"Breathe Me"
Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today
And the worst part is there's no one else to blame
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Ouch I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Be my friend
Hold me, wrap me up
Unfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up
And breathe me
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Breathe Me
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Wish You Were Here
Wish you were here refers to Syd Barrett, an original member of Pink Floyd, who's extremely exessive drug use caused him to leave the band and be replaced by David Gilmour. Barrett was considered the creative one behind early Floyd. "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" is also a tribute to him, and the Wall is often refered to by some as his biography.Friends, lovers, even family members, feature in our lives in supporting roles - some permanent, some as cameo appearances. We flit between people who are our everything one moment, and a memory the next.
It's a testimony to how inconstant we are as a species that our hearts don't remain in one place permanently. External influences, circumstance and even our own thoughts work against our relationships like a force of nature that is completely beyond our control. It is such a dichotomy that most of us desire the safety and security of a lasting love or friendship but we are often unable to maintain either.
Consequently we are left with a collection of memories that often lose their potency with time. Perhaps this loss is some kind of evolutionary defense mechanism that works in the interest of self-preservation.
We coexist but our lives cannot run parallel to each other. Every individual has their own set of day-to-day challenges, emotional battles and demons to overcome. If we're lucky, two paths converge but invariably we split at a crossroads and are left to head in new directions independently; and as we navigate the highways and byways that life puts beneath us, old roads become less visible in our rear view mirrors.
We can never turn back. All we have is to ride on and cross paths with new friends along the way. So with that, I say farewell to the people who have helped me make my memories as they stand today. I wish them all well and perhaps one day our paths might come together again and we can say hello.
I also greet the new road with hope and optimism. A new journey with new passengers on board awaits and I won't be making any pit stops. I'll soldier on and try to avoid the potholes and day by day, I hope, I get closer and closer to the place I am meant to be.
Bon Voyage.
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue sky's from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
And how we found
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Hurt
To see if I'd still feel.
I focus on the pain,
The only thing that's real.
The needle tears a hole,
The old familiar sting;
Try to kill it all away,
But I remember everything.
What have I become,
My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know,
Goes away in the end.
You could have it all,
My empire of dirt.
I will let you down,
I will make you hurt...
I wear this crown of shit,
Upon my liar's chair,
Full of broken thoughts,
I cannot repair.
Beneath the stains of time,
The feelings disappear.
You are someone else,
I am still right here.
What have I become,
My sweetest friend?
Everyone I know,
Goes away in the end.
And you could have it all,
My empire of dirt,
I will let you down,
I will make you hurt.
If I could start again,
A million miles away,
I would keep myself,
I would find a way.
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Fade into You
Mazzy Star's "Fade into You" is today's blogging point.
According to "Musicbanter.com":
"The song has different meanings to different people. For most, it's a reminder of an era of alternative music that defined a generation post Seattle-grunge. Memories of teenage make out sessions, slow dances, and romantic courting. Some people take the lyrics as words coming from a shy wallflower type that is finally confessing their feelings to the object of his or her affection.
The lyrics are most widely interpreted as a bittersweet story of falling in love with someone that is slightly damaged and incapable of living up to expectations. Hope Sandoval hauntingly sings of trying to connect with her partner on both an emotional and physical level; until, she begins to realize that this person can't give back. They aren't quite positioned where they need to be in life. You can hear the disappointment and heartbreak in the way she sings her lyrics."
According to "Musicbanter.com":
"The song has different meanings to different people. For most, it's a reminder of an era of alternative music that defined a generation post Seattle-grunge. Memories of teenage make out sessions, slow dances, and romantic courting. Some people take the lyrics as words coming from a shy wallflower type that is finally confessing their feelings to the object of his or her affection.
The lyrics are most widely interpreted as a bittersweet story of falling in love with someone that is slightly damaged and incapable of living up to expectations. Hope Sandoval hauntingly sings of trying to connect with her partner on both an emotional and physical level; until, she begins to realize that this person can't give back. They aren't quite positioned where they need to be in life. You can hear the disappointment and heartbreak in the way she sings her lyrics."
