i went for a massage yesterday. i had noticed a new place had opened right next to the spa i go to. it seemed a little more relaxed, with staff in khakis and polos, rather than uniforms. the normal place is like a zen house of meditation, each curtain separated room has a massage table on a platform that nearly fills the room. the lights are low, the music subdued and the incense candles flickering. the new place seems to be younger, hipper and has more energy.
not that energy is what you are looking for in a massage. but strength is. since sleeping on a plane coming back from amsterdam a few weeks ago, my back has been killing me. add to this the request to my assistant, that she would force me to run at least 20 mins a day. i made her promise it would be every day no excuses. but running every day was taking its toll, my body was feeling the need to have some of the muscles cleansed with pressure.
it started as a pretty standard massage, aroma therapy, china-chinese girl, so not much english and little conversation. i have long since lost the words for “massage harder” from my limited mandarin vocabulary, i can say “hen how” and “xie xie ni”, but mostly it is quiet time to relax and think; uninterrupted by the outside world. in the middle of the massage i was interrupted, not by the outside world but by an inside thought, “oh my god, this is a wenus massage”.
some of you might be thinking about chandler bing right now aren’t you. chandler had a job in the statistical analysis and data configuration group and created two reports "wenus" (weekly estimated net usage systems) and the "anus" (annual net usage statistics)). although i have been thinking about data a lot lately, and have been called mr. reports on more than one occasion, it was not chandler that i was thinking of.
there is an entry in the urban dictionary that agrees with my kids that the wenus is the skin on the end of your elbow. this is not exactly the OED, but it is a source for culturally relevant words which can help you keep up with your children. thank god for the internet.
now that we have the definition we are safe to go to a restaurant and loudly say “oh my god, E get your wenus off the table” then wait for the straights around you to react. it’s classic, i know i have done it. isn’t it great having teenagers and younger kids, the ages work so perfectly to give you things like this to do on boring sunday afternoons? oh come on, they do it back too, “dad, your wenus looks really dried out”… yeah, the lady next to us loved that one.
but i digress, in the middle of the massage, rather than continue to use her hands that were getting sore trying to work the knotted muscles in my back, she used her wenus. she pushed her wenus into those sore muscles and got all those knots out. it was great, her wenus was just what i needed.
the last few minutes of massage here tend to be focused on the head. i always wonder if they like the fact that i have the aggressive haircut or not, it seems easier to me, but maybe they like having the hair. i normally skip the head massage, but i was really relaxed and let it go. by the end of it i was fast asleep.
i left, had yet another double espresso and a sangria (balance, that’s what it’s all about) and then went home and fell asleep on the couch. so much for the rest of my day, and the things i needed to get done; i was done.
i was sooooooo relaxed, who knew that all it would take was a wenus massage.
Monday, August 25, 2008
mostly dead
i have had miracle max in my head for the past 24 hours. thanks to youtube i was able to go and watch the mostly dead or true love scene that I keep thinking about. is it strange to think that a 40-something manager, sitting in a deli in asia would have a fairy tale character come to mind and then not go away? anyone with a love of movies and the ability to enjoy something fun knows, “the princess bride” is one of the best movies ever made. i consider it “the godfather” for the playful intelligentsia.
what triggered these thoughts? a few months ago, i moved my personal domains from an office with a t1 (which should have been shutdown years ago), to a hosted environment somewhere in europe. when i did I unexpectedly found i could not send personal email from home or most of the cafes i hang out in. yesterday, i was plugging my hand-phone into my computer to use it as a wireless connection so I could do mail. i turned to plug my computer into the wall (new power plugs they put after i asked, yes spoiled) and heard an SMS come into my phone. the SMS was from someone we can affectionately call “my wife”, as usual it started with my first name, the name no one who i consider my friend uses.
as i looked at the phone, the screen darkened as though the back light had gone off, and that little voice in my head, the one that comes from being an engineer and watching events for trends said, “hmmm, that’s odd”. the phone would not respond as i touched the screen and buttons, it would not reboot, it would not restart after i pulled the battery out…
it took me a minute to come to the realization that it was gone, acceptance was not immediate, i was in denial. my connection to the world was gone, i had no phone, no internet, no work or home mail, i could not SMS, i could not monitor work to avoid a looming crisis; i was disconnected. yes, i still had my laptop, but for someone who does email while driving, uses the phone based browser to google, wikipedia or IMDB answers when they think up some random question, and has friends/family in multiple time-zones and checks work and home mail before getting out of bed in the morning… living without the simplicity and immediacy of a connection to the world that fits in your hand is.... stressful.
