, and for the true colour of every bereaved and bloodless heart when it is collapsing"

Imme

2007-07-01T11:17:00.001+02:00

Put your record on

2007-06-05T23:03:00.000+02:00

I went over to the sports center for a run a little while ago. It was a pretty crowded scene out on the track, reminded me of an old skool vinyl record. All amateurs, we were running pretty much at the same steady pace, at uneven distances. Warm summer air. Guys in raggedy jerseys playing football on the center field - Belgiana if ever I saw it. No discman this time, but an old mp3-player, with the same tracks I ran to in Canada. "SOS", Oksana's old ringtone. "Hung up", Hilde's Madonna track. My Brendan at Timmie's song, "Sunrise". Earlier that day, I played a birthday cd that got sent to me in Toronto for my 23d. What a difference a year makes.

I won't make it across the ocean any time soon for lack of time, but the mountain is coming to Mohammed. Anna's traveling down from Amsterdam for Werchter and Tina is doing a grand tour of Europe this summer and will be passing through Brussels in a few short weeks. I can't wait to see them again & catch up. I have a feeling we've all taken some serious steps since we last sat around the sticky Tartu kitchen table (turns out flipping over the table cloth is only effective so many times). Tina graduated, moved back to the West coast, and is now thinking about starting a masters back in Toronto. Anna packed up and headed to the pot capital of Europe, looking to stay there a few more years at least. And me, well, I start work tomorrow. A temporary contract for now, but I still see it as more substantial than the summer jobs I've had so far. Plus, I have no plans of returning to school coming October.
I've had a few people welcome me into the labour force with less than luke warm smiles. "You should travel more first". "You'll see, it's not all it's cracked up to be". "You should have asked for more money". "You'll wake up one day and realise you're 32 with a dresser drawer full of flesh-coloured panties and a head full of shoulds". Well, you know what? Telling me what I should be doing or feeling to achieve freedom, nirvana and bright white laundry doesn't seem to be getting me any closer to heaven. In fact, it's actually more demotivating than - as I keep hearing - the working life routine is supposed to be. An office in Brussels. Colleagues of all ages, types & hair styles sitting at adjacent desks. A water cooler out in the hall way, wall to wall carpet. The daily commute. Could it be the stuff nightmares are made of? Absolutely. Do I think I'm smarter than other people and will avoid the pitfalls and regrets they all seem to share? Not at all. But let me find out for myself, let me slide into "TGIF!//Where the hell are my keys, I can't be late again this week//I need a brand new word to capture the extent to which I hate Monday mornings and that guy who works across the hall//Wow, that meeting could have easily been a full hour shorter//Who keeps sending me these inane emails? Are there actually still people out there who believe their accounts will be deleted unless they forward this message to their entire address book? Do these people fall down a lot and type with their mouth open?//Ugh, forgot to do laundry again, guess the flesh coloured pair will have to do" - extravaganza at my own pace, instead of knocking me over the head with it before I even get my own office chair. Let me navigate, despite my eye-patch and dubious map reading skills and trust me to turn my ship around before it's too late. At this point, I'm excited and I am curious and I'll have butterflies in my stomach when I yank out my ear phones and walk through the doors tomorrow morning. A fresh track. En avant!

Lep-u-top

2007-06-03T20:30:00.000+02:00

The least important reason why I haven't blogged since Lily Allen was still hot shit, is a computer situation. My Inspiron is no more... It died on me a little while ago, in the very week all of my papers and reports were due. Spare me the preaching about back-ups, for risk of a "How about I back YOU up?!" or a "Your MOM needs a back-up". Bottom line, I didn't have any and I was royally screwed.

Fast forward to me biking over to the repair shop, expecting maybe not a red carpet but at least a bit of a spotlight. Try: "Fill out this form, we'll add you to the list and get back to you". But...butbut...no no, i don't think you understand. "Fill out the form". Okay, would it help if I got you a sandwich? You look like the kind of guy who co...no? A hug? Okay, fine, add me to the list. Cool. So what's my number? No number? Okay, some sort of receipt? You don't do receipts, you say? Well, yes, I realise you have my name, but I have nothing that proves that...Why I need a receipt? I don't know, someone could come in pretending to be me and steal it. Or I could come in and you could pretend not to know who I am. Or I could come back and find this place abandoned and ask a one-eyed janitor what happened to the pc-shop and he'd cackle and say "No one has left or entered that building in years, pet" and than I would look in the direction of the building and for some reason the camera angle would be a bit off, so that my face is slant as I'm looking up with a slight frown and my mouth agape and you can see a big part of the darkening sky. And then what? Sir? Sir? * knocks on door * Sir? Could I...Hello? Computer man? Okay. Well. Thanks, I guess. I'll hear from you, right? Please?

I got the liberating call last week, rushed over and got a slightly warmer welcome. "Sofie? Oh, right, the case". Apparently whatever killed my laptop is rare enough for it to be named a "case", unless he was taking a jab at me for getting off my bike slightly not so elegantly (cut me some slack, I was tied to my backpack cause of the ear phones attached to the discman in there - yeah, that's right, a discman, no i-pod for me since I have no computer, remember?) outside. Anywho, no clue what's wrong with it, but it'll basically set me back about two months' rent. Ouch.

On the bright side, it's helped me to finally kick the habit of spending a good half hour (make that 45 minutes) each day looking at pictures of retarded half-celebrities on a variety of gossip websites. I've been using other people's computers, so I want to spend my time usefully and wholesomely, sticking to email, facebook & news sites. I honesty don't even miss it. My only guilty pleasure is gofugyourself.com, which i think is okay because it's not so much gossip as fashion and it's pants-wettingly hilarious in a very sweet way. Like this entry:

"I am mildly obsessed with musician Alison Goldfrapp's name. Say it with me: Goldfrapp. It's so fun. It could work in so many contexts: as a replacement swear word ("Aw, goldfrapp, I dropped my feather boa into my drink"), a raunchy verb ("I went home with him and we goldfrapped for hours"), an obscure sport popular in Scandinavian countries ("Hallå, I am Fjord Bjorn, zee Svedish national goldfrapp champion") an expensive novelty iced coffee beverage ("I'll have a grande goldfrappuccino with whipped cream, please") the name of a dashing, authority-averse TV detective whose boss is always yelling at him ("Get ... me... GOLDFRAPP") or the name of the aforementioned detective's villainous nemesis, frequently screamed at the skies while our hero kneels over a dead body and shakes his fist ("GooooldfrAAAAAAAAAAAPPPP!"), or even as a noun for something sort of squicky ("Shoot, I got goldfrapp all over my Jimmy Choos"). Unfortunately, if she's not careful, it could end up in our lexicon as, "Oh my God, that woman is totally pulling a Goldfrapp," or "I almost goldfrapped myself when I saw that shirt."

I'm a little too caught up in exams right now to do much goldfrapping, but once I'm done, look out world. Like a mission from GAD.

Kurt Vonnegut

2007-04-13T15:47:00.000+02:00

Vonnegut didn't need Vietnam to figure out that the system didn't work, that the 1950s were a lie and that you shouldn't believe what grown-ups tell you. His absurdist humor, the survival tactic of a former prisoner of war whose mother had committed suicide, proved as useful and as up-to-date to the postwar generation as a Bob Dylan song.

"His work opened up new space to think about politics and society and also to think about what literature was good for."

"I liked him for world-weary gentleness, warmth, and comedy. And he was pretty darned imaginative, too, which is never a fault in my world,"

"He was the kind of writer who made people -- young people, especially -- want to write. He wrote the kinds of books you pass around."

Vonnegut used humor to tackle the basic questions of human existence: Why are we in this world? Is there a presiding figure to make sense of all this, a god who in the end, despite making people suffer, wishes them well?

"I became a writer because of him. It was his compassion, humanism and great humor in the face of 20th century horrors that made me realize all that a writer could do. He was deceptively simple and because readers discovered him when they were young, they sometimes made the mistake of dismissing him later, but what he was doing was so complex, so difficult."

"That was his gift, I think: to tell you things that were hard to hear, without you even noticing it. Like a nurse who can slide a needle into your vein without making you wince".

Vonnegut was an author who stayed with you long after you thought you had outgrown him. You don't have to be young to appreciate that "we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be" or agree that "laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion."

Requiem

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor
of the Grand Canyon,
“It is done.”
People did not like it here.

New horizons

2007-03-26T17:14:00.000+02:00

I start another (unpaid) internship next week and I can't wait. Not that I underestimate the many benefits of being a student, but...been there, done that. Today I had two classes, both of which I was late too (I missed over an hour of the first one, and 15 minutes of the second one) and one of which I briefly dozed off in. Now, to most people that hardly counts as badass, but let me assure you that a couple of years ago, that would have been unthinkable in the world of Sofie. So I think it's safe to say I'm "over" the student thing and ready for the next phase. So many of my friends are out doing awesome things - travel, work & other - and in a sense, I feel like I'm walking behind someone slow. I'm not standing still or moving backward, but I keep wanting things to speed up.

To be perfectly honest, the dozing off today had a lot to do with not sleeping at all Saturday night. I went out to a club with 6 other girls & by the time I came home it was already 8. I hate wasting my day, not much of a late sleeper, so I figured I might as well make some coffee, have breakfast & keep on keeping on. My head kept pounding for about 17 hours after we left from all the cheap Euro techno beats, but all in all, it was good times. The ridiculously tall bouncers, the Ibiza style dancers and their silver pants and leather corsets, the drag queens, the mullets. We were supposedly there to "check it out", "see what it's like" and carry out a sociological study of Flemish club folk. With awards for pulling a guy with a moustache, having your drink spiked or causing a brawl.

I'm pretty sure we all secretly had a blast though - and that we secretly liked our gaudy outfits & plastic jewelry. I mean, how many girls choose "slutty" as their Halloween outfit? It's amazing what the excuse "this is just a costume" unleashes in people. As soon as you can hide behind "This isn't the real me" you become immune to all personal criticism that would otherwise hit a nerve. I hope can take away a slice of that attitude beyond just this weekend, it'd do me good.

