I have just received a phone call telling me that they are going to offer me a 25% pay increase and extend my contract until the end of February (I'm just waiting for the e-mail to confirm). I honestly can not believe it - do they not notice the fact that I don't wear a suit or tie anymore and I only shave once a week? What about when I sit around looking at the internet for hours (/ days?), or when I get a manicure from the girl on the next desk to me? The fact that I've been in second gear and making silly mistakes for the last month or so? They're quite literally closing their eyes and throwing money at me...
Of course, I'll accept - I couldn't honestly turn all that money down, but I'm now wondering at what point I sold my soul to the devil. Another holiday postponement then I guess...
Monday, December 19, 2005
New Old Me
Pick a colour, pick a number, pick a resolution (in no particular order)...
- Stop binge-drinking
- Eliminate the possibility of future cocaine use
- Get a girlfriend (!)
- Start exercising again
- Get my guitar and amps down to London
- Write some songs
- Join a band
- Build my parents a PC
- Stop trying to please everybody
- Take up a martial art
- Give more money to charity
- Volunteer
- Take a holiday
- Take up Salsa dancing
- Stop picking my nose in public
- Read more
- Assess/ regard women as potential friends rather than potential sexual conquests
- Eat less meat
- Stop binge-drinking
- Eliminate the possibility of future cocaine use
- Get a girlfriend (!)
- Start exercising again
- Get my guitar and amps down to London
- Write some songs
- Join a band
- Build my parents a PC
- Stop trying to please everybody
- Take up a martial art
- Give more money to charity
- Volunteer
- Take a holiday
- Take up Salsa dancing
- Stop picking my nose in public
- Read more
- Assess/ regard women as potential friends rather than potential sexual conquests
- Eat less meat
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
... Running Around With You
There's a girl in our Glasgow office I quite like: having been in Glasgow quite a lot over the last 6 months, I've built up a bit of a crush. I started flirting with her last week and was waiting for an opportunity to ask her to go for a drink. Yesterday, our paths crossed in the corridor and we started chatting: a perfect opportunity. So I asked.
"If you want me to come out with you and the rest of the project team, then that's cool, but I've got a boyfriend."
Shit. Panic.
"Yeah of course, yeah, 'cause I think we're all going out tomorrow night. No, in fact Thursday... No... Saturday. We're all going out Saturday night and I was wondering if you wanted to come along. Yeah, going out with the guys. You and whoever else..." Accompanied by a very French shrug of the shoulders.
As crap as it sounds, I was actually trembling as I worked myself up to the original question. That's only the second time in four years I've asked a girl to go for a drink, and I honestly hate it. Why? I think there are several reasons:
- The fear of failure/ rejection
- The feeling that I'm better than that
- The dreaded small talk should she accept
All pretty standard stuff so I won't waste any time explaining...
"If you want me to come out with you and the rest of the project team, then that's cool, but I've got a boyfriend."
Shit. Panic.
"Yeah of course, yeah, 'cause I think we're all going out tomorrow night. No, in fact Thursday... No... Saturday. We're all going out Saturday night and I was wondering if you wanted to come along. Yeah, going out with the guys. You and whoever else..." Accompanied by a very French shrug of the shoulders.
As crap as it sounds, I was actually trembling as I worked myself up to the original question. That's only the second time in four years I've asked a girl to go for a drink, and I honestly hate it. Why? I think there are several reasons:
- The fear of failure/ rejection
- The feeling that I'm better than that
- The dreaded small talk should she accept
All pretty standard stuff so I won't waste any time explaining...
Thursday, November 24, 2005
A Long December (well, it will be...)
Almost a month since I have written anything, and despite my last posting, I haven't turned into a drug-obsessed junkie sucking white-collar cock for my next hit... The coke incident hasn't been repeated, though I woudn't say I'm completely in the clear yet: I'm in a situation where it will almost certainly be offered to me the next time I'm out, and depending on my mental state I wouldn't rule out me accepting it. I don't want myself to, but I can't say for definite that I won't. If I think back to the other (two) occasions in my life when I've done coke, there has definitely been a common element: mix severe fatigue, drunkenness, heightened insecurity, add a few demons and persistent problems and there you go...
I've just found out in one of my (currently tri-weekly) draining, consolatory phone conversations with my mum that my dad is being put on [deleted name of medication] and will probably never work again, and my auntie has a brain tumour. It's a good job tonight's big night out has been cancelled due to work commitments (I'm still at the office - will this be another a.m. finish? Answers on a postcard - though I'd better give you my work address or else I'll never receive it). Fuck, a brain tumour. That's bad. I'm hardly bawling my eyes out at the prospect of me losing her - she's too far-removed from my life for that - but the feeling of empathy for my uncle (who, like my dad, has serious health problems) and their children who massively depend on her is gnawing away at me... As for the news about my dad, well, I guess it's been on the cards for a while now. I just hope my mum can cope - I'm already planning an extended trip back home over the Christmas period just to spend a bit of time with them. This is long overdue I guess - partly because of my work schedule, and partly because I honestly dread going home and have to psych myself up for each visit. Lately I just haven't had the physical or emotional energy to play the perfect son.
Anyway, I'm trying not to let any of these things affect me ("Really? Sweeping it under the carpet? Or are you just using all this as an excuse to do coke once in a while?").
A work colleague was just openly discussing his own family issues, and his rather deterministic conclusion was that there was no point worrying about those things over which you have no influence. Unfortunately though, I'm not a robot...
OK, OK, "Get a grip." I know, I know...
I've just found out in one of my (currently tri-weekly) draining, consolatory phone conversations with my mum that my dad is being put on [deleted name of medication] and will probably never work again, and my auntie has a brain tumour. It's a good job tonight's big night out has been cancelled due to work commitments (I'm still at the office - will this be another a.m. finish? Answers on a postcard - though I'd better give you my work address or else I'll never receive it). Fuck, a brain tumour. That's bad. I'm hardly bawling my eyes out at the prospect of me losing her - she's too far-removed from my life for that - but the feeling of empathy for my uncle (who, like my dad, has serious health problems) and their children who massively depend on her is gnawing away at me... As for the news about my dad, well, I guess it's been on the cards for a while now. I just hope my mum can cope - I'm already planning an extended trip back home over the Christmas period just to spend a bit of time with them. This is long overdue I guess - partly because of my work schedule, and partly because I honestly dread going home and have to psych myself up for each visit. Lately I just haven't had the physical or emotional energy to play the perfect son.