a little background, i live in a world were internet connection is a must. at a dinner talk with co-workers, we read mail and ask each other if they have seen certian mails. i am not short on phones, i have 5 at home. i have a trio and a blackberry, both are US phones. the US being the US means they only work when there. my dopod is my international phone, this is the one which is now a shiny paperweight. it has my address book, my calendar, more or less my life on it. my life, which for no apparent reason, has just decided to come to a halt.
i did what i think most people in time of stress do, order a drink and think about going for a massage. i mean, what exactly could i do about this? i could have gone to the mall and spent RM 2700 (USD 850) on a new phone so i could be immediately re-connected with the world, or i could sit and try to relax. …. yeah, sitting and relaxing is not all that relaxing for me.
this is where miracle max comes in… in the middle of the movie the dead westley is carried to max’s door as inigo looking for a miracle. this is one of the best scenes in the movie and contains the line, “there's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. mostly dead is slightly alive. with all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do…”
max is one of the two characters in the movie that really resonates for me. the other is … never mind, that is a blog for another day. max is software engineer before his time. he is a miracle maker, he is a go-to-guy, he is the one that people come to when they need something done; he is a fixer.
i am using a phone that i keep around for emergencies like this. having a plan b, that’s the upside of being unable to see only the positive side of life, you are ready when something goes wrong. but even with a plan b, sometimes you are stuck with the less than optimal solution. is it time to be zenish… disconnect from the attachment and be glad i have the backup?
someone out there is going to be my miracle maker and bring it back from the dead. they will look at it and say “i’ve see worse”. they will know that my connection is only “mostly dead” and will bring it back to life. this is the thing about max that resonates within me, and it’s what i hope someone else out there understands.
no matter what, there is one more line that max says which i need to remember:
“you rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”
what triggered these thoughts? a few months ago, i moved my personal domains from an office with a t1 (which should have been shutdown years ago), to a hosted environment somewhere in europe. when i did I unexpectedly found i could not send personal email from home or most of the cafes i hang out in. yesterday, i was plugging my hand-phone into my computer to use it as a wireless connection so I could do mail. i turned to plug my computer into the wall (new power plugs they put after i asked, yes spoiled) and heard an SMS come into my phone. the SMS was from someone we can affectionately call “my wife”, as usual it started with my first name, the name no one who i consider my friend uses.
as i looked at the phone, the screen darkened as though the back light had gone off, and that little voice in my head, the one that comes from being an engineer and watching events for trends said, “hmmm, that’s odd”. the phone would not respond as i touched the screen and buttons, it would not reboot, it would not restart after i pulled the battery out…
it took me a minute to come to the realization that it was gone, acceptance was not immediate, i was in denial. my connection to the world was gone, i had no phone, no internet, no work or home mail, i could not SMS, i could not monitor work to avoid a looming crisis; i was disconnected. yes, i still had my laptop, but for someone who does email while driving, uses the phone based browser to google, wikipedia or IMDB answers when they think up some random question, and has friends/family in multiple time-zones and checks work and home mail before getting out of bed in the morning… living without the simplicity and immediacy of a connection to the world that fits in your hand is.... stressful.
a little background, i live in a world were internet connection is a must. at a dinner talk with co-workers, we read mail and ask each other if they have seen certian mails. i am not short on phones, i have 5 at home. i have a trio and a blackberry, both are US phones. the US being the US means they only work when there. my dopod is my international phone, this is the one which is now a shiny paperweight. it has my address book, my calendar, more or less my life on it. my life, which for no apparent reason, has just decided to come to a halt.
i did what i think most people in time of stress do, order a drink and think about going for a massage. i mean, what exactly could i do about this? i could have gone to the mall and spent RM 2700 (USD 850) on a new phone so i could be immediately re-connected with the world, or i could sit and try to relax. …. yeah, sitting and relaxing is not all that relaxing for me.