I do

2007-03-20T17:41:00.000+01:00

The big baby week got capped off with a big baby weekend. My sister has asked me to be godmother to her second son/first daughter. Did you hear that? That was the sound of all my crap statements about "how can you love a baby before it can talk? It has no personality!", "I mean, you never ever have a single free minute to yourself anymore. The worst!" and "Ew" flying out the window : )

Babies squared

2007-03-11T12:02:00.000+01:00

It's been a big week for babies in my family. One of my cousins gave birth to a healthy baby boy & my nephew Lars officially entered The Terrible Twos Territory.

Lars went skiing with his & my parents last week. He's come back from Austria a changed man. Not only does he say "Danke" now instead of "Danku", he also refuses to drink from his sippy cup without having "cheered". He'll hold the cup in the air and insist everyone around the table lift their glass too. I was just going to get him a picture book or a stuffed animal, but judging from his new love of après ski rituals, maybe I should go for shot glasses instead?

Living Apart Together

2007-03-05T20:55:00.000+01:00

Leuven - Amsterdam - Toronto: the world is a global village. Case in point, my former roommate Anna, who's on exchange in the Netherlands for a year (at least!), just came to spend the weekend with me in Belgium. Hard to believe that it's been over a year since so many Canada-related things happened. Precisely twelve months ago, I went out to Yuk Yuk's for Mike's birthday. It's funny to think that since then my beloved downtown has seen an entire spring, summer & fall pass by... Man. Act now, act today is what I say to that. Don't sit on ideas, waiting for someone else to move forward with it. Run with it.

We and I

2007-02-26T21:12:00.000+01:00

I'm taking French this term - and working hard at it. I feel the language slowly coming back to me after having been neglected for so long, and I'm letting it pour into my head through all possible media. Edith Piaf albums, the French news (the élections présidentielles take place in April, so there's plenty of men bitching to each other about things that are "pas possible!" and "tout à fait ridicule". They don't get into it the way the Italians do, but the odd throbbing vein is entertaining enough) and French magazines. In last week's "Vif/L'Express" there is an article on www.wefeelfine.org, a website "explores human emotion" by measuring the general mood of the blogosphere. It's amazing - I urge you to check it out. You can select the age of the blogger, their location, what the weather was like at that location when they posted, how they felt when they posted or a combination of all of these variables and after a few seconds you get a list of international - English spoken - blog excerpts.

My initial sense of awe at what the creators of this site set up was quickly replaced by a dull, uncomfortable feeling. Maybe it's all the marketing courses I'm taking this term, but it is pretty depressing to watch how the feelings and statements and cries for help from millions of people have been poured into a system and classified. As much as people strive for normalcy, being categorized in such an obvious way is a rude wake-up call. Any feeling you've ever had, there's a few million people out there who have been there before. Any age you have, you're part of a specific demographic with its own marketing campaign. Any country you've been, there's a couple hundred associations for people who've traveled to those exact places.
I get the same sense of claustrophobia on Facebook. Sure it's fun to find people online who are into the same things as you, be it a language, a band or a club. And few people are members of the exact same groups, everyone picks and chooses and combines to their preference. But is that who we are? Are these the building blocks to our own individual identity, a group DNA?

I've been working on a photography project & as part of my research I've been clicking around flickr.com. Again, there is something depressing about knowing millions of other people are into photography, and just like you, take semi-artsy shots of streets and hills and their friends. But I like browsing this site. Maybe it's the lack of words, but it seems less of a people barrel. People post their pictures not necessarily to be seen and judged and approved of and accepted, making it a place with less social control and more oxygen. The flickr homepage has a list of the most popular tags. It's alphabetic, but I've reorganized them (Is that ironic in a post about classification? Ainsi soit-il.)

Times: '06, August, autumn, birthday, Christmas, day, December, Fall, Halloween, holiday, honeymoon, July, June, night, road trip, Spring, Summer, trip, vacation, wedding, Winter
Places: Africa, Amsterdam, Australia, Barcelona, Berlin, Boston, California, Canada, Chicago, China, church, city, England, Europe, Florida, France, Germany, Hawaii, home, Hongkong, house, India, Ireland, island, Italy, Japan, London, Los Angeles, Mexico, museum, New York, New Zealand, Paris, Rome, San Francisco, Scotland, Seattle, Spain, street, Sydney, Taiwan, Texas, Thailand, Tokyo, Toronto, UK, USA, Vancouver, Washington, zoo
Animals: Animals, cats, dog
Colours: Black, black&white, blue, colours, green, red, white, yellow
Things you do: Camping, hiking, travel
Things you're into: Architecture, art, graffiti
Things you have: Cameraphone, Canon, Car, food, Nikon D50
People: Baby, family, friends, girl, kids, me, people, portrait
Nature: Beach, clouds, flower, garden, lake, landscape, light, live, mountains, nature, ocean, park, river, rock, sea, sky, snow, sun, sunset, trees, water
Events: Concert, festival, film, party, show
Qualities: fun, geotagged, live, macro, new, urban

With the possible exception of "geotagged" (what?), this is one of the happiest lists of words I have read in my life. Every word makes me think "I've been there and it was awesome!", "I totally want to go there!", "I love that!" or "Those are the best!". Why does the blog site fill me with queasiness, while this list makes me all mushy inside? Is it simply because the photographers let their images speak for themselves instead of spewing out words and longwinded explanations about the hows and the whys of their life? Is it because people tend to take pictures when they're happy and relaxed, and write when they are confused and stuck? I honestly don't know.

Served

2007-02-24T19:00:00.000+01:00

Back when I was a waitress in a local Irish pub, I used to make a mean Irish coffee. Delicious dark coffee, the sweet whiff of whiskey and and the tingle of cold whipped cream on your upper lip... I got to pick a free beverage of choice after every shift, and the choice wasn't hard. I used to sit on a table right by the bar, stretch my achy back, smile at the manager (Sue - tattoos, a motor bike, the works. She was awesome) and take in the smokey, darkened, laddish atmosphere with as much of my 18-year old misplaced sense of romance as I could muster.

Not as easy at it looks, though, making an Irish coffee. Dunking the Jameson into the coffee is simple enough. But when the whipped cream isn't cold enough it doesn't stay afloat but sinks and melts. Instead of the gorgous contrast between the glowing caffeine and the white fluffy cloud on top, you get a murky light brown liquid. Sensual? Not so much anymore. My manager - who was nice enough never to give me a hard time for these kinds of faux pas - would take a look at the glass, and ask me about the customer. Was he Irish? Start over, drink it yourself (no use wasting the alcohol). "Belgian? Serve it, they won't know. And if they do, they won't have the guts to protest".

At the time, I saw it as only slightly mischievous. Because I was part of the inside crew, I didn't feel too sorry for the misguided customers. The harsh reality, though, is that the same principle is applied on a daily, global basis in each and every business sector. Anything - from medication over cars over gasoline over refrigerators - are held up to the highest quality and safety standards when it comes to the European, North American and possibly also the Japanese market. Mind you, they're not perfected as much as they could be. It is perfectly possible to make a washing machine that never breaks down. The know how is there, both for technological perfection as for ecological innovation. But perfect, economical machines don't get replaced and don't consume as much. Which means no repeat purchases and less sales. In other words, sublime quality is bad for business. You want to aim for a nice upper middle level. For a highly effective sales technique, provide a cheap, low quality model A, a pricy decent quality model B and a ridiculously expensive model C. Most people will choose model B and go home feeling like they took a responsible decision - not having spent the maximum amount of money, and not being cheapskates either. Meanwhile, your average quality products are selling like hot buns at ambitious prizes. Everyone wins!

Now, inevitably there will be products that fail to meet the highest quality and safety standards. Throw 'm out & start over? Nah, that would be a waste. It's all good, the legal standards in, say, South America are far lower. Your products are not as safe as they should be? Less robust? Not as effective? Contain a higher level of toxics? This plane was deemed unsafe for the transportation of European passengers? Dubious side effects? Well, hey, it's their laws, right? As long as they're interested and willing...who are you to say no? Don't worry, they don't have the guts to speak up anyway.

Fuck. I mean...this is written down somewhere. Printed. Officialized. With stamps and signatures and entire departments aware of the situation. There have been meetings about the risks. Suppose it crashes/explodes/poisons/kills? What's the most trouble we could get in? What are the odds of a civil lawsuit? What do you pay in these countries for "emotional damages"? Really? That little? Man. It sure is good to be living in this part of the world, eh guys?

Tak for aften

2007-02-08T09:14:00.000+01:00

Yesterday night, I took the train into Brussels to meet up with Oline - a Danish/Canadian friend I hadn't seen since my year in Denmark. While we were on exchange, she met a Dane (Morten - he's tall & blonde & the epitome of Scandinavianness. We all love him), fell in love & today they are living together in Arhus. Oline is here on a school trip with 44 other Danish students but had yesterday night off, so we found each other & went for dinner. So nice to speak, and especially hear Danish again! The waiter was hilarious, the food delicious, the tourist center of Brussels fairylike (we had snow for the 1st time this winter).

Just as I expected, it was a wonderful night. Lots of laughs, lots of "yes! That's exactly how it is!". It's funny how well you bond with people abroad. And how even years later, things are still nice and familiar between you. I'm not sure what it is...Is it because you're both on exchange and isolated from your friends & family? A bond out of despair type thing? Is it because you lived an extended adventure together (kind of like a long summer camp, or a travel group)? Dumb luck? Or...are there just thousands of super nice people around us at all time, all of whom are potential friends, but we just don't bother to introduce ourselves to each other often enough?