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
One Bad Day
"All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day. You had a bad day once, am I right? I know I am. I can tell. You had a bad day and everything changed. Why else would you dress up as a flying rat? You had a bad day, and it drove you as crazy as everybody else... Only you won't admit it! You have to keep pretending that life makes sense, that there's some point to all this struggling." — the Joker (Batman: the Killing Joke by Alan Moore and Brian Bolland)
Monday, July 29, 2013
Someone who says "bless you"...
Cameron Crowe's 1992 movie "Singles" came out at a very formative time for me. It was the height of the grunge era and the movie initially appealed to me because several of my rock idols appeared in it. The cast list included the likes of rock gods of the time like Chris Cornell (Soundgarden), Eddie Vedder and his bandmates (Pearl jam) and Layne Staley (Along with the rest of Alice in Chains).
For an angry kid like me who was obsessed with grunge culture, the backdrop of the 90s Seattle rock scene was more than enough to get me into the theatre (or rather, drive-in) that night in early 1993. The movie, however, turned out to be much more than just a homage to grunge. The Seattle scene was simply the place that gave it context. It was a film about normal people trying clumsily to navigate their way through relationships, being hurt, getting up again and trying not to be vulnerable. The characters stuck with me, though I would only completely understand who they really were years later, after being a grown up for a while myself.
I digress for a moment, though, because in order to explain why this particular movie was a huge part of the media that shaped my odd little outlook, some context may be required.
It was 1993 and I was in my second last year of high school. The streets of the Johannesburg suburbs were a different place then. We were able to walk them at night with no fear of mugging, hijacking or any of the other boogeymen that lurk today. My group of friends who attended my school and others in the area all lived within a few kilometres of each other in Johannesburg's West Rand. Our lack of available vehicles and licensed drivers limited our options somewhat as to where we could hang out. One of the most regular hangouts as a result of these limitations was the now deceased Hillfox drive-in.
We would all climb under the same opening in the fence - somehow everybody knew where it was. We didn't have to pay entry fees this way. Someone would always bring along a bottle of something pilfered from a parent's bar cupboard and, in some cases, certain other homegrown substances. We would all line up against the wall of the projection room, where we were at a good vantage point to see and hear whatever movie was showing at the time. We were always safe in our numbers and we would generally see the same familiar faces every time we visited Hillfox.
It's one of those times I remember with great fondness and a fair amount of melancholy. Some of those who were with us in the glory days of the Hillfox drive-in are no longer around (Rest in peace, Dion and Brendan). Others have gone through various predictable changes and moved out of my life for less painful reasons. Still, there is a timeless snapshot in my mind of those nights and the good friends I shared them with. Perhaps that's part of the reason that the movie that is the subject of this blog is also a bit of a soft spot for me.
So, background explained, now onto the meat and potatoes bit. Singles stars Bridget Fonda, Matt Dillon, Kyra Sedgwick and Campbell Scott as a group of 20 somethings living in an apartment block in Seattle. Here's the Wiki page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singles_%281992_film%29
Janet Livermore (Bridget Fonda) is in a difficult relationship with grunge rocker, Cliff Poncier (Matt Dillon), who doesn't give her the attention she deserves. Janet is taken for granted in so many ways that she begins to question her own value. At one point, she asks Cliff if he thinks her breasts are too small, for example, to which he replies, "sometimes". This leads her to contemplate breast enhancement surgery, which brings us to the scene in the doctor's office here with her friend Steve (Cameron Scott):
It's a very short scene but a very important one; for me it forms a centrepoint to the entire movie. It culminates in a happy ending for Janet in the final scene of the film but more about that later. The point is, Janet started young and bright-eyed with a list of things that she thought her perfect partner would do for her. As time passes, that list shrinks until only one small requirement remains - someone who'll say "bless you" when she sneezes.