this is where miracle max comes in… in the middle of the movie the dead westley is carried to max’s door as inigo looking for a miracle. this is one of the best scenes in the movie and contains the line, “there's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. mostly dead is slightly alive. with all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do…”
max is one of the two characters in the movie that really resonates for me. the other is … never mind, that is a blog for another day. max is software engineer before his time. he is a miracle maker, he is a go-to-guy, he is the one that people come to when they need something done; he is a fixer.
i am using a phone that i keep around for emergencies like this. having a plan b, that’s the upside of being unable to see only the positive side of life, you are ready when something goes wrong. but even with a plan b, sometimes you are stuck with the less than optimal solution. is it time to be zenish… disconnect from the attachment and be glad i have the backup?
someone out there is going to be my miracle maker and bring it back from the dead. they will look at it and say “i’ve see worse”. they will know that my connection is only “mostly dead” and will bring it back to life. this is the thing about max that resonates within me, and it’s what i hope someone else out there understands.
no matter what, there is one more line that max says which i need to remember:
“you rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.”
Monday, August 18, 2008
metro-pink
i spent last week in prague with a group of guys-guys making fun of me that i need to get more in touch with my male side. well, they didn’t say that, what they did say was that metro-sexual is code for bi-sexual. being asked if you are bi-sexual in an open forum by guys you work with, or who work for you, is not exactly the conversation i would have expected when i was younger… but today...
i was sitting among a group, talking about what we wanted to do outside of work over the week. i told them i was looking for a set of bags to travel in. i wanted them to NOT be standard samsonite black. i am so sick of standing in front of luggage carousels waiting for bags and watching 40% of the people grab for the same bag because they have one just like the one going by.
i was discussing this with the group who would never wear “girl” colors. they do not know the difference between benetton and gap lines, or that gap and banana republic are owned by same parent company orthat you can use your gap card in banana republic to get discounts. they don’t know this because they don't shop for themselves, i asked, their wives buy their clothes. as we talked, i was wearing a pink shirt and had on a pair of dress shoes i bought in a little boutique shoe store in belgium. the fact that i would even go into a boutique anything was proof enough for them that something was off with me.
yes, i have a strange haircut. yes i vacation in provincetown (god to i miss walking down commercial street, hand in hand with my father in-law). yes, i am flexible and open. no, i am almost never embarrassed and i am more than happy saying things (like the father-inlaw statement above) that i expect to shock someone with a tighter world view.
i have close friends who are gay or bi… i am not shocked by it, why would i care. i have a friend who i have not seen in many years who dates transvestites…. he started an internet-porn company marketing to the transvestite community; which was the way the lifestyle came out after years of knowing him. we had all met his “girlfriend” before it was public and none of us had not figured it out. (i know, wow, she was pretty hot). this guy is a great developer, a good father and can really tell a joke, who cares if he is hot girlfriend is a guy.
anyway, all of this adds up to questions for others. but…. i have evidence i am straight.
as i type this i am sitting in a café wearing a pink t-shirt. the shirt has the logo, “fat is the new skinny” it is a shirt that was recently sent to me from santa monica by a friend who was soon to move to san francisco (he is moving for work, not lifestyle). he knew i loved this hamburger place on the promenade and sent me the shirt to make me smile. which i did, i did every time i put it on, including today.
the difference is today the shirt is pink, until yesterday it was white. this shirt and all the other whites that came out of the washing machine last night are now pink. i am wearing pink underwear, not by design but yes by choice. later i will wear pink, and in this case i mean BRIGHT pink, ankle socks while i run. i tell this and i am not worried about how i will be viewed; well with one exception. i need to wear the socks with an orange t-shirt; clearly a fashion faux-pas.
the fact that i would wear pink is not a surprise to anyone. i wear hand-tied bow tiesover a pink shirt with a three button blazer and loafers (tassels are sometimes on the loafers, but not here as the only pair i have is in the US). i tell stories about running in europe in a bright yellow lycra shirt and black tights, the eastern-europeans used to stare but recently they don’t seem to, i think this is due to broader acceptance of running in former soviet countries; my friends think it has something to do with coming to accept alternative life styles.