Which brings me to this. Hey, you. I know you saw me when we got on the train in Leuven, and I know that you recognised me. Vaguely perhaps, but you know who I am. I didn't think I could sustain a lengthy (close to 30 minutes) conversation with you, so I just sat down on the opposite side of the aisle, hoping you would somehow make the first move. But, instead, I read my book & you stared at the window (it was too dark to see anything outside, you must have only been able to see reflections) and tapped your foot (we're going to have to work on that). I guess you didn't see any point in talking to me either. Then, lo and behold, I take the train back to Leuven a good three and a half hours later and looky here, so are you. Fun. And what a great story to tell the grandchildren! You sit down and I again take the seat on the opposite side of the aisle. I continue reading my book. You have a paper in your hands this time. You start texting, call a friend on the phone to ask if anything's going down tonight. When we get to Leuven, you race off. See, I know that I'm a big coward in these situations. I know I skulk. I'm not sure why, but I have very little social courage that way. Unless I have a few drinks in me or am with a group of people. But if you're going to be just as shy & scared, we're letting opportunities go by. And that's a shame. Cause I think we could be cool. Not necessarily grandchildren cool, but cool. Cool as in, hey, maybe next time you go to a gig in Brussels (obviously I overheard your phone conversation, come on, the train was pretty quiet) we could go together.

Mmm...brainy

2007-02-04T12:30:00.000+01:00

Months ago, I picked up a second hand book (I had to wipe off the cobwebs and some spider corpses, fur realz. The owner is hilarious, she's this older, grey-haired woman with a German accent who spends her entire day behind her computer. She barely keeps an eye on the store, doesn't talk to her customers, and obviously spends no time cleaning. I always picture her talking online to some dude on the other side of the planet who thinks he's talking to some spunky Claudia Schiffer type. Too awesome. And for some reason, the filth doesn't bother me too much) called "The Brain Story - Unlocking our inner world of emotions, memories, ideas and desires". Just because.

Now that exams are over, I've finally been able to start reading. And, through the randomness that is life, I actually will be interviewing the author in a couple of weeks, so the least I can do is go through a bit of her repertoire. The medical bits, interesting as they are, throw me off. I can't for the life of me distinguish between all the different lobes & stems. The stories about patients and surgeries and illnesses are pretty fascinating, though. And one bit I particularly liked talks about how our mind tricks us and how, to an extent, we see what we expect/hope to see, rather than what is actually there. The book also says that our brain activity is not all that dissimilar when we dream and when we are awake:

In both wakefulness and dreaming, but not in ordinary sleep, neurons in the thalamus and cortext are synchronized, with both areas generating rhythmic waves of electric signals in step with each other [...] Professor Llinas' research suggests that our brains are in a constant state of dreaming - that they are continually generating images to manufacture the world inside our heads. 'The outside world is a projection, you put it there', says Llinas. 'It is not happening out there, it is happening inside your head. It is, in fact, a dream, exactly like when you fall asleep. We need to see, we need to perceive, we need to dream actively - because this is the only way we can take this huge universe and put it inside a very tiny head. We fold it, we make an image, and then we project it out.'

Neat.

Ugly is as ugly does

2007-02-02T13:58:00.000+01:00

Because "Ugly Betty" is such a hit show, I decided to YouTube it & watch some clips. It does look pretty addictive, I can easily imagine people getting caught up in the story lines. Unattractive, naive Betty trying to make her way in the harsh fashion world, where she has to deal with being laughed at, sabotaged, and publically humiliated. But she perseveres, fights, finds some allies and makes it work.
When the actress who plays Betty won a Golden Globe a couple of weeks ago, I caught her acceptance speech on TV and teared up. As much as I know that it's all fake & a sham & that I've been predicted by a team of marketing slugs to feel the way I do, I couldn't help but be moved by what she said. About how girls tell her every day the show makes them feel worthy and lovable and like they have more to offer than they thought. A bunch of women (just the women...) in the audience are shown to tear up too: Salma Hayek, Annette Benning, Sienna Miller.

What gutted me today was watching a clip that showed America Fererra accepting the award, but included the two minutes that followed. She walks off the stage, where a TV reporter is talking into the camera, announcing what is yet to come in the awards show. America stands there. And waits. And waits. Walks off camera, looking confused, like "someone told me to come stand here, but should I?" (I picture a production assistant with a throbbing vain on his/her forehead waving frantically for her to step aside). Finally, the reporter is done blabbing, re-enter America. Instead of congratulating her, she fires off her first question: "So, how does it feel now, with all those people who didn't want you to play Betty?" The actress's smile fades, and she stammers "Um, I don't...I don't know. I don't know who those people are". To which Bony Bitch cheerfully replies "You know, there were some people who didn't want you for the role, but then Salma Hayek stood up for you?". Wow. She couldn't give her a minute of sincere joy, before reminding her that she was at the mercy of others for getting time, attention and praise. Before pulling the rug of self-confidence out from under her. Before encouraging her to be as merciless and arrogant as the other characters on the show and give "those people" a big FU, just because she could. That part was not staged by a single publicist (possibly by a black hearted TV producer, though).

Who thinks like that? Who gets satisfaction out of acting that way? I wish I could repeat myself and say "I don't know how those people are", but the truth of the matter is that I do. Pretty much everyone carries the potential in them. If you knew beforehand who would betray you, who would enjoy keeping you down, who would purposely make you feel about an inch tall, it wouldn't hurt as much. But inevitably, they are people we like and trust. Friends. People from work. Exes & currents. Family. People who know our weaknesses, and their own strengths, and rub our faces in it. That being said, I remember walking to school when I was 12, 13 and having to pass an all boys' school on my way. On several occasions, I got singled out - I have to admit I was an easy target, I was a poster child for how awkward that early teen stage is. One guy enjoyed standing in front of me and yelling "ugly!" into my face. I have no idea who he was, I still don't, but I would be lying if I said that his anonymity made it suck any less.

Not throwing a pity party, though. I have definitely done my own share of mocking, laughing at and looking down. You know, like calling someone a "bony bitch". Words & acts that shouldn't & don't make me proud.
So how do you move past that? Being bitter and refusing to trust a soul - solidly entertaining though it might be (which reminds me, the woman who played Darlene on "Roseanne" is expecting a baby. Apparently she's 32 now, that makes her way older than she pretended to be on the show, no?) - is not the way to go. Relying on yourself is a pretty safe bet, but hard to keep up. Forgiveness, I guess, without taking that too far. Growing a thick skin can't hurt. Blocking out the bad and focusing on the good. Not letting one person in a whole crowd ruin a perfectly good moment. Being the bigger person. And trying to treat people right - no trampling, no clawing, no knee jerks.

Word of mouth

2007-01-31T21:32:00.000+01:00

"I hate you new guy who sits next to me" (http://hatednewguy.blogspot.com) is only one example. "Vent" (http://www.blogjam.com/vent) is the mothership. Clearly, blogs are often used to rant and rave - typing from the top of your lungs.

Telling a friend or, god forbid, a colleague, about something or someone that's pissing you off, is muy risky. Sure, it feels good to get things off your chest, to get the edge off, to put into words and curses what has been occupying your mind. But this "steam of consciousness", if you will, is bound to fall into the wrong hands eventually. And, with some luck, what you whispered to one other person in confidence has by then been twisted and added onto. While all you said was "You know, he gets on my nerves sometimes", that can easily morph into "Sofie hates his guts, always has", all the way up to "I hear he found a bloody knife in his pigeon hole - no points for guessing who placed it there...".

In that sense, sending your frustration out into cyberspace seems much safer. But is it? Everyone knows the stories about people being fired after their superiors found their blogs & read all about themselves being shred into a million little pieces.

The only way to be absolutely certain is by being absolutely private. But I know that for me, that's never going to happen. I can sit up and say "Okay, from this moment onward, I won't say anything about anyone that could possibly be used against me", but I generally last, oh, fifteen minutes. Unless I'm home alone all day. In that case I can hang in there for at least two hours before I'm caught grilling the fridge for the latest juicy gossip. I can't help it, stuff comes out. And I'm worried one day it's going to get me into big trouble. But you know how it is, it can be such a relief to vent. And when someone tells you something negative about somebody else, you're not going to snitch. You'll either try & change the topic, or just kinda go with it. Which, technically, makes you a hypocrite. And before you know it, you're caught up in a situation where you have incriminating info on pretty much everyone and at the same time, you know you've said things at a certain time (very late or very early) and in a certain context (drunk/angry/stressed/overcaffeinated) that you'd rather other people didn't find out about. And you know that if you overheard other people talk about you, you'd probably walk away with a seriously damaged ego, a severely reduced faith in mankind and a very heavy heart.

Another way, I guess, to avoid drama would be to always be upfront with everyone and demand the same of the people around you. But can you actually do that? How often do we really mean what we say? What does it even mean to "mean" what you say? Doesn't that always only apply for that particular moment in time? Can you get angry at someone, or be hurt by something that was said ages ago? Is it possible to always be politically correct, to avoid saying anything that's even slightly incriminating without turning into Susie-No-Opinion?

Learning to love you more

2007-01-30T11:55:00.000+01:00

I'm big on people, on pictures, on scrapbooking, on words & on randomness. Imagine my excitement when I stumbled upon www.learningtoloveyoumore.com. The idea is to give people random assignments, mostly with a self-reflexive, stop-and-smell-the-roses edge, and have them send in the results. Some things are pretty lame, most are pretty self-involved but there's some gems there too. Here are some that I liked:

Assignment #10: "Make a flier of your day"

Assignment #18: "Recreate a poster you had as a teenager" - Marcia Carmen

What a wicked poster! I remember how shocked my mom was the day I took down all my kittens and puppies posters and replaced them with the likes of Will Smith and the actor who played the older brother on "Boy Meets World", hehe.

Assignment #39: "Take a picture of your parents kissing"

Looking through these, I was surprised at how unattractive most middle aged people are and how many of them clearly feel very awkward making out in front of a camera. Why is it that younger people have no problem hamming it up and making fools of themselves? How can you look so uncomfortable embracing someone you've lived with for over 20 years? Is it the camera? The love-on-demand? A generational thing?

Assignment #55: "Photograph a significant outfit".