Anyway, I'm trying not to let any of these things affect me ("Really? Sweeping it under the carpet? Or are you just using all this as an excuse to do coke once in a while?").
A work colleague was just openly discussing his own family issues, and his rather deterministic conclusion was that there was no point worrying about those things over which you have no influence. Unfortunately though, I'm not a robot...
OK, OK, "Get a grip." I know, I know...
Monday, October 31, 2005
The Great Decay
Bristol... Glasgow... Oblivion... I think I took a wrong turn.
The dilemma: how to disappoint those closest to you. I fucked up.
Arrived in Bristol on Friday, did an afternoon's work and headed into town with my colleagues. None of us really knew the city so we ducked into the first place we could find. We had some bar snacks for dinner and started to hit the drink hard.
I don't quite know what happened next. Perhaps I don't want to know, but the reason this is such a big deal for me is that, to a greater or lesser extent, I have always been against the use of recreational drugs (even weed, even alcohol - the former I gave up a few years ago when I realised it wasn't doing me any good, the latter I would still like to give up). There seems to be a distinction in most people's moral code between those things in which they believe and upon which they act, and those in which they apparently believe but upon which they don't act: I always want to be edging closer to putting my beliefs into practice. This weekend, I think I edged away... In the mocking words of one of my colleagues, I "broke one of my own rules." Again.
Cocaine. My finger is twitching nervously on the self-destruct button while I'm getting ever-better at keeping up the act.
Your mind is racing ahead. One way or the other, I've already been judged. So be it.
"And what happened to all that appreciation you boasted, you self-righteous piece of shit?"
The dilemma: how to disappoint those closest to you. I fucked up.
Arrived in Bristol on Friday, did an afternoon's work and headed into town with my colleagues. None of us really knew the city so we ducked into the first place we could find. We had some bar snacks for dinner and started to hit the drink hard.
I don't quite know what happened next. Perhaps I don't want to know, but the reason this is such a big deal for me is that, to a greater or lesser extent, I have always been against the use of recreational drugs (even weed, even alcohol - the former I gave up a few years ago when I realised it wasn't doing me any good, the latter I would still like to give up). There seems to be a distinction in most people's moral code between those things in which they believe and upon which they act, and those in which they apparently believe but upon which they don't act: I always want to be edging closer to putting my beliefs into practice. This weekend, I think I edged away... In the mocking words of one of my colleagues, I "broke one of my own rules." Again.
Cocaine. My finger is twitching nervously on the self-destruct button while I'm getting ever-better at keeping up the act.
Your mind is racing ahead. One way or the other, I've already been judged. So be it.
"And what happened to all that appreciation you boasted, you self-righteous piece of shit?"
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Ruse
The road trip continues. Newcastle: cold, grey, uninspiring. No wonder Billy Elliot wanted to get out of here... Fuck, even I'd take up ballet.
A while ago at work, somebody asked me what I was thinking about. This was at a time when I was in a particularly ironic mode of thought, and disenchanted by my perception that nobody at the office quite got me, I answered "Oh, just, basically whether a teleological theory of ethics is necessarily incompatible with the tenets of the world's major monotheistic religions." Childish, pretentious, contrived... But funny. At least for me.
At face value, this is in fact an absurd question, which only serves to make me even more despicable. It's as if I'm saying "I'm just wondering whether two plus one necessarily makes three." But in a foreign language. I really can be an absolute arsehole from time to time.
I thought of this absurd question again this morning as I watched a BBC interview with Jack Straw and Condoleezza Rice. Obviously, the two were asked about Iraq, and they replied with the kind of sound bytes and carefully-phrased policy quotations we have all come to expect.
They talked about Bush and the common desire to give people the gifts of freedom and democracy... So many questions ran through my mind, very few of them original. When the Iraq War broke out I was decidedly neutral, hesitating to climb aboard any of the vociferous bandwagons and placing a great deal of hope in the Bramerican leaders having some benign reason to start a war, a reason none of the public would find out until X years later when the information (I wanted to use the word intelligence but my fingers actively refused) was de-classified. How naive I seem to have been.
My (alcohol-ridden, slightly confused) thought pattern this morning ended with the conclusion that Dubya is the sum of the inconsistency I was allegedly pondering that day in the office... It went something like this:
Is Bush really a religious man? If so, how can he justify the inevitable violence and death toll of the war and its seemingly never-ending hangover? Is this therefore a case of "you can't make an omlette without cracking a few eggs"? This ends-justify-the-means explanation - should he choose to offer it (perhaps he already has?) - would make Bush a teleologist. But what type of teleologist would he be? Surely not any kind of conventional utilitarian - can he really suggest that this war is, globally speaking, utility-enhancing, without pissing a pint of oil down the inside of his trousers? Can you enforce democracy? Who decides that a nation should convert from one political system (albeit a brutal dictatorship) to another? Who decides those of the world's powers which can have nuclear capability and those which can't? What the fuck is the U.N. there for?
As I have said - these thoughts are by no means original: I and many others have been posing these questions for months, if not years. But the answers to all of these questions still leave an awful taste in my mouth and I think I have lost all faith in our lacklustre interpretation of democracy. It seems that no matter which political system we try to introduce, human greed and self-interest infect and eventually monopolise it. What was it that Milan Kundera wrote about the fathers of Communism tearing their eyes out if they saw how it was implemented?
A while ago at work, somebody asked me what I was thinking about. This was at a time when I was in a particularly ironic mode of thought, and disenchanted by my perception that nobody at the office quite got me, I answered "Oh, just, basically whether a teleological theory of ethics is necessarily incompatible with the tenets of the world's major monotheistic religions." Childish, pretentious, contrived... But funny. At least for me.