Many of us begin with a list of things we think our perfect partner will personify. As we are bounced around by circumstances and taught those annoying "hard lessons" that life has to teach us, that list all but disappears. The picture we have in our minds of the person we think could make us happy becomes a little more blurry, like an out of focus photograph where facial features can't really be made out.
One would think that as we learn more, we might become even more specific about what we want but the truth is, our vision only deteriorates. There's a lesson that Janet teaches us. A cynic might say that all her philosophy says is that we shouldn't allow ourselves to get our expectations too high; that life will disappoint us and we need to prepare for the worst case scenario. I think there's something else in there, though. What Janet teaches us is simply to be open to more possibilities. We can't predict who the person we will love will be. We have no real template upon which to base this mythical creature we all desire (and the lucky ones eventually get). Janet has not lowered her expectations so much as leveled the playing field. There is no formula for loving someone. Somewhere along the way our brain stops working and the chemical reaction kicks in. We can rarely pinpoint the exact moment that we fall in love. Janet is one of the lucky few and we get to vicariously witness that moment in her life in the final scene of the movie here:
Janet gets what she wants and it completely takes her by surprise. Singles, after all, is a romantic comedy. It's a genre I generally stay away from but this exception in my DVD library, I think is a very positive one. It's not your usual "boy meets girl" crap. It's a subtle examination of what makes us human. Janet has been hurt like so many of us have, but rather than become a cynic, she simply changes her outlook. Surprise surprise, the new mindset works for her and we see her happy ending come to life in my favourite scene (and the perfect ending to the film).
So, having been through the motions myself, I'd say I'm going to file that "perfect partner" list away somewhere for now and take my time. Perhaps my patience will pay off. Hope is far nicer to hold onto than resentment and disillusionment. It's something we all need in order not to become horrible people.
I'll end with some more wisdom from Janet and one of the best songs from the movie (did I mention that the soundtrack was amazing?)
For an angry kid like me who was obsessed with grunge culture, the backdrop of the 90s Seattle rock scene was more than enough to get me into the theatre (or rather, drive-in) that night in early 1993. The movie, however, turned out to be much more than just a homage to grunge. The Seattle scene was simply the place that gave it context. It was a film about normal people trying clumsily to navigate their way through relationships, being hurt, getting up again and trying not to be vulnerable. The characters stuck with me, though I would only completely understand who they really were years later, after being a grown up for a while myself.
I digress for a moment, though, because in order to explain why this particular movie was a huge part of the media that shaped my odd little outlook, some context may be required.
It was 1993 and I was in my second last year of high school. The streets of the Johannesburg suburbs were a different place then. We were able to walk them at night with no fear of mugging, hijacking or any of the other boogeymen that lurk today. My group of friends who attended my school and others in the area all lived within a few kilometres of each other in Johannesburg's West Rand. Our lack of available vehicles and licensed drivers limited our options somewhat as to where we could hang out. One of the most regular hangouts as a result of these limitations was the now deceased Hillfox drive-in.
We would all climb under the same opening in the fence - somehow everybody knew where it was. We didn't have to pay entry fees this way. Someone would always bring along a bottle of something pilfered from a parent's bar cupboard and, in some cases, certain other homegrown substances. We would all line up against the wall of the projection room, where we were at a good vantage point to see and hear whatever movie was showing at the time. We were always safe in our numbers and we would generally see the same familiar faces every time we visited Hillfox.
It's one of those times I remember with great fondness and a fair amount of melancholy. Some of those who were with us in the glory days of the Hillfox drive-in are no longer around (Rest in peace, Dion and Brendan). Others have gone through various predictable changes and moved out of my life for less painful reasons. Still, there is a timeless snapshot in my mind of those nights and the good friends I shared them with. Perhaps that's part of the reason that the movie that is the subject of this blog is also a bit of a soft spot for me.