"What I was wearing when I saw him with his new girlfriend (and got sick because I drank too much)." - Julia. I don't think I have such a strong memory for outfits, but I thought it was such a recognizable situation. Part deux of the break up: seeing them with somebody else. Happily. Ugh. Pass the bottle!

Assignment #63: "Make an encouraging banner"

Sappy? Cheesy? Maybe. But doesn't this sum up the feeling & reassurance we all crave? Come on, be honest.

Blue moon

2007-01-25T20:07:00.000+01:00

A while ago, one of my profs sent all of his students a heads up email about a 3-day workshop in Amsterdam. Free of charge, on the topic "how to write reviews". The basic set-up is watching a dance performance in the evening, and then spending the following day writing a review on it and getting coached by experts. Three days in a row. Whoah! I may have peed my pants a little and replied as fast as I could. I think I actually sent an email that just said "PICK MEEEE", and then sent another one going "Sorry about that, I was in a mad rush, I wanted to make sure I got to you first. So have you picked me yet?". Alas, there was only room for eight people and a couple of days ago I got the "we're sorry to have to let you know" email back. Too bad, I would have loved to go. But on the upside, I'm happy that I found out about it and more importantly that I got excited about it. Cause come to think of it, writing reviews would be a pretty sweet gig. Sure, you'd step on people's toes and as terrible as I am at handling criticism I'd probably end every article with "So in conclusion, it was great. Exactly as great as that other show I saw last week. Basically, everyone's equally good. Unless you disagree. Then you're right too. Please don't hate me xoxox". But I'd learn.
Tell tale sign number 2: I have to do an interview for a school project. And i'm super excited. I read up on the guy, and I'm looking forward to talking to him.
Tell tale sign number 3: at my exam today, the prof said he liked the paper I wrote for his class. It could have done with a bit more theory, but "very pleasant to read and that counts for something too". Because I'm difficult that way I had an initial "But I don't want to be pretty, I want to be smart!" reaction, but really, who am I kidding? There's no shame in producing something that doesn't make people squint & frown. Something that's readable and graspable.
So bottom line: writing is something I enjoy and something I am not terrible at. And just because so many other people say they want to write while very few actually end up taking it to a professional level doesn't make it an unworthy goal to have.

Right now, Joni Mitchell's "Blue" album is playing. A cd I picked up just like I picked up Tom Waits's "Closing Time" , in a "this sounds like someone I should own atleast one album of" mood. I gotta say...good call.

I am on a lonely road and I am traveling
Traveling, traveling, traveling
Looking for something, what can it be
Oh I hate you some, I hate you some, I love you some
Oh I love you when I forget about me

I want to be strong I want to laugh along
I want to belong to the living
Alive, alive, I want to get up and jive
I want to wreck my stockings in some juke box dive
Do you want - do you want - do you want to dance with me baby
Do you want to take a chance
On maybe finding some sweet romance with me baby
Well, come on

All I really really want our love to do
Is to bring out the best in me and in you too
All I really really want our love to do
Is to bring out the best in me and in you
I want to talk to you, I want to shampoo you
I want to renew you again and again
Applause, applause - Life is our cause
When I think of your kisses my mind see-saws
Do you see - do you see - do you see how you hurt me baby
So I hurt you too
Then we both get so blue.

I am on a lonely road and I am traveling
Looking for the key to set me free
Oh the jealousy, the greed is the unraveling
It's the unraveling
And it undoes all the joy that could be
I want to have fun, I want to shine like the sun
I want to be the one that you want to see
I want to knit you a sweater
Want to write you a love letter
I want to make you feel better
I want to make you feel free
I want to make you feel free

Dàt zijn pas Kerstwensen

2006-12-21T18:19:00.000+01:00

Citaat: "Ik wil een pony. En een leeuw. [stilte] En een kooi voor de leeuw".

The year of yes

2006-12-17T12:20:00.000+01:00

Whew. It's been so long since I've written, it almost feels as though I've forgotten how to do it. What a couple of months it's been. Lots of ups, lots of downs, getting settled in again, meeting new people (good people), and getting to know those who have been in my life for quite a while better.

2006 has been pretty phenomenal. Obviously, there was the Canadian winter and spring. Family, friends, the World Cup in Berlin, flying, biking around again, being a few minutes late, parties, the hospital, the Blue Jays, answering and making a gazillion phone calls, NYC, cyborgs, cough drops, The Rocket, cats & dogs, bartending, the museums of Amsterdam, theater, interviews, Hart House, awkward silences, Ravenstraat, late nights and early mornings, a flea market in Paris, my first I-pod, BFF, babysitting, home, moving house, an engaged-not-to-be-married ring, weddings and engagements, flings, scenes, two more wisdom teeth, drifting apart, liters of coffee, the Islands, going to gigs, a reunion, driving lessons, meetings, one more round, and far too little time. I've been pleasantly surprised, and less pleasantly, I've been frustrated and empty, but also moved and giddy and full of energy. I have tried to take my time when it was called for. I've ignored my conscience on too many occasions. I've made some special efforts, and I've cut corners too. I made lots of money, and then spent it like I made way more. I've been fearless and a big baby, outspoken and a pushover, honest and Liar McLiarson. Nice and cold, hardworking and lazy, sincere and plastic depending on what the situation called for or on what I felt capable of at the time. One growing frustration I have is the feeling that I keep waiting for myself. Graduating high school used to be the threshold to adulthood. Then it became getting that degree. How long til you stop postponing though? When will I become that Person, who does laundry on time, who cleans up after herself, who gets her nails done and always looks put together, knows exactly how much money is on her account, who doesn't own a single old raggedy pair of underwear, who doesn't leave the house in the morning with a sink full of dirty dishes, who cooks proper meals for herself, never forgets a birthday, who sits up straight, works out regularly, knows how to drive a car, which days are "take out the trash" days, who's normal with enough of an edge? As long as you're in school, it's still kind of a joke. You can drop the ball and it's fine, hey, you're a student! Students mess up, stumble around, act like idiots, it's just what they do. No real job or family to support or much responsibility of any kind. And yet, I'd feel caught out if someone saw my life from up close. You try so much harder when there's other people involved, whether it's a partner of a child or another kind of guest. But until that person appears, or rather, until I'm brave enough to let them in, it's just me doing my own thing my way and thinking "As soon as I start looking for a job, thàt's when I'll pull myself together". The way things are looking, that's only a few months away. Ha! What do you say to that, 2007? Are you up for it?
Whatever the result, it's bound to be an interesting ride. Here's to being around for it, in whatever shape, size, form or state of mind. All the best.

That brings me back...

2006-10-18T19:33:00.000+02:00

I just checked this blog's comments section - not expecting anything to be there considering how long it's been since I've sat down and written a post. The only thing there: a spam message on mold. Hah. How very appropriate. Theresa, I know you'll appreciate that more than anyone :)

I don't know, there's stuff I could write about, but in all honesty I'm too swamped these days. Not that I can't find 20 minutes anywhere. The problem is that during those 20 minutes I can't seem to stop my stressed out head long enough to produce anything creative. These past couple of weeks have been a continuous "what else do I absolutely have to get done today?" from is-there-such-a-thing-as-too-early-for-coffee mornings over is-it-me-or-is-this-book-really-blurry late nights.

So what I'm going to do first when things calm down is write people individually who I should have been in touch with ages ago. And then, maybe, get back to this here.

See and be scene

2006-09-24T21:44:00.000+02:00

My dentist is not doing a great job at rewarding me for coming to see him once a year, like a good patient. When I went in about a year ago, I found myself in the hospital the following morning to get two wisdom teeth pulled - I was nauseous and miserable and looked ridiculous for over a week (Those who saw me know all too well). When I went again last week, he gave me the following rhetorical gem: "Miss, how do you feel about extraction?". Awesome. Tooth number 3 came out, the final one is due in about a month. And again, I look preposterous. A face only a mother could love. And thankfully, she does. Nonetheless, I spent a big chunk of my weekend holed up in my room. Hours and hours of one of my favorite activities: scrapbooking! I use these tiny adhesive stickers for my pictures, and I went through about 2500 of them. That's scary. BUT all of my Canada experience and most of my summer has now been documented for posterity. And I knew if I didn't get that done now, before school starts, it would drag on for ages.

So strange to see months and months of my life summarized in a few albums. It's very hard to create something that does it justice - I know with my Denmark albums I did this whole colour scheme thing, and added a bunch of "local" stuff like magazine covers and shopping lists...it helps, but it's never quite right. The most frustrating part is knowing that eventually the album will be what I actually remember. All the people and days and street corners that I have no photos or ticket stubs or other memorabilia of will slowly fade into oblivion. And eventually Canada will take on the form of the stories I choose to tell, and of the visual evidence I bothered to bring home - rather than the real deal. It becomes a tableau, a fictionalized version of events, filtered very selectively through my eyes: no mentioning of completely uneventful days, no unflattering pictures, no recollection of sitting on the edge of the bath tub crying my eyes out or of leaving a class having spoken to absolutely no one.

That being said, there are plenty of occasions where I thoroughly enjoy playing my role, consciously thwarting things. To the point where I don't like being taken out of it. Yesterday night, my parents and I went to the Botanical Gardens here, for the opening night of the cultural season. Candles everywhere, dancers, singers, flamenco music, jazz, poetry readings, theatre, percussion...beautiful. But whenever I go to see something, I want to be the audience, the spectator. I don't like being told to clap in a certain rhythm (like they did at the tango concert I saw in Brussels last week, with Jen, Tom & Liesbeth), being spoken to from the stage (you'll never see me sit front row at a stand up comedy show), anything like that. I want to sit or stand and I want to watch and listen. I want to let my mind wander, turn the performance into something personal, into what I would like it to be. And I can't do that, or less well, when I'm being directed and guided in a certain direction. That just makes me feel selfconscious - I don't know if it's me, but I generally feel like an idiot singing or clapping in synch with the rest of the audience. Just let me take it in, read it and see it how I want to.