At face value, this is in fact an absurd question, which only serves to make me even more despicable. It's as if I'm saying "I'm just wondering whether two plus one necessarily makes three." But in a foreign language. I really can be an absolute arsehole from time to time.
I thought of this absurd question again this morning as I watched a BBC interview with Jack Straw and Condoleezza Rice. Obviously, the two were asked about Iraq, and they replied with the kind of sound bytes and carefully-phrased policy quotations we have all come to expect.
They talked about Bush and the common desire to give people the gifts of freedom and democracy... So many questions ran through my mind, very few of them original. When the Iraq War broke out I was decidedly neutral, hesitating to climb aboard any of the vociferous bandwagons and placing a great deal of hope in the Bramerican leaders having some benign reason to start a war, a reason none of the public would find out until X years later when the information (I wanted to use the word intelligence but my fingers actively refused) was de-classified. How naive I seem to have been.
My (alcohol-ridden, slightly confused) thought pattern this morning ended with the conclusion that Dubya is the sum of the inconsistency I was allegedly pondering that day in the office... It went something like this:
Is Bush really a religious man? If so, how can he justify the inevitable violence and death toll of the war and its seemingly never-ending hangover? Is this therefore a case of "you can't make an omlette without cracking a few eggs"? This ends-justify-the-means explanation - should he choose to offer it (perhaps he already has?) - would make Bush a teleologist. But what type of teleologist would he be? Surely not any kind of conventional utilitarian - can he really suggest that this war is, globally speaking, utility-enhancing, without pissing a pint of oil down the inside of his trousers? Can you enforce democracy? Who decides that a nation should convert from one political system (albeit a brutal dictatorship) to another? Who decides those of the world's powers which can have nuclear capability and those which can't? What the fuck is the U.N. there for?
As I have said - these thoughts are by no means original: I and many others have been posing these questions for months, if not years. But the answers to all of these questions still leave an awful taste in my mouth and I think I have lost all faith in our lacklustre interpretation of democracy. It seems that no matter which political system we try to introduce, human greed and self-interest infect and eventually monopolise it. What was it that Milan Kundera wrote about the fathers of Communism tearing their eyes out if they saw how it was implemented?
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Never mind... [sic]
Can't really blog too much at the moment - I'm chained to the desk in our Manchester office. This is the big work slog which has threatened for months: apparently, I'll be working 7/7 until Christmas from now on - a different city every week. The work isn't exactly mentally taxing though and I'm with good people, all expenses paid. I can't complain.
Somebody just blasted Nirvana out from our primitive hi-fi in the office. For the first time in years, I didn't cringe. It's OK to listen to Nirvana again - I've been liberated!
Somebody just blasted Nirvana out from our primitive hi-fi in the office. For the first time in years, I didn't cringe. It's OK to listen to Nirvana again - I've been liberated!
Friday, October 07, 2005
The Recluse
So much to say so much to say so much to say
I'm not sure how popular Dave Matthews is in Britain...
I have spent most of the last couple of weeks in our regional offices up and down the country. Yet another contract extension, despite one of our office heads complaining to my boss about me turning up to work drunk and on the verge of a massive hangover. My reaction: go and see the boss immediately on my arrival back to London, confess and assure him that this type of unprofessional behaviour would not be repeated. It seems to have done the trick.
I had better be careful though - I have a habit of turning the bridge into a tightrope. Then again, I've never really been that comfortable with the easy ride. Tempted to make a pun here but it's far too obvious.
I think that, in a way, I came of age last night. It was a work piss up - in fact my boss' leaving party. I'll miss him. There's always been a perceptible air of discomfort between us, but he's a pretty admirable guy in many respects and he's shown a considerable amount of faith in me. He still doesn't know what to make of me though: I am reliably informed that he thinks I'm gay (by gay, I'm not sure whether his implication is merely derogatory, factual or both). It doesn't really bother me - I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to play up to this, and in any case I'm quite a demonstrative person by nature. I put this down to my ethnic/ cultural upbringing and my good fortune to have been born at a time when homosexuality was more acceptable - neither of which I have in common with him... Maybe he doesn't care and he's just bowing to what he perceives as his macho obligation to follow the flock. Then again, maybe I don't care what he thinks about my sexuality...
Anyway, nos moutons... It was sufficiently late for us all to be quite slaughtered on the boss' bar tab, and, feeling a little like Mark Renton in Trainspotting, lack of woman set in... Standing around, I noticed a very cute little girl heading my way. She was smiling at me - this doesn't exactly happen every time I go out (although perhaps slightly more often than I notice - I would say that I'm pretty bad at reading female signals/ body language). We hadn't yet had chance to introduce ourselves to each other, and she was dragged onto the dance floor by one of her friends...
Five minutes or so later, she headed back my way, still smiling, made sustained eye contact and was clearly intending to engage me in conversation when she was collared by a colleague of mine who (I presume) hadn't seen any of this. Long story short, she chatted to him for quite a while, they danced, they kissed, he took her number...
My coming of age was this: despite my intoxicated state, I managed to suppress/ ignore my childish, pride-ridden, jealous instincts and get on with the evening without even so much as a grumble to anyone. On reflection, this doesn't necessarily sound like a very impressive achievement, but the point is that I surprised myself because I acted contrary to my self-expectations.
My colleague told me today that he has no intention of calling her.
On a personal level, bitter inevitably follows sweet and I have recently been disturbed by the following thought: why is there not an orderly queue at my door? Bullshit and modesty aside, I'm 25, at worst above-average-looking (or so I'm told - thanks mum), intelligent, well-paid blah blah blah, and not only have I been single for most of my adult life (give or take a couple of years - I don't understand serial monogamy anyway), but this hasn't really been my choice, no matter how much my friends assure me I have "too high standards". What's going wrong here? Where's my queue? I honestly haven't been looking - so that's a cliché which simply doesn't apply to me...
The frustration and bewilderment of returning to my bed alone every fucking night and having nobody there with me... There's so much I want to do and to share, but so few candidates for what I risk believing - if only temporarily - is not as desirable or worthy a position as I would like to think... I'm turning the comments off on this one for fear of the inevitable sympathy postings - that would really piss me off.