So, background explained, now onto the meat and potatoes bit. Singles stars Bridget Fonda, Matt Dillon, Kyra Sedgwick and Campbell Scott as a group of 20 somethings living in an apartment block in Seattle. Here's the Wiki page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singles_%281992_film%29
Janet Livermore (Bridget Fonda) is in a difficult relationship with grunge rocker, Cliff Poncier (Matt Dillon), who doesn't give her the attention she deserves. Janet is taken for granted in so many ways that she begins to question her own value. At one point, she asks Cliff if he thinks her breasts are too small, for example, to which he replies, "sometimes". This leads her to contemplate breast enhancement surgery, which brings us to the scene in the doctor's office here with her friend Steve (Cameron Scott):
It's a very short scene but a very important one; for me it forms a centrepoint to the entire movie. It culminates in a happy ending for Janet in the final scene of the film but more about that later. The point is, Janet started young and bright-eyed with a list of things that she thought her perfect partner would do for her. As time passes, that list shrinks until only one small requirement remains - someone who'll say "bless you" when she sneezes.
Many of us begin with a list of things we think our perfect partner will personify. As we are bounced around by circumstances and taught those annoying "hard lessons" that life has to teach us, that list all but disappears. The picture we have in our minds of the person we think could make us happy becomes a little more blurry, like an out of focus photograph where facial features can't really be made out.
One would think that as we learn more, we might become even more specific about what we want but the truth is, our vision only deteriorates. There's a lesson that Janet teaches us. A cynic might say that all her philosophy says is that we shouldn't allow ourselves to get our expectations too high; that life will disappoint us and we need to prepare for the worst case scenario. I think there's something else in there, though. What Janet teaches us is simply to be open to more possibilities. We can't predict who the person we will love will be. We have no real template upon which to base this mythical creature we all desire (and the lucky ones eventually get). Janet has not lowered her expectations so much as leveled the playing field. There is no formula for loving someone. Somewhere along the way our brain stops working and the chemical reaction kicks in. We can rarely pinpoint the exact moment that we fall in love. Janet is one of the lucky few and we get to vicariously witness that moment in her life in the final scene of the movie here:
Janet gets what she wants and it completely takes her by surprise. Singles, after all, is a romantic comedy. It's a genre I generally stay away from but this exception in my DVD library, I think is a very positive one. It's not your usual "boy meets girl" crap. It's a subtle examination of what makes us human. Janet has been hurt like so many of us have, but rather than become a cynic, she simply changes her outlook. Surprise surprise, the new mindset works for her and we see her happy ending come to life in my favourite scene (and the perfect ending to the film).
So, having been through the motions myself, I'd say I'm going to file that "perfect partner" list away somewhere for now and take my time. Perhaps my patience will pay off. Hope is far nicer to hold onto than resentment and disillusionment. It's something we all need in order not to become horrible people.
I'll end with some more wisdom from Janet and one of the best songs from the movie (did I mention that the soundtrack was amazing?)
"I've always been able to do this, break up with someone and never look back. Being alone: there's a certain dignity to it." - Janet LivermoreThat said, "bless you" and keep that hope alive.
Friday, July 26, 2013
Why Not to Give a F**ck
“Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.”
― W.B. Yeats
Today's blog is about disappointment. normally I'd make my oft' used musical reference towards the end but I'm going to live a little this time around. Here's Kristin Hersh and Michael Stipe with "Your Ghost" from the 1994 album, "Hips and Makers":
I'm not completely clear on her exact meaning. It's a complicated piece of work. I think it's clearly about loss and disappointment; in Kristin's case, the loss of someone she loved.
The words, "push your old numbers and let your house ring 'til I wake your ghost" speak of loss and a death of some kind, though I don't think the death is a literal one in this case.
There are many deaths in our lifetimes, both in the real and the figurative senses. Some are easier to deal with than others but inevitably we have to stay in the land of the living ourselves so whatever mechanism is tuned in in our brains to adapt to change kicks up a gear and propels us over the bumps in the road towards survival and recovery.
2013 has been a year fraught with disappointment for me. I'll spare you, fearless reader, from the gory details but let it be said; that little gear in my head has been working overtime the past few months, so much so that it may be in need of an overhaul soon. This blog, however, is not about dwelling on things for the sake of "woe is me"; rather it's a quick comment on the process that allows us to move on.
"Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance"
The five stages of grief as created by head shrinkers. Now, there are a lot of psychological theories that I don't place much stock in but this one, somehow, makes sense to me. Having observed myself as a test subject I can honestly say that the gear in my head is currently in second - the anger stage - that frustratingly grumpy part of the road where one becomes unlikable, irritable and resentful. It's a step we have to go through. You can't get to third gear without shifting into second beforehand. So, yeah, I am currently pissed off. Nonetheless, I'm not looking forward to fourth gear. Hitting the highway in fifth is going to be awesome, though.
For those of you in a similar place to where I am right now, feel free to use me as your lab rat. Having noted my own mood swings and slow progression, I can say that there has indeed been progress. It may not sound like a "beacon of hope" right now but I say you have to let yourself be angry and then depressed for a while. Anger gets tiring, so does depression.
In my experience, depression is kind of like a Woody Allen movie; you either enjoy it for a little bit, then get annoyed by the protagonist (invariably Woody himself) halfway through, or you stick it out and realise that you have just wasted a significant amount of time observing completely inane, pointless drivel. Either way, it runs its course and the channel ulimately changes to acceptance - which is more like an episode of Looney Tunes where you finally get to see Wile E Coyote get the better of that smug Road Runner.
So chin up, (and those words are meant as much for me as they are for you). It is human nature to adapt. We change like the seasons do. It's not something we can help.
You'll be fine sooner than you think, I just know it.
― W.B. Yeats
Today's blog is about disappointment. normally I'd make my oft' used musical reference towards the end but I'm going to live a little this time around. Here's Kristin Hersh and Michael Stipe with "Your Ghost" from the 1994 album, "Hips and Makers":
I'm not completely clear on her exact meaning. It's a complicated piece of work. I think it's clearly about loss and disappointment; in Kristin's case, the loss of someone she loved.
The words, "push your old numbers and let your house ring 'til I wake your ghost" speak of loss and a death of some kind, though I don't think the death is a literal one in this case.
There are many deaths in our lifetimes, both in the real and the figurative senses. Some are easier to deal with than others but inevitably we have to stay in the land of the living ourselves so whatever mechanism is tuned in in our brains to adapt to change kicks up a gear and propels us over the bumps in the road towards survival and recovery.
2013 has been a year fraught with disappointment for me. I'll spare you, fearless reader, from the gory details but let it be said; that little gear in my head has been working overtime the past few months, so much so that it may be in need of an overhaul soon. This blog, however, is not about dwelling on things for the sake of "woe is me"; rather it's a quick comment on the process that allows us to move on.
"Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance"
The five stages of grief as created by head shrinkers. Now, there are a lot of psychological theories that I don't place much stock in but this one, somehow, makes sense to me. Having observed myself as a test subject I can honestly say that the gear in my head is currently in second - the anger stage - that frustratingly grumpy part of the road where one becomes unlikable, irritable and resentful. It's a step we have to go through. You can't get to third gear without shifting into second beforehand. So, yeah, I am currently pissed off. Nonetheless, I'm not looking forward to fourth gear. Hitting the highway in fifth is going to be awesome, though.
For those of you in a similar place to where I am right now, feel free to use me as your lab rat. Having noted my own mood swings and slow progression, I can say that there has indeed been progress. It may not sound like a "beacon of hope" right now but I say you have to let yourself be angry and then depressed for a while. Anger gets tiring, so does depression.
In my experience, depression is kind of like a Woody Allen movie; you either enjoy it for a little bit, then get annoyed by the protagonist (invariably Woody himself) halfway through, or you stick it out and realise that you have just wasted a significant amount of time observing completely inane, pointless drivel. Either way, it runs its course and the channel ulimately changes to acceptance - which is more like an episode of Looney Tunes where you finally get to see Wile E Coyote get the better of that smug Road Runner.
So chin up, (and those words are meant as much for me as they are for you). It is human nature to adapt. We change like the seasons do. It's not something we can help.