i am clearly comfortable with myself, and i am not worried about my sexuality or what anyone else assumes about me. i just looked around the café. 12 guys, 5 woman, one guy is good looking the rest are just standard ugly guys. although the one guy is good looking, he is not that good looking. of the women, 3 hold no interest, the young photographer down the way is very pretty and actually her mom isn't bad either. the last woman here, i know is both smart and beautiful, we have talked a few times and she gave me her number, but i haven’t called her… i am busy not gay. but, 0.5/12 vs 2.5/5 is a strong indication of where my interests lie.
so you are reading this wondering how it’s possible that i am considering all of this proof. i did not dye my whites pink on purpose; it is the result of a poor choice of sorting during laundry prep. yes, i know better than to put three brand new red t-shirts in the washer with a bunch of whites. no, i do not know to sort them out specifically while i am getting my laundry ready.
so here is the thing, i grew up in a socially flexible community, with an uber-preppy fashion sense. i am single, neat and have a sense of fashion… “not that there is anything wrong with that”. i wear crocs. i shop on business trips for clothes, luggage and regional items which fit into an eclectic world-traveller esthetic. i complain that it’s hard to find a good art gallery here, and i go to see salvador dali exhibits rather than do pub crawls around prague.
but…. ONLY a straight man would be dumb enough to not know how to do laundry without turning everything pink. then again… ONLY a metro-sexual would try to make this work for him.
by the way, the new luggage rocks. three matching pieces that look like nothing else on the carousel. different is good.
i was sitting among a group, talking about what we wanted to do outside of work over the week. i told them i was looking for a set of bags to travel in. i wanted them to NOT be standard samsonite black. i am so sick of standing in front of luggage carousels waiting for bags and watching 40% of the people grab for the same bag because they have one just like the one going by.
i was discussing this with the group who would never wear “girl” colors. they do not know the difference between benetton and gap lines, or that gap and banana republic are owned by same parent company orthat you can use your gap card in banana republic to get discounts. they don’t know this because they don't shop for themselves, i asked, their wives buy their clothes. as we talked, i was wearing a pink shirt and had on a pair of dress shoes i bought in a little boutique shoe store in belgium. the fact that i would even go into a boutique anything was proof enough for them that something was off with me.
yes, i have a strange haircut. yes i vacation in provincetown (god to i miss walking down commercial street, hand in hand with my father in-law). yes, i am flexible and open. no, i am almost never embarrassed and i am more than happy saying things (like the father-inlaw statement above) that i expect to shock someone with a tighter world view.
i have close friends who are gay or bi… i am not shocked by it, why would i care. i have a friend who i have not seen in many years who dates transvestites…. he started an internet-porn company marketing to the transvestite community; which was the way the lifestyle came out after years of knowing him. we had all met his “girlfriend” before it was public and none of us had not figured it out. (i know, wow, she was pretty hot). this guy is a great developer, a good father and can really tell a joke, who cares if he is hot girlfriend is a guy.
anyway, all of this adds up to questions for others. but…. i have evidence i am straight.
as i type this i am sitting in a café wearing a pink t-shirt. the shirt has the logo, “fat is the new skinny” it is a shirt that was recently sent to me from santa monica by a friend who was soon to move to san francisco (he is moving for work, not lifestyle). he knew i loved this hamburger place on the promenade and sent me the shirt to make me smile. which i did, i did every time i put it on, including today.
the difference is today the shirt is pink, until yesterday it was white. this shirt and all the other whites that came out of the washing machine last night are now pink. i am wearing pink underwear, not by design but yes by choice. later i will wear pink, and in this case i mean BRIGHT pink, ankle socks while i run. i tell this and i am not worried about how i will be viewed; well with one exception. i need to wear the socks with an orange t-shirt; clearly a fashion faux-pas.
the fact that i would wear pink is not a surprise to anyone. i wear hand-tied bow tiesover a pink shirt with a three button blazer and loafers (tassels are sometimes on the loafers, but not here as the only pair i have is in the US). i tell stories about running in europe in a bright yellow lycra shirt and black tights, the eastern-europeans used to stare but recently they don’t seem to, i think this is due to broader acceptance of running in former soviet countries; my friends think it has something to do with coming to accept alternative life styles.