And you even spoke to me, and said :
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight?
I know ...'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
The Smiths - I Know it's Over
I'm not sure how popular Dave Matthews is in Britain...
I have spent most of the last couple of weeks in our regional offices up and down the country. Yet another contract extension, despite one of our office heads complaining to my boss about me turning up to work drunk and on the verge of a massive hangover. My reaction: go and see the boss immediately on my arrival back to London, confess and assure him that this type of unprofessional behaviour would not be repeated. It seems to have done the trick.
I had better be careful though - I have a habit of turning the bridge into a tightrope. Then again, I've never really been that comfortable with the easy ride. Tempted to make a pun here but it's far too obvious.
I think that, in a way, I came of age last night. It was a work piss up - in fact my boss' leaving party. I'll miss him. There's always been a perceptible air of discomfort between us, but he's a pretty admirable guy in many respects and he's shown a considerable amount of faith in me. He still doesn't know what to make of me though: I am reliably informed that he thinks I'm gay (by gay, I'm not sure whether his implication is merely derogatory, factual or both). It doesn't really bother me - I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to play up to this, and in any case I'm quite a demonstrative person by nature. I put this down to my ethnic/ cultural upbringing and my good fortune to have been born at a time when homosexuality was more acceptable - neither of which I have in common with him... Maybe he doesn't care and he's just bowing to what he perceives as his macho obligation to follow the flock. Then again, maybe I don't care what he thinks about my sexuality...
Anyway, nos moutons... It was sufficiently late for us all to be quite slaughtered on the boss' bar tab, and, feeling a little like Mark Renton in Trainspotting, lack of woman set in... Standing around, I noticed a very cute little girl heading my way. She was smiling at me - this doesn't exactly happen every time I go out (although perhaps slightly more often than I notice - I would say that I'm pretty bad at reading female signals/ body language). We hadn't yet had chance to introduce ourselves to each other, and she was dragged onto the dance floor by one of her friends...
Five minutes or so later, she headed back my way, still smiling, made sustained eye contact and was clearly intending to engage me in conversation when she was collared by a colleague of mine who (I presume) hadn't seen any of this. Long story short, she chatted to him for quite a while, they danced, they kissed, he took her number...
My coming of age was this: despite my intoxicated state, I managed to suppress/ ignore my childish, pride-ridden, jealous instincts and get on with the evening without even so much as a grumble to anyone. On reflection, this doesn't necessarily sound like a very impressive achievement, but the point is that I surprised myself because I acted contrary to my self-expectations.
My colleague told me today that he has no intention of calling her.
On a personal level, bitter inevitably follows sweet and I have recently been disturbed by the following thought: why is there not an orderly queue at my door? Bullshit and modesty aside, I'm 25, at worst above-average-looking (or so I'm told - thanks mum), intelligent, well-paid blah blah blah, and not only have I been single for most of my adult life (give or take a couple of years - I don't understand serial monogamy anyway), but this hasn't really been my choice, no matter how much my friends assure me I have "too high standards". What's going wrong here? Where's my queue? I honestly haven't been looking - so that's a cliché which simply doesn't apply to me...
The frustration and bewilderment of returning to my bed alone every fucking night and having nobody there with me... There's so much I want to do and to share, but so few candidates for what I risk believing - if only temporarily - is not as desirable or worthy a position as I would like to think... I'm turning the comments off on this one for fear of the inevitable sympathy postings - that would really piss me off.
And you even spoke to me, and said :
"If you're so funny
Then why are you on your own tonight?
And if you're so clever
Then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very entertaining
Then why are you on your own tonight?
If you're so very good-looking
Why do you sleep alone tonight?
I know ...'Cause tonight is just like any other night
That's why you're on your own tonight
With your triumphs and your charms
While they're in each other's arms..."
The Smiths - I Know it's Over
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Plus ça Change...
Contrary to many of my countrymen (those with whom I could never identify in any case), I have quite a soft spot for France, and I have lived there for a total of around two years. I am currently reading Merde Actually by Stephen Clarke (the seemingly inferior sequel to A Year in the Merde by the same author). Yes, fiction(ish), I know - not really my thing.
The following passage caught my eye - I was actually living there during the summer in question (2003), and I remember this appearing on the news. I didn't quite make the Marie Antoinette connection at the time:
The first Wednesday in August would be [an ideal time to invade France]. By then, Paris's ruling classes would have left the city. This includes government ministers, who are ensconed in their holiday homes and have all forgotten what politics is. One summer recently, France had a killer heatwave that had old people dropping like flies - especially those who'd been left alone in Paris by families going away - and the few Parisian doctors and nurses who hadn't gone on holiday were begging the Minister of Health to declare an emergency. His reply was basically, well there's a nice breeze here at the seaside, what are you moaning about?
Over two hundred years after the French Revolution, 'Let them eat cake' lives on. Let them buy Evian facial sprays.
Merde Actually - Stephen Clarke
The following passage caught my eye - I was actually living there during the summer in question (2003), and I remember this appearing on the news. I didn't quite make the Marie Antoinette connection at the time:
The first Wednesday in August would be [an ideal time to invade France]. By then, Paris's ruling classes would have left the city. This includes government ministers, who are ensconed in their holiday homes and have all forgotten what politics is. One summer recently, France had a killer heatwave that had old people dropping like flies - especially those who'd been left alone in Paris by families going away - and the few Parisian doctors and nurses who hadn't gone on holiday were begging the Minister of Health to declare an emergency. His reply was basically, well there's a nice breeze here at the seaside, what are you moaning about?
Over two hundred years after the French Revolution, 'Let them eat cake' lives on. Let them buy Evian facial sprays.
Merde Actually - Stephen Clarke
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Zealot
The bad mood which threatened last week has largely passed me by - sometimes you just don't have time for self-indulgence... Birmingham was particularly hectic - I returned to London on Friday night and went straight to bed: no dinner, no television, no phone calls, no alarms and no surprises. A hopeless, foetal surrender to my jagged, back-breaking mattress and the melancholy underworld of my subconscious. CM, what did you do to that mattress by the way? Wait - don't answer that...