You'll be fine sooner than you think, I just know it.
Monday, May 27, 2013
How Supervillains Taught Me English
Another one that was originally on our now defunct company website. Enjoy the read
There is poetry in comic book scriptwriting, and as comic book audiences have grown older and more discerning, that poetry has become far less absurd.
This quote from Batman, considering his friend and colleague, Superman is a good measure of where comic books are today (the good ones anyway); “It is a remarkable dichotomy. In many ways, Clark is the most human of us all. Then… he shoots fire from the skies, and it is difficult not to think of him as a god. And how fortunate we all are that it does not occur to him.”– Batman
Even the old ones had some shining moments, though; "Are arbitrary labels more important than the way we live our lives, what we're supposed to be more important than what we actually are?" – Cyclops from the X-Men
Comic book wisdom was and remains a constant in my life. The writers are underrated, the artists overly talented and, one might even say that they themselves are heroes; they certainly are to me.
"Insanity is defined by its cultural milieu." – Man-Thing
Times have changed. In the early half of the 20th century, pre-XBox, the top selling comic titles would sell in the millions. Now top selling titles sell perhaps a couple of hundred thousand. I don’t think it’s a dying medium by any means but it has become far more “niche”. There’s too much media out there for comics to be as popular as they once were. Nonetheless, comics as a medium is something I’m likely to remain loyal to as long as I live; however, as once written by comics legend Len Wein in closing to a rather dramatic chapter of the Incredible Hulk in the 1970s, “Only the sea, after all, is eternal”.
Because the audience has changed, the medium has evolved. I honestly think that people who don’t give comic books a chance are missing out on some amazing stories, special effects with no budgetary or three dimensional limitations and beautiful artwork, but I digress.
"The fates have smiled on you, Loki…they have provided you with yet another opportunity to slay me. You wanted me so desperately. Now you have me. Do your worst.” – Thor
Having made my brief stand for the merit of comics, I’d like to go back to a somewhat more absurd facet of the medium – classic comic book dialogue.
“Before this day is ended, mankind shall grovel helplessly at my feet -- and, as fate has obviously ordained – Doctor Doom shall be Master of Earth!” – Doctor Doom
The comics I read growing up were largely of the “Bronze Age” era.
“The Bronze Age of Comic Books is an informal name for a period in the history of mainstream American comic books usually said to run from 1970 to 1985. It follows the Silver Age of Comic Books.” – Wikipedia
I would feast on such titles as Batman, Justice League of America, the Amazing Spider-Man, the Avengers, Superman, Action Comics, Wonder Woman and many more. Best of all, I could pick up these gems at the café down the street for a mere 50c each.
One of the most exciting things for me was always the supervillains. Their plots to overthrow (the World, Mankind, the hero of the story, etc etc) were elaborate, often nonsensical and always a riveting read.
“Servile dolt!” – Doctor Doom
The heroes always came out on top – not very “real world”, but that was just how it always worked in comics.
“A lone voice in the darkness can rouse many if not snuffed out.” – Despero
I started collecting comic books at the age of four, and I haven’t stopped since. I fell in love with the characters, the Machiavellian plots and the garish costumes, which worked really well on paper but would probably look utterly ludicrous in the real world.
Bronze age supervillains always had a fantastic turn of phrase. These were evil geniuses after all; one would expect their vocabularies to be above par. Not only would villains hatch their elaborate schemes in colourful ways, they would explain them to their protagonists in fiendish detail. They also seemed to think they were pretty funny back then, as most of what they said was punctuated by maniacal laughter (I shall destroy Gotham using my giant nose hair clipper, Batman and you and the Boy Wonder shall fall too!! HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!).
Some of the heroes had their moments too. Marvel Comics’ Thor, for example spoke the “Queen’s English” circa sixteen hundred and something (or thereabouts), even though he’s actually a Norse god of Germanic descent.