Make senses

2006-09-12T20:53:00.000+02:00

I was off work last week, so I blissfully spent my afternoons reading the newspaper front to back. With my mom by my side, so we could exchange our (absolute minimum of) "Huh!", "Did you see...?", "Are you done with that section?"-statements. There was a tiny article in the Thursday edition, called "Paintings can be heard". It talks about something called "Synesthesia", which is defined as a neurological condition (2 out of a 100 people) in which two or more bodily senses are coupled. Apparently, the brain of a newborn has a large amount of connections between its various parts that are lost as we age. Some people's brains, though, continue to have a higher level of connectedness. As a consequence, the observations of their five senses are interconnected. For example, as per Wikipedia.com, "In a form of synesthesia known as grapheme → color synesthesia, letters or numbers may be perceived as inherently colored, while in ordinal linguistic personification, numbers, days of the week and months of the year evoke personalities". It is involuntary, and possibly inherited as an X-linked dominant trait. If your genes aren't synesthesically inclined, fret not, psychedelic drugs will get you there too.
My mom and I both liked the article and ended up talking about how easily your senses can trick you. For example, when my mom can't hear what someone is yelling from another room in the house, she turns on the light. What? Why?

I've been working phones at the university, answering questions about registrations and degrees and exams, and thoroughly enoying the wide array of voices that I'm presented with. Not just the accents, but the pace (some people sound like they're storming the beach in Normandy and need to know what is expected of them RIGHT THIS INSTANT, while others chat with me like we go back 15 years and naively believe that we're the only people in town who know about the doctor's wife's drinking problem), the tone, choice of words...Every so often, I get to put a face with the voice, like when people come into the office later to hand something in or pick something up. There was a woman today who sounded lovely on the phone and didn't disapoint in person. She had a calm voice, confident but girlish at the same time - and she lived up to it: in her fifties, very kind, but quircky clothes and a naughty gleam in her eyes. Other times though, yikes. Cold shower. I wonder how I sound. People address me with "miss" or "ma'm", so at least I sound female. Probably young. Hopefully friendly and pleasant. Is there anyone who's not completely blown away when they hear their own speaking voice, though? Like in a voice message? Such a harsh confrontation!

Quote of the day (thanks Liz)

"For the science of happiness, sadness is not the opposite and is not the enemy. To appreciate happiness we all need sadness to reawaken our capacity and appetite for joy [...] Of course, sadness is not to be mistaken for depression, that state in which our emotions are stuck in despair; and happiness is not to be confused with mania, in which our exuberance is trapped in overdrive and self-destructive levels of out of control optimism. By contrast to those two unhelpful and inflexible attitudes, feeling happy or sad is our free and dynamic response to living life by the hour and so can serve to both guide and motivate us. A heavy heart might be painful, but it serves a healthy purpose. And this certainly needs saying because for a long time now "how to increase your happiness" is a promise that's been packaged and sold as a consumer product much like icecream or alcohol. If organise is the new black, then happy is the new sadness-free diet promising a swift end to all our ills. "I just want to be happy!" is the mantra we hear around us all the time. We even claim that being happy is more important than wealth or beauty or recognition, and think ourselves rather enlightened for putting happiness firm at the centre of life's bigger picture. but we're mistaken. happiness is only one small wheel in how a life works [...] At the very least sadness is an indication that we care - a seal of authenticity".

Words can only get you so far. There's a Calvin and Hobbes comic I've always loved, where Calvin says "If your knees aren't green by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life". One thing I no longer have to teach my nephew about happiness.

Beginning a-old

2006-09-12T20:33:00.000+02:00

I've been working at my home university, mostly helping people make their way through the fairly complex registration process. A minority of students come in for a quick five minutes, routinely clicking their re-registration for their third, fourth, fifth year of school into existence. But for most, it is a bigger deal. Wide-eyed first year students, often accompanied by their parents, grandparents and siblings (I think the record was a group of 6...seriously. I understand your sense of pride, but for the love of God calm down) or exchange students, on their first day in Belgium. All taking a big step forward, beginning a new chapter in their lives. Some slightly frightened and taken aback, others with a firm sense of entitlement.

It seems like ages ago when I was in their shoes - but really, at this age, pretty much every year is still a "new beginning". Deciding to do another year, another degree. Angling for that first job. And then getting it. Getting over losing that first job and moving right into a new one. Moving into a new appartment or even a house, down the street, or in another continent. Few of my friends' lives could be described as "steady" right around now. A bunch of them are about to start glorious new adventures abroad: Adrian's on his way to Paris, Jen just got to Leuven, I-Wen sent me her first batch of Taiwan pictures, Chloe's about to leave for England, Lies is in Stockholm, Anna's been loving Amsterdam...They're loving every minute of it, as they should, and there are few things more endearing and energising than their gushing, their giggles and their sparkly eyes.

I'm sticking to the home turf for now. And I'm glad. As satisfying as traveling is, it also takes an emotional toll on you. Every new beginning comes with having to amp yourself up, sell yourself, find your way, get comfortable (but not too much), doubt the choices you've made, make plans, make new plans. And there's no shame in taking a break from that. So right now I'm happy to spend downtime with people. To work my old job, hang out with my old friends watching old movies, walk down the same old streets. Yup, old is sounding pretty good these days.

Booker Bonanza

2006-09-09T15:19:00.000+02:00

Yeah, I've thought some more about the guide of books for women and I'm really not impressed by the idea. I can see how it originated, the quantity of titles out there is overwhelming. But isn't it nice to browse, to stumble upon random titles? And even if people have a "reader profile" that allows for a prediction of which authors they are most likely to enjoy, do we have to get that rubbed in? At least leave us the illusion of being different and whimsical!

One way of digging a tunnel through the stacks is by looking at literature award nominees and winners. Clicking around, I discovered I've already covered a good chunk of the Man Booker Books: "Vernon God Little" by DBC Pierre, the 2003 winner (A birthday gift from my friend Thomas, finished it just last week when I was babysitting Lars), "Life of Pi" by Yann Martel, the 2002 winner (I remember Mike T. loving it back when it first came out, but I only got around to it about a month ago), "Atonement" by Ian McEwan, shortlisted in 2001 (I think this is his best book so far, though I haven't read "Saturday"), "When we were Orphans" by Kazuo Ishiguro, shortlisted in 2000 (Currently on my nightstand, I'm almost halfway), "Amsterdam" by Ian McEwan, the 1998 winner (I wrote my thesis on this guy, so his oeuvre is pretty much covered), "The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy, the 1997 winner (A recommendation from my dad), "The English Patient" by Michael Ondaatje, the 1992 winner (A recommendation from my mom), "Black Dogs" by Ian McEwan, shortlisted in 1992 (Thesis again)...so that's something. Heaps of names on the list, though, that I still want to get into, like Atwood and Rushdie. I still have a couple of weeks before school starts, so plenty of time for that. I know I'll never get as much as halfway through my list of must-reads, but hopefully I'll make a dent...

Photopost II: School anno 2006

2006-09-08T11:33:00.000+02:00

Apartment buildings

adjacent to...

the kindergarten. More like the Secret Garden.

The place formerly known as the playground

Sandbox? Are you in there?

Photopost I: Sofie anno 1986

2006-09-08T11:11:00.000+02:00

This is me in my very first year of kindergarten. I'm the blonde sitting right next to the teacher, tante Jeanine. I was absolutely crazy about her. Whenever there was a birthday, she would open this cupboard and take out a whole bunch of toys, from which the birthday boy or girl got to choose any which item. AND! They got a crown, made from cardboard, but with glittery stuff glued on. That woman could work empty yoghurt containers like no other. I think I still have one of my "queen for the day" tiaras lying around. But the single greatest thing she did was help me get settled in. As much of a chatterbox as I was aged 3 I began to stutter like mad when I started kindergarten. After a while it got so bad that I stopped speaking altogether. But thanks to Tante taking extra good care of me, I was back to my old self before too long. Sitting to my left, with the red sweater, is my friend Machteld, who I later went to primary school with. Way at the end of the bench, in the blue pantyhose, is Annelore - the girl I had drinks with back in July. Oh also, I know I look like a boy. That hair cut inspired my older brother and sister to call me Champignon or mushroom for ages - bowl cut, chubby, short, you work it out. Sigh.

This picture, also dated 1986, was taken at the gym of a different, much larger school. I can't recall much about the occasion - for some reason (I believe it was Mother's Day) we had to perform a song and dance routine on stage. Annelore was the lead, that's why she alone got to wear a full skirt. And that's probably why I'm sitting so far away from her, all the way on the corner...I got to stand next to her on stage, though, and carry around a bouquet of flowers. So that's almost as good. I'm not sure what the deal was with the hankerchiefs and aprons, I take it we were supposed to be farmers of some sort? What I love about this picture too is that the casual chic outfit I'm wearing has several Canadian flags on it and distinctly says "Canada" on the front. It was so meant to be!

Homegrown

2006-09-07T19:39:00.000+02:00

Despite the fact that Leuven's only a small town, there are many neighborhoods I don't know well and rarely visit. One of them is the area around the Brusselsepoort, where I went to kindergarten. I went up there today, after over ten years, to see what had become of the small school I spent three years in. Rude awakening. The building has clearly been abandoned a long time ago, I had to remove cobwebs to walk through the entrance gate and when I set foot on to what used to be the playground, three stray cats scurried off. The baby blue school building looks the same, from the outside anyway (the door was locked, so I have no idea about the inside). But the playground - including the sand box - is completely overgrown with tall plants and weeds. It's kind of ironic that the place we used to pretend was anything but what it really was (grey tiles) now actually looks like a forest or a jungle. Rusty tin cans are scattered everywhere, I have a suspicion people sporadically come and feed the cats and then just toss the cans.