The weekend was mixed, the best part being the time I spent with a couple of friends I used to live with who had come to visit. Unfortunately, Saturday night was the second time in the last year that I got so drunk that I became the obnoxious, depraved adolescent I thought I had left behind at University. What a disappointment.
Anyway, there is a point: appreciation. Since what I have already referred to as the enlightenment of my young adulthood, my moments of appreciation have become increasingly frequent. Perhaps the breakthrough came a few years ago when I was driving alone from Montpellier (where I used to live) to the beach on a scorching summer's day, in a car that was given to me by my cousin. I remember the particular track I was listening to - Façade by Spylab - in which there is a sample of the following extract:
I asked God for strength that I might achieve;
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy;
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
[...]
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life;
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I was given nothing that I had asked for, but eveything that I had hoped for.
So despite myself my prayers were answered;
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.
Taken from The Blessing of Unanswered Prayers - Unknown Confederate Soldier
How can I follow this up? I have already deleted several paragraphs explaining why the words in this extract felt relevant to me at that particular time in my life. I even had a serious thought over whether I should mention that this used to make me cry whenever I heard it. There, I've said it. But did I say it because I want those people reading this to know that I cry; because there is some inexplicable kudos in a male's admission that he cries? Am I trying to impress you? I fucking hope not...
A few thoughts then:
Almost nothing is ever as good as you hope for or as bad as you fear
My dad taught me this, and it seems to be at least connected to what the text is saying: a logical consequence of realising that, despite your fears and wishes, you have not after all been subjected to those absolutes.
Maintain a perspective
Part 1: Appreciate what you have for what it really is
Ok, so there is plenty in my life about which I am not ecstatic, but for fuck's sake look at where I am and how I have been able to manipulate the chances I was fortunate enough to have been given into favourable outcomes. If this is about comparison, it's a comparison to how much worse things could have been. In basic Humean terms, I can easily construct a complex idea consisting of so many of the less favourable situations I see every day on the news, in the street, all around me. Fuck, it wouldn't even have to be a complex idea - there are very few people with whom I would even consider trading places. I feel infinitely grateful that I am me.
Part 2: Those you perceive as less fortunate deserve equal respect
Another gem from dad - he has certainly taught me some important lessons, some intentionally, others not. I am at this point compelled to at least summarise the comlpex relationship I feel I have with my father and my feelings towards him. This isn't the time. Anyway, this piece of wisdom was passed down from my grandfather, and was told to me as a very brief anecdote during my formative years. The story goes that long ago when my father was a child, he and my grandfather were out walking one day and came across a street cleaner who was hard at work. My grandfather took my father aside and said to him sternly, "Look. Always remember that he might not be able to do my job, but I can't do his either." Ok, so it's not exactly watertight, but in the context of my grandfather's personality and what he stood for, his words were without doubt shorthand for the following sentiment: This man is as much an integral part of society in his job as I am in mine. Each of us has skills and training: mine make me a good shopkeeper, his make him a good street cleaner. We both deserve equal respect for that. Plato would have been proud - and when I understood the message, so was I.
As there are always clauses and conditions, the proviso for these thoughts is that they are mere ideals. If these ideas penetrated my every action I'd be a much better person. They don't, and as things stand I'm still going to hell. My original point though was that I am thinking about these things more often than ever: when I am served in a shop, restaurant or pub, when I'm working late and I see the cleaners... This isn't pity or guilt, it's part of my attempt to grasp the concept that the world is full of people (and other sentient beings, which I intend to pursue another time) each with their own first-person perspective and all that that entails.
Depending on how you read this, it is either intensely humbling or mind-numbingly obvious.
The weekend was mixed, the best part being the time I spent with a couple of friends I used to live with who had come to visit. Unfortunately, Saturday night was the second time in the last year that I got so drunk that I became the obnoxious, depraved adolescent I thought I had left behind at University. What a disappointment.
Anyway, there is a point: appreciation. Since what I have already referred to as the enlightenment of my young adulthood, my moments of appreciation have become increasingly frequent. Perhaps the breakthrough came a few years ago when I was driving alone from Montpellier (where I used to live) to the beach on a scorching summer's day, in a car that was given to me by my cousin. I remember the particular track I was listening to - Façade by Spylab - in which there is a sample of the following extract:
I asked God for strength that I might achieve;
I was made weak that I might learn humbly to obey.
I asked for health that I might do greater things;
I was given infirmity that I might do better things.
I asked for riches that I might be happy;
I was given poverty that I might be wise.
[...]
I asked for all things that I might enjoy life;
I was given life that I might enjoy all things.
I was given nothing that I had asked for, but eveything that I had hoped for.
So despite myself my prayers were answered;
I am, among all men, most richly blessed.
Taken from The Blessing of Unanswered Prayers - Unknown Confederate Soldier
How can I follow this up? I have already deleted several paragraphs explaining why the words in this extract felt relevant to me at that particular time in my life. I even had a serious thought over whether I should mention that this used to make me cry whenever I heard it. There, I've said it. But did I say it because I want those people reading this to know that I cry; because there is some inexplicable kudos in a male's admission that he cries? Am I trying to impress you? I fucking hope not...
A few thoughts then:
Almost nothing is ever as good as you hope for or as bad as you fear
My dad taught me this, and it seems to be at least connected to what the text is saying: a logical consequence of realising that, despite your fears and wishes, you have not after all been subjected to those absolutes.
Maintain a perspective
Part 1: Appreciate what you have for what it really is
Ok, so there is plenty in my life about which I am not ecstatic, but for fuck's sake look at where I am and how I have been able to manipulate the chances I was fortunate enough to have been given into favourable outcomes. If this is about comparison, it's a comparison to how much worse things could have been. In basic Humean terms, I can easily construct a complex idea consisting of so many of the less favourable situations I see every day on the news, in the street, all around me. Fuck, it wouldn't even have to be a complex idea - there are very few people with whom I would even consider trading places. I feel infinitely grateful that I am me.