More to the point; I later entered the world of copywriting, and I honestly believe that I owe my “way with words” to the Bronze Age heroes and villains that shaped my vocabulary. Yes, supervillains and their heroic counterparts (to a lesser degree) taught me a lot of big words.
Whether it was Doctor Doom’s penchant to refer to himself in the third person, Thanos’s cosmic arrogance or the Joker’s twisted diatribes, I learned a little from all of them. They were a wonder to read and I often needed a dictionary handy to make head or tail of them.
Why be pretentious about it? I didn’t gain my vocabulary and writing skills from reading Dickens on the porch with a cup of tea in hand. Oscar Wilde, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy were writers I would only attempt to tackle much later, armed with my supervillain-like arsenal of verbosity and unnecessary exposition.
So parents, be warned; before you go saying things like “those things will rot your brain” to your kids, consider these words of wisdom from Thanos featured in an issue of Warlock from Marvel comics:
“(Truth) is a subjective concept, one to be accepted or rejected depending on the viewer’s prejudices.”
Comics may be mindless pulp to you, but for your child, they might just be a training ground for their future career.
So I would like to thank my teachers; the comic book writers who expanded my brain and made my internal monologues so much more grammatically correct. I will list a few names that stand out but these writers are by no means the only ones who inspired me to become a wordsmith:
Chris Claremont
Len Wein
Alan Moore
Frank Miller
Grant Morrison
Stan Lee
Neil Gaiman
John Byrne
Keith Giffen
JM DeMatteis
Marv Wolfman
Denny O’Neil
Alan Grant
Mike W Barr
Many have slipped my mind, I’m sure, but back then I often didn’t even notice who had written the tales I was taking in. The characters became so real to me that it almost seemed that they were writing themselves. I suppose that’s a compliment to the writers in a way, in that their scripts were just so gripping that I forgot about everything other than the story I was watching come to life.
I leave you with some final words of wisdom from the “funny books”:
“Paradise unearned is but a land of shadows” – the Silver Surfer
“Childhood is the interval between nothingness and disillusionment. An interval of innocence” – text caption from the Question #3 by Denny O’Neil
“… that is the decision all lovers must make – whether their relationship will destroy or heal the other. It’s often the most difficult decision they’ll have to make, and as love is not a constantly stable factor, it’s one they’ll have to make again and again.” – the Black Panther
“Your hunger for battle is a disease and the hammer of Thor shall supply the cure!” – Thor
“Those who do not share my vision will be crushed by it!” – Doctor Octopus
"Madness is the emergency exit. You can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away... forever." – the Joker (Batman – the Killing Joke)
“April sweet is coming in, let the feast of fools begin!" – the Joker (Batman: Arkham Asylum)
Acknowledgement: part of the inspiration for this article came from a fantastic web page I found. Have a read through here:
http://www.pulpanddagger.com/maskedbookwyrm/saga/quotes.html
There is poetry in comic book scriptwriting, and as comic book audiences have grown older and more discerning, that poetry has become far less absurd.
This quote from Batman, considering his friend and colleague, Superman is a good measure of where comic books are today (the good ones anyway); “It is a remarkable dichotomy. In many ways, Clark is the most human of us all. Then… he shoots fire from the skies, and it is difficult not to think of him as a god. And how fortunate we all are that it does not occur to him.”– Batman
Even the old ones had some shining moments, though; "Are arbitrary labels more important than the way we live our lives, what we're supposed to be more important than what we actually are?" – Cyclops from the X-Men
Comic book wisdom was and remains a constant in my life. The writers are underrated, the artists overly talented and, one might even say that they themselves are heroes; they certainly are to me.
"Insanity is defined by its cultural milieu." – Man-Thing
Times have changed. In the early half of the 20th century, pre-XBox, the top selling comic titles would sell in the millions. Now top selling titles sell perhaps a couple of hundred thousand. I don’t think it’s a dying medium by any means but it has become far more “niche”. There’s too much media out there for comics to be as popular as they once were. Nonetheless, comics as a medium is something I’m likely to remain loyal to as long as I live; however, as once written by comics legend Len Wein in closing to a rather dramatic chapter of the Incredible Hulk in the 1970s, “Only the sea, after all, is eternal”.