i am clearly comfortable with myself, and i am not worried about my sexuality or what anyone else assumes about me. i just looked around the café. 12 guys, 5 woman, one guy is good looking the rest are just standard ugly guys. although the one guy is good looking, he is not that good looking. of the women, 3 hold no interest, the young photographer down the way is very pretty and actually her mom isn't bad either. the last woman here, i know is both smart and beautiful, we have talked a few times and she gave me her number, but i haven’t called her… i am busy not gay. but, 0.5/12 vs 2.5/5 is a strong indication of where my interests lie.
so you are reading this wondering how it’s possible that i am considering all of this proof. i did not dye my whites pink on purpose; it is the result of a poor choice of sorting during laundry prep. yes, i know better than to put three brand new red t-shirts in the washer with a bunch of whites. no, i do not know to sort them out specifically while i am getting my laundry ready.
so here is the thing, i grew up in a socially flexible community, with an uber-preppy fashion sense. i am single, neat and have a sense of fashion… “not that there is anything wrong with that”. i wear crocs. i shop on business trips for clothes, luggage and regional items which fit into an eclectic world-traveller esthetic. i complain that it’s hard to find a good art gallery here, and i go to see salvador dali exhibits rather than do pub crawls around prague.
but…. ONLY a straight man would be dumb enough to not know how to do laundry without turning everything pink. then again… ONLY a metro-sexual would try to make this work for him.
by the way, the new luggage rocks. three matching pieces that look like nothing else on the carousel. different is good.
Monday, August 11, 2008
prisioner in prague
in am in europe for business, my kids were flying home after the summer visiting dad, and there was a meeting planned for the prior week, i got the meeting moved so i could attend. then i heard there were two of my peers coming here the next week, so i extended my visit and gave myself a couple days to have more “meetings” with them. the plan was to go see my best friend in belgium this weekend, but things don’t always work out as planned; especially when i am driving the agenda.
as i flew the kids to AMS, i realized i had not had any time alone in months. the little man comes to the office most days and i wake up with him in my bed almost every morning. i had taken to slipping out around midnight to do email and drink coffee or wine before going home to be dad again. the network was down but i also did it just to give me time that was mine. it started to dawn on me that i needed time alone more than i needed to see my best friend. barcelona sounded nice. what about the greek islands? there had to be a cheap flight somewhere with a beach.
she took it better than i expected. really, i expected to have her beat me about the head and neck. unfortunately, he boyfriend thinks it was him i was avoiding. i just needed to be alone, but you try telling that to a flemish woman with the tendency to believe the first thing i say. now i need to find a way to make that up to him.
as the week went on, i started thinking about the fact that i didn’t have flights anywhere, that i wasn’t taking the time to look and that i had a hotel room paid for here. why should i leave, i mean i have seen this city, but i didn’t really want to sightsee anyway, i wanted to sit in a cafe, have a coffee, write and just relax. prague is crammed with cafes, why not just stay here?
one of the reasons i wanted to leave the city was that the coolness of living in a hotel that looked like it was a set for a sean connery era james bond film had been replaced with a sense of pity that no one saw the need to upgrade anything in the hotel. but as the week passed, there were new things on every corner.
the coffee outlet that had opened last year now had three locations within eyesight of each other, i found a starbucks, and then another that is “coming soon”. the thought of tourists stopping for a caffe latte before standing 20 people deep to see the under-impressive astronomical clock, or walking over the charles bridge with a familiar green logoed cup was funny to me.
prague is changing, its being upgraded, there is a new mall that made me think i was in LA, not the former communist bloc. i found a new hotel, one with a modern and hip esthetic. i moved and felt like i was in NYC. is it possible that prague is copying the best of the US? one late night with the boys there was a feeling that we were in vegas, but as was repeated that night, what happens in prague stays in prague so there will be no details shared after talking about the 20 dollar mojitos.
so what did i do this weekend? absolutely nothing. well not true, i was freezing yesterday so i went and bought a jacket, which lead to buying two buff scarves; very cool try them. i also got a pair of teva sandals, my croc flip-flops were not making it walking around this city on cobblestones. waking up with aching calves was fixed by adding some footwear that stays attached to foot. also very cool, prague never had this 5 years ago.