From the playground we used to have a view of a large field. Most days it'd just lie there, in my mind with intense Van Gogh-like brown, yellow or green shades. Once in a while, though, we'd come out of the school for a break and notice some tractor activity - excitement galore! There were plenty of cats back then, too. We'd name them, pair them off, wonder about them when one of them disappeared. It was a small school. I remember my third year class, when I was about five, only had six kids. I can't recall all five names, but I had drinks just a couple of months ago with my best friend from that time. Good memories. The field's gone now. It's been completely covered in grey and cream colored apartment buildings. A large complex, with streets of its own. It's a bizarre contrast, the unkept playground right next to an immaculate stretch of buildings. If I had walked past it every so often, on my way somewhere, and seen things develop gradually, I probably would have less issues with it. But to see it as a done deal, it got to me. I was expecting to hear kids running around, and see moms waiting by the gate. I knew finding the field entirely intact was unrealistic, real estate is real estate, but this? There's nothing left to even suggest what was once there.

I might go back there soon to snoop around a bit more. Maybe bring my camera. And some milk.

Friendly advice

2006-09-03T19:10:00.000+02:00

"Does it exist?", "Is this it?", "Will it last?", "Can it work despite distance?", "Is it normal to feel homicidal now and then?". Ah, the things we wonder about love. Another common one: "Why is it never easy?". So much seems to be able to go wrong. The Other's often taken. Or has just gotten out of a relationship. They may be straight or gay - either way, not interested in your sex. Plenty of times, the Other doesn't like you back. Or "not in that way". Or you're not sure how they feel and don't have the guts to ask. Maybe the Other and you have a history. Or belong to a tight group of friends which means things could get awkward. Or they used to date your best friend/sibling. Or their parents hate you. They live far away or lead very busy lives so it kinda comes down to the same "I want to be able to do laundry with you" feeling. Maybe the Other is your Other, but interested in someone else. Or unsure of what they want. Or you're unsure of what you want, cause now that you're finally spending some time together, it's not as great as you had hoped.

Whatever the scenario, it very rarely goes smoothly. Fuck if I know how it's done. The one thing I'm pretty sure of came up in an interview I read with David Duchovny aka Fox Mulder the other day. On people.com, that's right, I'm not ashamed. The question was "What is the secret to a good marriage?" (to actress Téa Leoni, going on 10 years) and his answer was "Ask for what you want – even though you may risk being too needy or demanding. But to expect the other person to be a mind reader never works". I absolutely believe that's true. And I'm absolutely terrible at it. Before I know it, I slip into "This is what I'm expected to say/do" mode and fail to express what I really feel. Because I don't want him to think I'm lame or boring or predictable or bitchy. Because I don't want to rock the boat. Because I want to be liked. And it always bites me in the ass - eventually, the pent-up issues come out, he has no clue what hit him and the train derails. Next time (gah) I'm going to try my very best not to fall into that trap, not to be afraid to say when I'm annoyed, bored, or offended. I remember a time when my friend Alli had just listened to me rant about some guy and how I wasn't sure what my next move should be and, always the voice of reason, said "Would you hesitate this much about calling him up if this was a friend? Well, don't you think the guy you're considering to date should be a friend first? That you should be comfortable enough around him to...be comfortable?". Huh. Good point. Very good point.

Comment briser le Coeur de sa Mère by Pierre Ahnne

2006-08-31T09:29:00.000+02:00

"La mère dit au fils de courir pour se faire du bien, de s'amuser un peu, de respirer le bon air. Alors l'enfant cours un peu en avant et s'amuse à se raconter des histoires. Il est nécessaire d'employer pour cela des mots, des bruits de bouche, des fredonnements avec imitation d'instruments de musique, des gestes et tous les souvenirs visuels qu'on peut mobiliser sur le moment. Ces différents moyens se relayent, le geste de se fendre en imitant le cliquetis de l'acier avec une luisance et des pourpoints en tête achevant par exemple la phrase qui lui parlait d'épées cliquetants. L'idéal serait même qu'ils ne fassent plus qu'un, que les mots les gargouillis les gesticulations les fragments colorés ne forment plus qu'une seule pâte. Il faut la travailler longtemps, la lier dans des répétitions inlassables. Alors, tout à coup, elle prend: on sent que quelque part on tient, avec des organes préhensiles qu'on possède quelque part mais qui ne se voient pas, un peu de la matière élastique et glissante dont les histoires sont faites. On finit par sentir qu'on est devenu soi-même cette matière qui lie les mots, les bruits, la musique, les images"

You are what you read?

2006-08-29T13:57:00.000+02:00

Published in the NY Times today:
"Hyperion Starts Imprint to Help Women Whittle the Book Choices" By MOTOKO RICH

Over the last several years, in an effort to more narrowly market to book buyers, publishers have brought out new imprints aimed at groups ranging from African-Americans and Latinos to Christians and political conservatives. Now, Hyperion is planning to start an imprint aimed at women. Called Voice, the imprint, which will publish its first title in April, is the brainchild of Ellen Archer, Hyperion’s publisher, and Pamela G. Dorman, a 19-year veteran of Viking. It will be just one of a number of new imprints aimed at female readers: Warner Books already has a women’s imprint called 5 Spot and in the fall is starting the Springboard Press, for baby boomers, with a large portion of its titles catering to female readers. Voice is specifically focusing on women from their mid-30’s and older and will have a resolutely anti-chick-lit bent, said its founders.

[...]

Next month, Hyperion’s sales force will begin marketing five titles to booksellers, starting with “The Feminine Mistake” by Leslie Bennetts, a contributing editor at Vanity Fair magazine. In it, Ms. Bennetts argues that women who “opt out” of careers to raise children forfeit the financial, intellectual, emotional and even medical benefits of working outside the home. Other titles in the imprint’s first lineup include “Life’s a Beach,” a novel by Claire Cook, author of “Must Love Dogs,” which was made into a movie starring John Cusack and Diane Lane, and “The Empty Nest,” an anthology of essays on life after children leave the home edited by Karen Stabiner, a Los Angeles-based writer.

[...]

Ms. Dorman said she viewed the new imprint as being “kind of like a book group giving an imprimatur” to new titles. “People are overwhelmed by choice, and what they want is someone who is self-selecting for them,” she said. “We want to find people that they may not otherwise find and highlight them.”

[...]

“Any author’s greatest fear is that you’ll publish a book and it will kind of get lost in the shuffle on a large list at a large house,” Ms. Bennetts said. “The great appeal of going with Voice was that it was a highly targeted list with a very specific audience.”

Some in the publishing industry questioned whether women — who are widely believed to buy a majority of books — really needed an imprint of their own. “Pam’s a good editor, and I’m sure she’ll do a good imprint,” said David Rosenthal, publisher of Simon & Schuster. But, he added, “I’m always wary of ghettoization.” Jane Friedman, chief executive and president of HarperCollins, which has several niche imprints, including Amistad for African-Americans, Zondervan for evangelical Christians and Rayo for Latinos, wondered if women were too general a market for an imprint. “Taking the broad category of women is going to be a challenge because women are part of Spanish, African-American, spiritual, religious, and general-interest categories,” she said. “It really is going to depend on how they define women.”

[...]

To help Voice pinpoint what women want, Ms. Archer and Ms. Dorman have recruited a panel of 10 professional women to meet twice a year. Members include Subha Barry, a vice president in charge of global diversity for Merrill Lynch; Ellen Levine, editorial director of Hearst Magazines; and Candace Bushnell, a novelist. (Ms. Archer said Ms. Bushnell has evolved from writing chick lit.) Voice also plans to ask each of these women for the names of about 50 friends and colleagues to send copies of the books to help create buzz".

Yeay or nay?

Die Mitte der Welt by Andreas Steinhöfel

2006-08-26T20:50:00.000+02:00

"Es dauerte den verbleibenden Tag und eine halbe Nacht, um den Rest der nach Süden führenden Strecke mit der Eisenbahn zurückzulegen - in Zügen, die immer kürzer, immer unbequemer und immer langsamer wurden. Nicts an der Landschaft, die da draussen an ihr vorbeizog, erinnerte Glass an Amerika. In Amerika war der Himmel weit, der Horizont endlos, bestenfalls begrenzt von beinahe unüberwindlichen, verschneiten Gebirgsketten, und die Flüsse waren träge, uferlose Ströme. Hier aber schien das Land zu schrumpfen, je weither man sich von der Küste entfernet".

The Lemon Table by Julian Barnes

2006-08-15T10:49:00.000+02:00

"Like most of his life's writing, the play was concerned with love. And as in his life, so in his writing: love did not work. Love might or might not provoke kindness, gratify vanity, and clear the skin, but it did not lead to happiness; there was always an inequality of feeling or intention present. Such was love's nature. Of course, it 'worked' in the sense that it caused life's profoundest emotions, made him fresh as spring's linden-blossom and broke him like a traitor on a wheel. It stirred him from well-mannered timidity to relative boldness, one tragicomically incapable of action. It taught him the gulping folly of anticipation, the wretchedness of failure, the whine of regret, and the silly fondness of remembrance. He knew love well. He also knew himself well".

The world at your feet

2006-08-13T14:27:00.000+02:00

It is well-known to some that I despise Dido with a passion. You know, Dido? British, whiny unsteady voice (don’t believe the people who describe it as “fragile” or “smokey”. She took the way you hum to yourself in the bathroom when you think no one can hear you and you’re really not very sure of the words so you make them up at random and your voice is still sounding pretty rough from last night’s drinking & smoking binge and ever since you were about seven years old, you’ve always kinda sounded like you were a hundred and five even though you have the poetic depth of a fourteen year old so that’s a weird combo but your mom assured you that you’re the good kind of ‘special’ so who cares what everyone else says and made that into an art form), had that hit song with Eminem a couple of years ago and then a bunch more on European radio? She makes me want to die a little bit. Or at least change the station instantly. Well, to my own consternation I found myself giving one of her songs a listen a couple of weeks ago and actually being touched by the lyrics:

“I haven’t ever really found a place that I call home
I never stick around quite long enough to make it
I apologise that once again I’m not in love
But it’s not as if I mind that your heart ain’t exactly breaking

It’s just a thought, only a thought
But if my life’s for rent and I don’t learn to buy
Well I deserve nothing more than I get
Cause nothing I have is truly mine

[...]