Part 2: Those you perceive as less fortunate deserve equal respect
Another gem from dad - he has certainly taught me some important lessons, some intentionally, others not. I am at this point compelled to at least summarise the comlpex relationship I feel I have with my father and my feelings towards him. This isn't the time. Anyway, this piece of wisdom was passed down from my grandfather, and was told to me as a very brief anecdote during my formative years. The story goes that long ago when my father was a child, he and my grandfather were out walking one day and came across a street cleaner who was hard at work. My grandfather took my father aside and said to him sternly, "Look. Always remember that he might not be able to do my job, but I can't do his either." Ok, so it's not exactly watertight, but in the context of my grandfather's personality and what he stood for, his words were without doubt shorthand for the following sentiment: This man is as much an integral part of society in his job as I am in mine. Each of us has skills and training: mine make me a good shopkeeper, his make him a good street cleaner. We both deserve equal respect for that. Plato would have been proud - and when I understood the message, so was I.
As there are always clauses and conditions, the proviso for these thoughts is that they are mere ideals. If these ideas penetrated my every action I'd be a much better person. They don't, and as things stand I'm still going to hell. My original point though was that I am thinking about these things more often than ever: when I am served in a shop, restaurant or pub, when I'm working late and I see the cleaners... This isn't pity or guilt, it's part of my attempt to grasp the concept that the world is full of people (and other sentient beings, which I intend to pursue another time) each with their own first-person perspective and all that that entails.
Depending on how you read this, it is either intensely humbling or mind-numbingly obvious.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
In Praise of Bertrand Russell
I'm heading back to our Birmingham office tomorrow morning, after a mildly pleasant weekend in London. I can feel a bad mood coming on though, and I haven't yet worked out why. The last couple of months have been pretty damn good all in all:
- Work extended my contract until the end of November and gave me a little responsibility (which is why they're sending me alone to Birmingham this week). That means that - as long as I don't get sacked or the project doesn't get pulled, both of which could happen at any time given the ruthlessness of the industry and the fluidity of this project - I ought to be able to save enough to tide me over for an extended holiday/ unemployment period.
- After months of fruitless shopping ventures, I finally splashed out on new clothes and gave my old ones (some of which were over five years old) to charity. The catalyst for this was the chance acquisition of a book on ethical buying, which gave me a good excuse to reprioritise my hangups about the fashion industry, labels and clothes as a means of self-advertisement.
- I deliberately left this until third, but we all know it ought to be right up there at number one: women. I've hardly been the heart-breaker my family think I am, but it's amazing what attention from the opposite sex can do for a guy's mood (or the same sex, whatever waters your flowers). I basically had a fairly lengthy (for me) period in which I got involved/ had various encounters with a number of people, none of whom I considered as even possible candidates for the seemingly unattainable "A One" status (as opposed to The One, which I don't believe in), but who served a purpose and with whom I was (almost) entirely honest. I say almost because, in the full knowledge that I never wanted anything serious from them, and being careful for the most part not to play an active role in them thinking otherwise, I used the contrived, transparent "Let's just go back to yours. I won't have sex with you, but... [there's plenty of other fun things we can do]" line in order to try and have sex with them - the old foot in the door now-I'm-in-your-bed-and-I-can't-resist-you strategy. It didn't work (I think it stopped working around the age of 22), but I did end up having a surreptitious shag, in the parlance of our times, with a girl who required neither proposal nor pretense. She did however, rather comically, deem it necessary to neck what looked like a large whisky on arrival at her place. I'm still a little puzzled, but then she almost certainly had a funny taste in her mouth by that point as we'd found a little space of our own prior to going back - I apologise for the crude level of detail here, but sometimes I find it difficult to resist making inappropriate jokes. I wish I could remember what I did in fact say to her - all I can recall is her admiration for my seemingly abundant self-confidence. Alcohol: it gets you there, but nobody knows how. In my puzzlement at the whisky episode, I've entertained the thought that she didn't really want to have sex with me - given my sometimes unfortunate cognitive disposition, I've almost been convinced - but then a rational look at the entire situation seems to suggest that maybe she was just a little nervous: she said she didn't usually do this sort of thing (and, not without a sense of irony, I agreed), it was her who suggested doing anything more than just kissing, it was her who suggested I accompany her back to her place etc. Poor thing, and there's me, playing alpha male for the night... Maybe she had an alcohol problem? Maybe I just shouldn't question these things - we got back, she fancied a quick whisky, we screwed, I left. End of story.
- I've moved flats. As I said before, I'm now living in CM's old room. I didn't dislike where I was living before by any means, especially as I was right on the doorstep of three of my childhood friends, but now I'm in a bigger room and in a better location.
- My dad seems to be getting better. He suffers from bipolar disorder and his latest bout of ill health has been going on since April 2004. I doubt whether I'll pursue this theme on the blog though, I'll have to see...
Anyway, I guess things are calming down a little now and perhaps that's why I might be feeling the onset of a bad mood. It won't last. What I did want to say though was that while I'm in Birmingham this week I very much doubt I'll have time to blog, so I wanted to leave a link to an essay by Bertrand Russell - in my opinion one of the most important philosophers of the 20th century - called In Praise of Idleness. Read it if you have time - if you like it, I would recommend the eponymously titled book.
- Work extended my contract until the end of November and gave me a little responsibility (which is why they're sending me alone to Birmingham this week). That means that - as long as I don't get sacked or the project doesn't get pulled, both of which could happen at any time given the ruthlessness of the industry and the fluidity of this project - I ought to be able to save enough to tide me over for an extended holiday/ unemployment period.
- After months of fruitless shopping ventures, I finally splashed out on new clothes and gave my old ones (some of which were over five years old) to charity. The catalyst for this was the chance acquisition of a book on ethical buying, which gave me a good excuse to reprioritise my hangups about the fashion industry, labels and clothes as a means of self-advertisement.