the hotel has a great restaurant downstairs, so good that i am eating breakfast and dinner here almost every day. the outside patio is great, not many people, lit with art deco lights from inside and candles on the tables outside. people speaking at least 4 european languages all around me, and hip music on the stereo speakers hidden in the bushes behind me. there is an istanbul kebab place across the street, and a thai noodle bar down the road. there is also a shortcut to the square that runs through the largest bookstore in town on the other side of the lobby. how cool is that, it’s like they built this hotel for me.
james bond movies be damned, this is the new prague, we are going to build a hotel for the middle-aged, software manager and world traveler who we are targeting as our customer.
i don’t feel like a prisoner any more, but what about the people here? salaries have gone up, way up, six times what they were 5 years ago, everything is more expensive, those lattes are not discounted that is for sure. even the beer here is no longer cheap. i spent 6 dollars on a beer, after spending 18 dollars to get into a very small salvador dali exhibition. by amercian standards not too bad, but when did prague become america.
so the question really is, who are the prisoners here? the locals who grew up wanting to live in the west, the expats who came here looking for a city that was cheap and easy to live in even if they did need to struggle with czech, or the brits who come here to party and find out that they could have gone to amsterdam with a shorter flight.
i made the right choice by staying here, not sure if people around me feel the same way.
as i flew the kids to AMS, i realized i had not had any time alone in months. the little man comes to the office most days and i wake up with him in my bed almost every morning. i had taken to slipping out around midnight to do email and drink coffee or wine before going home to be dad again. the network was down but i also did it just to give me time that was mine. it started to dawn on me that i needed time alone more than i needed to see my best friend. barcelona sounded nice. what about the greek islands? there had to be a cheap flight somewhere with a beach.
she took it better than i expected. really, i expected to have her beat me about the head and neck. unfortunately, he boyfriend thinks it was him i was avoiding. i just needed to be alone, but you try telling that to a flemish woman with the tendency to believe the first thing i say. now i need to find a way to make that up to him.
as the week went on, i started thinking about the fact that i didn’t have flights anywhere, that i wasn’t taking the time to look and that i had a hotel room paid for here. why should i leave, i mean i have seen this city, but i didn’t really want to sightsee anyway, i wanted to sit in a cafe, have a coffee, write and just relax. prague is crammed with cafes, why not just stay here?
one of the reasons i wanted to leave the city was that the coolness of living in a hotel that looked like it was a set for a sean connery era james bond film had been replaced with a sense of pity that no one saw the need to upgrade anything in the hotel. but as the week passed, there were new things on every corner.
the coffee outlet that had opened last year now had three locations within eyesight of each other, i found a starbucks, and then another that is “coming soon”. the thought of tourists stopping for a caffe latte before standing 20 people deep to see the under-impressive astronomical clock, or walking over the charles bridge with a familiar green logoed cup was funny to me.
prague is changing, its being upgraded, there is a new mall that made me think i was in LA, not the former communist bloc. i found a new hotel, one with a modern and hip esthetic. i moved and felt like i was in NYC. is it possible that prague is copying the best of the US? one late night with the boys there was a feeling that we were in vegas, but as was repeated that night, what happens in prague stays in prague so there will be no details shared after talking about the 20 dollar mojitos.
so what did i do this weekend? absolutely nothing. well not true, i was freezing yesterday so i went and bought a jacket, which lead to buying two buff scarves; very cool try them. i also got a pair of teva sandals, my croc flip-flops were not making it walking around this city on cobblestones. waking up with aching calves was fixed by adding some footwear that stays attached to foot. also very cool, prague never had this 5 years ago.
the hotel has a great restaurant downstairs, so good that i am eating breakfast and dinner here almost every day. the outside patio is great, not many people, lit with art deco lights from inside and candles on the tables outside. people speaking at least 4 european languages all around me, and hip music on the stereo speakers hidden in the bushes behind me. there is an istanbul kebab place across the street, and a thai noodle bar down the road. there is also a shortcut to the square that runs through the largest bookstore in town on the other side of the lobby. how cool is that, it’s like they built this hotel for me.
james bond movies be damned, this is the new prague, we are going to build a hotel for the middle-aged, software manager and world traveler who we are targeting as our customer.
i don’t feel like a prisoner any more, but what about the people here? salaries have gone up, way up, six times what they were 5 years ago, everything is more expensive, those lattes are not discounted that is for sure. even the beer here is no longer cheap. i spent 6 dollars on a beer, after spending 18 dollars to get into a very small salvador dali exhibition. by amercian standards not too bad, but when did prague become america.