While my heart is a shield and I won’t let it down
While I am so afraid to fail I won’t even try
Well how can I say I’m alive?”

It doesn’t all fully apply…If anything, I’ve found too many places that I call home (wherever your heart is, right?). But I do relate to that sense of having lived a fairly carefree life so far – ups and downs, sure, but nothing too major (touchons du bois). And of shying away from anything that reeks of long-term commitment. No serious boyfriends, forget the husband, and I don’t think I’ll have kids, hey, why don’t I just put everything I own into a backpack and not stop moving for the rest of my life and that way I won’t ever have to deal with anything! It’s perfect! Realistically though, when does the time come to sink your teeth in? To put your neck on a chopping block, shut your eyes, clench your teeth and hope for the best? To jump into the deep end rather than take careful steps down a ladder, ready to jerk our leg back up as soon as our toes touch the water surface? How do you gather the courage to put your signature under a contract, to selflessly give away your heart, recklessly board a plane, and put yourself out there? “Tussen droom en daad staan wetten in de weg, en praktische bezwaren. Ook weemoedigheid, die niemand kan verklaren en die des avonds komt, wanneer men slapen gaat” – I’ve always loved that quote. Willem Elsschot, a Belgian author, 1st half of the 20th century. It roughly translates as “Between dream and feat, laws get in the way, and objections of a practical nature. And melancholy too, that no one can explain and that comes in the night, when one goes to sleep”.

I read an article the other day about a Belgian man who’s lived in Mexico for the past seven years or so. He talked about the realities of Mexican living, his plans for the future and about other foreigners he encounters there. He was particularly harsh for young people: “You also get the twenty-somethings who come over for a few months, do a project with street kids, travel around a little. I don’t know why they come here, what they’re looking for”. Pretty disheartening how easily he turns what to most people is their Big Adventure into a cliché. But then, what is a meaningful way of organising your life?

I went into one of my favorite bookstores here in Leuven yesterday. It doubles as a café, great sense of style to it, the owners are nice, wide selection of books from across the world, it’s in a quiet side street…very nearly perfect. Even though I started out looking at the Asian section (one of my friends is leaving for Taiwan soon, for a year-long exchange and I wanted to browse the Lonely Planet guide for some cultural info and possible gift ideas), I inevitably gravitated towards North America and took out a book called “Canada Drive”. It’s written by a man who went on a cross-country trip with his daughter and kept a travel journal. Very few pictures, it’s mostly his observations, conclusions and whatever struck him as remarkable. I agree with a lot of the stuff he writes, things I noticed there as well. And it didn’t take too much page flipping before I felt a big lump in my throat. I miss it. And when Mike and Theresa ask me when I’m coming home, or Clara says being in Toronto without me is weird or Oksana gives me an update on the Tartu social scene, well, it doesn’t help. It would feel so familiar and comfortable kicking off the day at Ideal Coffee (as in “I deal coffee, not pot”, apparently the owner got sick and tired of people coming in looking for merchandise instead of the fair trade coffee he offers) in Kensington, shopping along Bloor and Yonge and Queen, some patio time at Future’s, a trip to the Islands if weather permits, a bento box at Simon’s, maybe finish off the day at the beach.

But are “familiar” and “comfortable” feelings I should be focusing on? If Toronto taught me anything, it’s that leaving is the easy part. More often than not, it’s sticking around that takes determination and guts. Facing yourself, your body, your background, your abilities and your options in the here and now instead of hiding behind a screen of travel plans and faraway futures. It seems too simple to project your ambitions onto another location – the way everyone does with the “After I’ve worked for a few years, I’m going to buy a villa in Italy/a farm in the South of France/a cottage in Canada/a boat wherever and get away from it all” scenario. Opium for the people: “I’ll endure this life I’m not entirely happy with for the reward that could come at the end”. There’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, though. And not always a second chance.

Maybe we do want too much too soon. Maybe we’re spoiled brats for having the quest for “emotional fulfilment” as our main concern and not, you know, nutrition and not dying. Maybe we should quit our whining and appreciate what we have when we have it. Be ambitious on a daily basis, not just in our vague long term plans. Make a friend – or a complete stranger - smile, ask a lot of questions, find beauty in something you see or hear, overcome your fears one step at a time, and strive to be someone you like. Take things as they come. See life as your Big Adventure instead of a trip or a year abroad. Maybe that's the only way out of the trap of cliches and dead end streets and black holes. "The race is long and in the end it's only with yourself", right? Who are other people to decide whether what you do is pointless or lame?

You know how women in their forties, when they’re interviewed by a glossy women’s magazine, always say they wouldn’t want to be in their twenties again for all the money in the world? Because back then they were so insecure and restless and worried? I’m not sure if they’re speaking the truth. But it’s quite possible.

The taste of success

2006-08-01T19:51:00.000+02:00

I got my library card renewed today. I know, woot woot, but seriously, this is an important achievement. I used to go to that library every single week, take out the maximum amount of books (which I was pleased to find out today has been doubled to 20 items), and race through them in a couple of days. And then school happened. Ironic how four years of literature studies actually reduced my library time (that is, voluntary library time) to zilch. Somewhere in between Denmark and writing a thesis and Canada, people and passions that used to take center stage slipped through the cracks.
Last month this exodus finally caught up with me. I was meeting quite a lot of new people here in Belgium who'd ask me to tell them "something about myself". And even though I think that's a pretty lame question - I can't remember ever playing this game with anyone who went on to become a friend - it bothered me that I couldn't think of much to say in reply. In Canada I always seemed to get away with "I'm an exchange student". That would generally spark a lot of "I've been to Europe!" or "What's Canada like in your eyes?" conversations, which I always enjoy. But here I get stuck at "I go to KUL...still. Umm. I'm from here. I like stuff and things, but not to the degree that I get offended by anything or go nuts for anything". And that left me feeling pretty damn depressed. Is my life such a sad collection of events that that's the best I can come up with? What happened to enthusiasm? To gushing? What do I really like? What am I about? Is my life relevant in any way? Have I failed?

I remember going to see a Dutch cabaretier called Youp Van 't Hek a couple of years ago. One of the red threads of his show was the idea that there can be no such thing as a failed life, for the simple reason that there is no such thing as a successful life. Take, for example, an Olympic athlete. This person forewent delicious food, late nights and motorcycle rides for years on end - the most vital of his/her life - to slice 0.6 seconds off of a record which will one day undoubtedly be broken. Was his or her life a success? Joe Shmoe who won't go down in any history book comes up, opens a can of beer and sits down in his favorite chair. Does he consider his life a failure in this moment of bliss?
Though I can see what he was trying to say, it can be pretty hard to deny that certain people's lives drip with the smell of success. Take Oxford, for example. There are students skipping around those grounds who are unusually clever, good-looking, athletic, musical, socially adept and come from a very happy family. They may go on to invent a new medical treatment, write a brilliant play or go into politics and prevent a brutal conflict. How are their lives not the epitome of success then? The only way they wouldn't be, that I can see, is in their own minds. Because yes, even at Oxford, I met people who described themselves as "mediocre". Who felt like they had spent the last few years "in school" but not doing much else. Who are disappointed with their resumes, their (lack of) achievements and can't muster up a lot of energy to keep going. So maybe success does not necessarily work with objective standards (just look at all the people who appear to have it all to their friends and neighbors and seemingly "out of nowhere" take their own lives) and it is all about how you judge yourself.

Now that I'm flat broke and home again after some extremely fun city trips, I've got some time to ponder this issue and, more importantly, to take steps towards dealing with it. Step one: think back to when this issue did not yet exist. What made me tick back then? (Reading did. Hence the library card) Step two: what am I good at? (Languages. But I've been slacking in that department. Hence getting out two German novels from said library - "Nimm mich mit" by Anke Stelling and "Die Mitte der Welt" by Andreas Steinhöfel - as well as tracking down my lecture notes from the Danish course I took in Aarhus). Step 3: Where do I want my life to go? (Somewhere interesting. Hence the continued applications for unpaid internships across the country). Step 4: Chill. If some obnoxious dude at a party puts me on the spot by challenging me to sell myself in 3 sentences or less that should not make me doubt myself. It should make me get up and go talk to someone else.

I don't know to what extent my little plan will help me regard my life as mildly succesful again. But here's hoping.

Poupées Russes

2006-07-31T23:39:00.000+02:00

A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

The book the guy sitting next to me on the Eurostar train from Brussels to London was reading. I detest Hemingway with a passion.

Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke

The book that same guy got out after he had heard my condemnation of his first read. We got along much better after that, and took the tube up to Camden Town together for a nice lunch. Edgar, who's working in Belgium's fair capital for some EU thing, was visiting his friend Sandro, who's in London working on an engineering PhD project for BP. After our shared meal, we wandered around Camden for a bit and then split up as I went to the National Gallery and the National Portrait Gallery on Trafalgar Square. A gorgeous, sunny day, lots of life in the city, all around good times.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

The excellent book I read at Oliver's - the friend I stayed with this weekend and whom I hadn't seen in seven years. He studies medicine at Merton (I've been taught to name the college rather than just say "Oxford"...Apparently the colleges are all very distinct and pretty autonomous, to the point where "Oxford University" doesn't really exist as such) and showed me around the town he has spent the last four years in. I can see what he loves about being a student there so much: the overwhelming history, the ridiculous amount of resources, the concentration of highly skilled and fiercely ambitious people from all over the world, the sports facilities (including the river where the Oxford-Cambridge competitions take place - it totally reminded me of that scene in Mary Poppins where she steps into the drawing and walks through this park and then the penguins dressed as waiters serve her and Dick Van Dyke ice cream), the student residences...gorgeous stuff.