- I deliberately left this until third, but we all know it ought to be right up there at number one: women. I've hardly been the heart-breaker my family think I am, but it's amazing what attention from the opposite sex can do for a guy's mood (or the same sex, whatever waters your flowers). I basically had a fairly lengthy (for me) period in which I got involved/ had various encounters with a number of people, none of whom I considered as even possible candidates for the seemingly unattainable "A One" status (as opposed to The One, which I don't believe in), but who served a purpose and with whom I was (almost) entirely honest. I say almost because, in the full knowledge that I never wanted anything serious from them, and being careful for the most part not to play an active role in them thinking otherwise, I used the contrived, transparent "Let's just go back to yours. I won't have sex with you, but... [there's plenty of other fun things we can do]" line in order to try and have sex with them - the old foot in the door now-I'm-in-your-bed-and-I-can't-resist-you strategy. It didn't work (I think it stopped working around the age of 22), but I did end up having a surreptitious shag, in the parlance of our times, with a girl who required neither proposal nor pretense. She did however, rather comically, deem it necessary to neck what looked like a large whisky on arrival at her place. I'm still a little puzzled, but then she almost certainly had a funny taste in her mouth by that point as we'd found a little space of our own prior to going back - I apologise for the crude level of detail here, but sometimes I find it difficult to resist making inappropriate jokes. I wish I could remember what I did in fact say to her - all I can recall is her admiration for my seemingly abundant self-confidence. Alcohol: it gets you there, but nobody knows how. In my puzzlement at the whisky episode, I've entertained the thought that she didn't really want to have sex with me - given my sometimes unfortunate cognitive disposition, I've almost been convinced - but then a rational look at the entire situation seems to suggest that maybe she was just a little nervous: she said she didn't usually do this sort of thing (and, not without a sense of irony, I agreed), it was her who suggested doing anything more than just kissing, it was her who suggested I accompany her back to her place etc. Poor thing, and there's me, playing alpha male for the night... Maybe she had an alcohol problem? Maybe I just shouldn't question these things - we got back, she fancied a quick whisky, we screwed, I left. End of story.
- I've moved flats. As I said before, I'm now living in CM's old room. I didn't dislike where I was living before by any means, especially as I was right on the doorstep of three of my childhood friends, but now I'm in a bigger room and in a better location.
- My dad seems to be getting better. He suffers from bipolar disorder and his latest bout of ill health has been going on since April 2004. I doubt whether I'll pursue this theme on the blog though, I'll have to see...
Anyway, I guess things are calming down a little now and perhaps that's why I might be feeling the onset of a bad mood. It won't last. What I did want to say though was that while I'm in Birmingham this week I very much doubt I'll have time to blog, so I wanted to leave a link to an essay by Bertrand Russell - in my opinion one of the most important philosophers of the 20th century - called In Praise of Idleness. Read it if you have time - if you like it, I would recommend the eponymously titled book.
Remember, You're an Individual (Just Like Everyone Else)
You might have guessed that I've put some thought into the concept of blogging. One question which particularly interested me was this: what makes me so fucking special that I deserve to occupy your time with my thoughts, anecdotes etc.? This is far more applicable to those people who don't know me, but not entirely irrelevant to those who do.
The answer to this question is obvious and I'm not about to give myself a hard time for writing a blog, but the question was borne out of the observation that there are far too many people out there who speak and act as if it would be positively rude not to bestow upon them the same kind of priority they baselessly award themselves. This is what one would refer to as an over-inflated sense of self-importance. Look for it and you'll find it everywhere: seas of dim-witted nobodies without the slightest notion of humility or perspective. In objective terms, I too am a nobody, but my realisation of this will, in part, form a basis for the way in which I interact with other people (you might imagine me at this point caressing myself in an orgy of pharisaism - I'm not. This doesn't necessarily equate to me saying I'm better than these people, though it does bring up an interesting discussion about the best possible Ben, what constitutes a good person and the concept of comparing people in terms of good, better and best, but that will have to wait. Perhaps years...).
Solipsism ['sO-l&p-"si-z&m, 'sä-] n.
Etymology: Latin solus alone + ipse self
1. The theory that the self is the only thing that can be known and verified.
2. The theory or view that the self is the only reality.
The answer to this question is obvious and I'm not about to give myself a hard time for writing a blog, but the question was borne out of the observation that there are far too many people out there who speak and act as if it would be positively rude not to bestow upon them the same kind of priority they baselessly award themselves. This is what one would refer to as an over-inflated sense of self-importance. Look for it and you'll find it everywhere: seas of dim-witted nobodies without the slightest notion of humility or perspective. In objective terms, I too am a nobody, but my realisation of this will, in part, form a basis for the way in which I interact with other people (you might imagine me at this point caressing myself in an orgy of pharisaism - I'm not. This doesn't necessarily equate to me saying I'm better than these people, though it does bring up an interesting discussion about the best possible Ben, what constitutes a good person and the concept of comparing people in terms of good, better and best, but that will have to wait. Perhaps years...).
Solipsism ['sO-l&p-"si-z&m, 'sä-] n.
Etymology: Latin solus alone + ipse self
1. The theory that the self is the only thing that can be known and verified.
2. The theory or view that the self is the only reality.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Et Enfin...
Well well well... After months of procrastination and reading the blogs of a couple of friends, I have finally broken the mental barrier, clicked through a few web pages (far less complicated/ time-consuming than I imagined it would be), and here it is: my paltry offering, my primitive psychotherapy, my techno-diary... Thoughts, feelings and stories articulated - sometimes, I imagine, with a sense of self-congratulation (that my powers of articulation have not yet deserted me, despite the apparent intellectual void in my life since I left University), sometimes relief, sometimes dissatisfaction at a lack of any perceptible resolution - then thrown out on to a pavement in some remote part of cyber space to be judged by a priviliged few, most of whom will know me anyway (and to whom the URL will be given with the safety net of a full expectation that they also know me well enough to understand my sense of humour, background, inconsistencies etc.), the rest of whom can judge as harshly as they wish...