so the question really is, who are the prisoners here? the locals who grew up wanting to live in the west, the expats who came here looking for a city that was cheap and easy to live in even if they did need to struggle with czech, or the brits who come here to party and find out that they could have gone to amsterdam with a shorter flight.
i made the right choice by staying here, not sure if people around me feel the same way.
forgotten memories
a classmate of mine from... never mind that, why do you ask such questions, reached out over email and said hello. have you ever tried to catch up after... there you go again, why do you keep doing that, stop asking. it might be hard to catch someone up who you were close to, but have you do it with someone who you know of, but you didn’t know.
we have friends all though our lives who are never friends. we know them, we have some idea of who they are, we hear stories or just make assumptions based on the external glimpses we see. real friends are people you “know”, people you can trust to act in the ways you assume they will act, everyone else.... well...
but here is this person and we are getting to know each other over both time and space. we are on different continents, we were never really close. i can’t remember a single direct conversation we had, but ... explaining the lives we have led has been fun.
as i sat in an alley cafe eating a paratha sent to eastern europe by god to save me from eating another meal of pork, gravy and boiled bread that is making me more and more sick as the days go by, i got a call from a close friend. the call was sparked by another friend who had explained their life while out in the open. the caller was not sure if the details were real, or revisionist history made up to cover the truth.
the conversation went something like... “you know this is none of my business, and i really don’t want or need to know...”, i answered with a drawn out.. “buutttttt?????”.
the details did not square up with the way i remembered things, but i didn’t answer that clearly. i said, “you know, it’s arguable that things could be remembered like that”. i mean, remembering it one way when it happened another is a long standing human coping method. i guess we all do it at times.
there are things i struggled to remember, not really sure of what is true and what is not. there are some that i wish i could remember and i simply can’t. i have no way to get back to that memory, i need a taste, a smell or a touch that will remind me of where i was as it happened. But I think sometimes we cannot get back there as a way to protect ourselves. something’s should just stay the way they are, … or the way you remember them.
all of this comes back to the fact that i am taking a couple of days off, and i am both trying to remember things long left un-thought of and almost accidently making new memories. as the days float by things happen and they fill in the gaps, they create new ideas, new connections and if you are lucky, they might even remind you that you forgot something worthwhile as you went.
i think that’s the best type of memory: one that is forgotten, but that when you remember it, you smile and are glad that you were able to find your way back.
we have friends all though our lives who are never friends. we know them, we have some idea of who they are, we hear stories or just make assumptions based on the external glimpses we see. real friends are people you “know”, people you can trust to act in the ways you assume they will act, everyone else.... well...
but here is this person and we are getting to know each other over both time and space. we are on different continents, we were never really close. i can’t remember a single direct conversation we had, but ... explaining the lives we have led has been fun.
as i sat in an alley cafe eating a paratha sent to eastern europe by god to save me from eating another meal of pork, gravy and boiled bread that is making me more and more sick as the days go by, i got a call from a close friend. the call was sparked by another friend who had explained their life while out in the open. the caller was not sure if the details were real, or revisionist history made up to cover the truth.
the conversation went something like... “you know this is none of my business, and i really don’t want or need to know...”, i answered with a drawn out.. “buutttttt?????”.
the details did not square up with the way i remembered things, but i didn’t answer that clearly. i said, “you know, it’s arguable that things could be remembered like that”. i mean, remembering it one way when it happened another is a long standing human coping method. i guess we all do it at times.
there are things i struggled to remember, not really sure of what is true and what is not. there are some that i wish i could remember and i simply can’t. i have no way to get back to that memory, i need a taste, a smell or a touch that will remind me of where i was as it happened. But I think sometimes we cannot get back there as a way to protect ourselves. something’s should just stay the way they are, … or the way you remember them.
all of this comes back to the fact that i am taking a couple of days off, and i am both trying to remember things long left un-thought of and almost accidently making new memories. as the days float by things happen and they fill in the gaps, they create new ideas, new connections and if you are lucky, they might even remind you that you forgot something worthwhile as you went.
i think that’s the best type of memory: one that is forgotten, but that when you remember it, you smile and are glad that you were able to find your way back.
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