Maps for Lost Lovers by Nadeem Aslam

The book that started a conversation at Oxford cocktail bar "Raoul's". While Oliver was getting drinks (I recommend "Moonlight" - chocolate flavoured - and "Miss Behiving" - honey & hazelnut), I sat and watched a guy sitting one table down. Shaggy hair, late thirties, white linen shirt, exotic necklace that screamed "I got this from a local villager in a small town on the banks of the Orinoco for nursing her baby back to health using only a piece of cloth and some clay" and...a book refering to broken hearts. Cause what better place to read than a loud bar, right? Can't really blame him though, cause it actually worked. Soon enough a girl with insane cleavage fell for the metroman mystique and approached him. After she had left, I leaned over and pointed out that he had made a grave tactical mistake. What had made her get up and go was her sour friend. By only talking to girl A and not including girl B, girl B soon got bored and irritated and dragged girl A away. If he had only asked her a couple of questions too, he would have had more time and double the chance of walking away with a phone number. He appreciated the advice (thank you John Nash) and we had a nice chat about school, jobs, cocaine habits and the Oxford dating scene.
But of course the main reason I had come over was to spend time with Oliver. Reliance on "Remember that time when...?" tactics was remarkably low - perhaps because 7 years ago we weren't that close either. And yet, here we found ourselves again, chatting away, hanging out, with the occasional Hugh Grant lookalike passing us by. One of the images our conversations kept coming back to was that of Matreshkas, or the Russian dolls that fit into each other. In the movie "Les Poupées Russes" (the sequal to "L'auberge Espagnole), one of the characters uses them as a metaphor for marriage. Our entire lives we continue to dig deeper, to look further in an attempt to find our ultimate partner. Same goes for jobs and houses and a million other things. Realistically, at some point, the search ends. You get tired of being single, of renting a place, of applying and doubting and hesitating and pulling away. So how do you determine when that time has come? Do you keep frantically opening new doors only to find yourself lost in a dark room? With a matreshka so small that she easily slips through your fingers and you're left empty-handed?

Though it feels like I was gone longer than I actually was, Monday morning was there before I knew it. After a yummy breakfast at the "Grand Café" (the two previous mornings, Oliver took me to "The Rose" where I had delicious house tea with "scones, clotted cream and strawberry jam" - tasty tasty). I boarded the coach back to London town - only to arrive there far later than I had intended. Naively hoping they would still let me onto the Eurostar train, I rushed to Victoria station, picked up my suitcase and cradled it as I sprinted to the District Line and then the Northern Line, all the way to the Waterloo stop. Too bloody late. Luckily, I made three great decisions at the customer service desk. One, to stand there looking sweaty and red and as though I had tried my best to make it on time (which I did, just ask all the passengers I shoulder checked on my mad dash through the underground). Two, to blame my tardiness on traffic (as opposed to poor planning on my part). Three, to not get impatient when four separate women came up to the lady who was supposed to be helping me find a way to get home to chat about they felt "absolute shit" last Friday or "how lovely that top looked". Instead, I smiled, listened, empathized, agreed with all that was said and ended up with a new ticket free of charge. Honey and vinegar, right?
Because of the bus mix up I missed the opportunity to meet up with Sandro again - the Italian guy I met on Friday. Though it would have been nice to go up to Soho and stroll around with him, my trip home wasn't too shabby. I was assigned a seat next to Giacomo. That's right, when one door closes, another Italian appears. And this one worked as a pilot and shared his Pringles with me - what more could I have asked for from a fellow passenger? Once we'd said arrivederci in Brussels, I got on the first train to Leuven, which so happened to be the slow one. Rather than speed straight to the Stella brewery, this one has several halts along the way. But hey, I was in no rush to get home, the landscape rolled by looking most charming (Van Gogh-ish colours: golden grain, blue skies), and I had the most exuberantly joyous train conductor come up and check my ticket. Instead of the standard "Thank you" and "here you are", I got "Thank you so much", "Oh, that's absolutely perfect", "How did you enjoy your time in London?" and "Have a fantastic evening!". Good to be back.

Someday can be today

2006-07-27T11:06:00.000+02:00

Monday night was a good old fashioned Leuven night: sitting on Oude Markt on a hot (not just warm) summer night with a bunch of friends, hopping between different patios (all the tables and chairs are so close together, it's pretty hard to tell where one cafe's territory ends and another begins). Martin was visiting Leuven, a bunch of uni friends were out & about, and two people I know were performing. This one cafe, Apero, has a singer/songwriter night every Monday. Two people who write their own material and perform on their own get about an hour each to show the world what they are capable of. No cover, no demos for sale, no big heads. Just a guy with a guitar (in this particular case, a guy who bartends at Stuk) or a girl behind a keyboard (on this particular night, a girl I went to high school with) singing about lost love, memorable moments and waking up to find that you've turned into a person you never wanted to be.

There was a great sense of potential about the entire night - hanging out with 20 somethings will do that to you. We've all done our duty: got that high school degree, got that bachelor degree, went through a break-up or two, did some random jobs. And now it's time to take some steps out of personal inspiration. Like the guy who's studying to be a theatre director. Or the girl who's in film school and loving it. The various people trying to take their music up to a higher level, playing gigs, recording demos, networking, improving their skills. The girl who's going to Sweden for a couple of years to do a masters in jewelry design (she's designing a ring for me as we speak and it's going to be just perfect) - right after she's shown some of her stuff at a local gallery (the opening is tonight and you can bet I'll be there). The girl who's interning in Hong Kong for another few weeks and is then returning to LA to finish her Master's. My friend who's already working two jobs, and the one who gets to do a PhD, but also the many friends who are applying and emailing and calling and begging for that first paid stint. It's not about how far you go geographically, how artistic your ambitions are, or how much money is involved (though that is bound to up the "ooooh" factor, an "ooooh" that covers both sincere admiration and sour envy). But about accepting that even if you can't always call the shots in life, you can sure as hell set the tone. Between the trial and error, the lucky breaks and the dark moments of frustration, we're all taking steps forward - in varying degrees of decisiveness (not everyone's proudly marching). Chances are a lot of us are going to fall flat on our faces, and a few of us are going to do absurdly well (and not necessarily the people voted "most likely to" either). But we're all doing something, alone or with a partner, in our hometowns or on the other side of the planet. We're hungry to find a place, a space in which to put our needs and aspirations, to make an outline for our biographies.

Five years from now, several of us might still be found on Oude Markt on hot summer nights, drinking a Palm, watching a live gig. I wonder what kind of position we'll be in, professionally, and personally. If we'll remember what we planned on doing and becoming back when we had just graduated and if the doors we knocked on ever opened. To what extent we will have scaled down our expectations, if we will have chosen security over risk, comfort over uncertainty, familiarity over the unknown. What we will have lost, gained and held on to. Regardless of the outcome, it's going to be a fascinating journey.

World of Hurt

2006-07-25T23:13:00.000+02:00

Though it's definitely not the primary reason, the ridiculous heat wave that has swept big parts of Western Europe (make that, the world) for the past few weeks has put me in a pretty lethargic, non-creative place. Hence the lack of updates. It hasn't all been lethargic, though: I passed the theoretical part of my driver's test, found an internship for next year and attended a Belgian/Scottish wedding last week (I was seated next to Jim, who was not only sporting a kilt, but a cast as well. Turns out he broke his leg falling on a rock after a fishing trip on the lake (loch?). Ha! Stereotypes rock my world). It's been a big week for Scots, Toronto connection Martin is visiting Belgium this week (and promptly showered me in crickets, filthy rascal). Anywho, back to the weather. Not normal. It's been brutally hot for weeks now - in places that are usually fine. The weather's been getting increasingly messed up for years, global warming is no longer the rallying cry of those long-haired Greenpeace activists whose tofurkey breath alone makes you go "Sorry, no time" and march straight into the nearest H&M. It is being felt, right now, by everyone. And frankly, I think it's pretty fucking scary. Hey, good thing I'm taking those driver's tests, huh? This world needs more exhaust fumes, damn it.

This photo, titled "The Truth", is by a woman named Jill Greenberg and is part of the exhibit "End Times" at the LA based Paul Kopeikin Gallery. The collection features only toddlers, many of whom are crying and visibly upset. Dixit the artist: “The work depicts how children would feel if they knew the state of the world they're set to inherit.”
http://www.paulkopeikingallery.com/artists/greenberg/exhibitions/
endtimes/index.htm
As per www.suicidegirls.com, there has been a lot of controversy about the pictures, the words "child abuse" are being put out there. Greenberg's defense: "The children I photographed were not harmed in any way. And, as a mother, I am quite aware of how easily toddlers can cry. Storms of grief sweep across their features without warning; a joyful smile can dissolve into a grimace of despair. The first little boy I shot, Liam, suddenly became hysterically upset. It reminded me of helplessness and anger I feel about our current political and social situation. The most dangerous fundamentalists aren’t just waging war in Iraq; they’re attacking evolution, blocking medical research and ignoring the environment. It’s as if they believe the apocalyptic End Time is near, therefore protecting the earth and future of our children is futile. As a parent I have to reckon with the knowledge that our children will suffer for the mistakes our government is making. Their pain is a precursor of what is to come.” (http://suicidegirls.com/news/culture/17338)

I can see both sides of this argument. The situation is dramatic and needs to be addressed, maybe by shocking people into awareness. I've been watching my 17-month old nephew for the past couple of days, and the rare times that he has cried (food took too long to reach his mouth, aunt Sofie disappeared into the kitchen for a sec, gravity issues whilst chasing a fly around the room) were indeed very brief. Hold up a toy, re-appear into the room, do a little dance to the Sesame Street Tune and bamm, ear to ear grin and maybe even a giggle. That being said, I'm unsure about the effect of the exhibit, as a part of the eternal "What does art really do for the world" debate. Do you need to take away candy from some kids in an LA studio to drive home the message? Or does it only increase the mediatization of environmental issues? It does not have to be up in art galleries, framed and expertly lit. It is everywhere, around us, above our heads, in our lungs, beneath our feet. Taking pity on future generations is a very natural reaction, but it won't
actually make their lifes any better. Right?