Before I begin though, I'd like to clarify a couple of things about this blog and how I intend to use it:
Milkybar Monkey
The title of the blog is a homage to Señor Chocolate Monkey, who partly inspired this blog. Alas, he has left our fair city for Brussels and I am now living in his old room. There is also another Chocolate Monkey blog [for which the link is now dead] by a young lady in Michigan. CM told me about this blog while I was visiting him in Frankfurt and I was playfully dismissive, but having read the blog I am inclined to agree that she sounds pretty cool (whatever that means... although her AIM chat with her ex boyfriend's ex was pretty fucked up). Furthermore, like the other two, I was also born in 1980, the year of the monkey. Why Milkybar? Partly out of alliteration, partly as a reference to CM.
My Identity
A tough one... I have decided to call myself Ben on this blog, mostly due to the fact that it is my name, but also because I can't be arsed with unnecessary secrecy. This isn't a jibe at CM (I've discussed it with him) or anyone else for that matter, that's just what I've decided. The initial dilemma was this: what if, for whatever reason, someone I know accidentally stumbles across this and reads something they shouldn't? Solution: don't use my real name. BUT, this doesn't really solve anything - a name is an obvious identifier, but anyone who knows me will eventually be able to work out who I am based on what I write about. I say: fuck 'em, I refuse to be censored... It's only a what if, so I'll deal with any consequences as and when they arise.
Long Sentences
There will be long sentences: if you can't follow them, that's something I can live with. I remember being warned as a teenager about using long sentences. I also remember being told to never end a sentence with a preposition, which I just did. This actually backfired in a recent job interview, because I ended up correcting myself, blushing and looking like a bit of a pompous prick. Anyway, I'm boring myself here. I had a point to make about the inevitable element of arrogance that comes with a privileged education, but I've almost lost the motivation to move my fingers...
Rambling
Again this is something I'm prone to, when given the chance. I guess another reason for me writing this blog is that I sometimes feel that I don't get the chance to talk about me enough. My family and many of my friends will insist on taking up great chunks of time telling me about "what happened at work today", "what I've bought and why I bought it" and other mundane aspects of their life, albeit nicely-dressed in superlatives and exaggeration - I generally sit there as a passive bullshit sponge, and when they remember to ask about me I like to think that I'm considerate enough not to bore them to the brink of daytime television: I briefly summarise and shrug my shoulders. Anyway, I wouldn't feel comfortable discussing what's on my mind with some of them - you have different types of friendships with people: some friends are good for making you laugh, others make good drinking partners, while only a few are good to talk to... A related point here is that I don't have a significant other in my life with whom I can share my agonies and ecstasies. I haven't had that simple pleasure of a steady girlfriend for over two years now - flings are ok, but a bit like I used to find the food at McDonald's (I don't eat there as a general rule since the recent enlightenment of my young adulthood): a passable treat which essentially doesn't satisfy. I think they call this loneliness. More to follow about my pitiful sexual strategies (the mere fact of me consciously having them is so contrived it sickens me), successes and failures, but I think that that will be all for now. I have to go - I've just got back from a couple of days at our Birmingham office (where I wrote most of this), it's now Friday night and I've got dinner and drinks vaguely planned.
Before I begin though, I'd like to clarify a couple of things about this blog and how I intend to use it:
Milkybar Monkey
The title of the blog is a homage to Señor Chocolate Monkey, who partly inspired this blog. Alas, he has left our fair city for Brussels and I am now living in his old room. There is also another Chocolate Monkey blog [for which the link is now dead] by a young lady in Michigan. CM told me about this blog while I was visiting him in Frankfurt and I was playfully dismissive, but having read the blog I am inclined to agree that she sounds pretty cool (whatever that means... although her AIM chat with her ex boyfriend's ex was pretty fucked up). Furthermore, like the other two, I was also born in 1980, the year of the monkey. Why Milkybar? Partly out of alliteration, partly as a reference to CM.
My Identity
A tough one... I have decided to call myself Ben on this blog, mostly due to the fact that it is my name, but also because I can't be arsed with unnecessary secrecy. This isn't a jibe at CM (I've discussed it with him) or anyone else for that matter, that's just what I've decided. The initial dilemma was this: what if, for whatever reason, someone I know accidentally stumbles across this and reads something they shouldn't? Solution: don't use my real name. BUT, this doesn't really solve anything - a name is an obvious identifier, but anyone who knows me will eventually be able to work out who I am based on what I write about. I say: fuck 'em, I refuse to be censored... It's only a what if, so I'll deal with any consequences as and when they arise.
Long Sentences
There will be long sentences: if you can't follow them, that's something I can live with. I remember being warned as a teenager about using long sentences. I also remember being told to never end a sentence with a preposition, which I just did. This actually backfired in a recent job interview, because I ended up correcting myself, blushing and looking like a bit of a pompous prick. Anyway, I'm boring myself here. I had a point to make about the inevitable element of arrogance that comes with a privileged education, but I've almost lost the motivation to move my fingers...
Rambling
Again this is something I'm prone to, when given the chance. I guess another reason for me writing this blog is that I sometimes feel that I don't get the chance to talk about me enough. My family and many of my friends will insist on taking up great chunks of time telling me about "what happened at work today", "what I've bought and why I bought it" and other mundane aspects of their life, albeit nicely-dressed in superlatives and exaggeration - I generally sit there as a passive bullshit sponge, and when they remember to ask about me I like to think that I'm considerate enough not to bore them to the brink of daytime television: I briefly summarise and shrug my shoulders. Anyway, I wouldn't feel comfortable discussing what's on my mind with some of them - you have different types of friendships with people: some friends are good for making you laugh, others make good drinking partners, while only a few are good to talk to... A related point here is that I don't have a significant other in my life with whom I can share my agonies and ecstasies. I haven't had that simple pleasure of a steady girlfriend for over two years now - flings are ok, but a bit like I used to find the food at McDonald's (I don't eat there as a general rule since the recent enlightenment of my young adulthood): a passable treat which essentially doesn't satisfy. I think they call this loneliness. More to follow about my pitiful sexual strategies (the mere fact of me consciously having them is so contrived it sickens me), successes and failures, but I think that that will be all for now. I have to go - I've just got back from a couple of days at our Birmingham office (where I wrote most of this), it's now Friday night and I've got dinner and drinks vaguely planned.