Because the audience has changed, the medium has evolved. I honestly think that people who don’t give comic books a chance are missing out on some amazing stories, special effects with no budgetary or three dimensional limitations and beautiful artwork, but I digress.
"The fates have smiled on you, Loki…they have provided you with yet another opportunity to slay me. You wanted me so desperately. Now you have me. Do your worst.” – Thor
Having made my brief stand for the merit of comics, I’d like to go back to a somewhat more absurd facet of the medium – classic comic book dialogue.
“Before this day is ended, mankind shall grovel helplessly at my feet -- and, as fate has obviously ordained – Doctor Doom shall be Master of Earth!” – Doctor Doom
The comics I read growing up were largely of the “Bronze Age” era.
“The Bronze Age of Comic Books is an informal name for a period in the history of mainstream American comic books usually said to run from 1970 to 1985. It follows the Silver Age of Comic Books.” – Wikipedia
I would feast on such titles as Batman, Justice League of America, the Amazing Spider-Man, the Avengers, Superman, Action Comics, Wonder Woman and many more. Best of all, I could pick up these gems at the café down the street for a mere 50c each.
One of the most exciting things for me was always the supervillains. Their plots to overthrow (the World, Mankind, the hero of the story, etc etc) were elaborate, often nonsensical and always a riveting read.
“Servile dolt!” – Doctor Doom
The heroes always came out on top – not very “real world”, but that was just how it always worked in comics.
“A lone voice in the darkness can rouse many if not snuffed out.” – Despero
I started collecting comic books at the age of four, and I haven’t stopped since. I fell in love with the characters, the Machiavellian plots and the garish costumes, which worked really well on paper but would probably look utterly ludicrous in the real world.
Bronze age supervillains always had a fantastic turn of phrase. These were evil geniuses after all; one would expect their vocabularies to be above par. Not only would villains hatch their elaborate schemes in colourful ways, they would explain them to their protagonists in fiendish detail. They also seemed to think they were pretty funny back then, as most of what they said was punctuated by maniacal laughter (I shall destroy Gotham using my giant nose hair clipper, Batman and you and the Boy Wonder shall fall too!! HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!).
Some of the heroes had their moments too. Marvel Comics’ Thor, for example spoke the “Queen’s English” circa sixteen hundred and something (or thereabouts), even though he’s actually a Norse god of Germanic descent.
More to the point; I later entered the world of copywriting, and I honestly believe that I owe my “way with words” to the Bronze Age heroes and villains that shaped my vocabulary. Yes, supervillains and their heroic counterparts (to a lesser degree) taught me a lot of big words.
Whether it was Doctor Doom’s penchant to refer to himself in the third person, Thanos’s cosmic arrogance or the Joker’s twisted diatribes, I learned a little from all of them. They were a wonder to read and I often needed a dictionary handy to make head or tail of them.
Why be pretentious about it? I didn’t gain my vocabulary and writing skills from reading Dickens on the porch with a cup of tea in hand. Oscar Wilde, Dostoevsky and Tolstoy were writers I would only attempt to tackle much later, armed with my supervillain-like arsenal of verbosity and unnecessary exposition.
So parents, be warned; before you go saying things like “those things will rot your brain” to your kids, consider these words of wisdom from Thanos featured in an issue of Warlock from Marvel comics:
“(Truth) is a subjective concept, one to be accepted or rejected depending on the viewer’s prejudices.”
Comics may be mindless pulp to you, but for your child, they might just be a training ground for their future career.
So I would like to thank my teachers; the comic book writers who expanded my brain and made my internal monologues so much more grammatically correct. I will list a few names that stand out but these writers are by no means the only ones who inspired me to become a wordsmith:
Chris Claremont
Len Wein
Alan Moore
Frank Miller
Grant Morrison
Stan Lee
Neil Gaiman
John Byrne
Keith Giffen
JM DeMatteis
Marv Wolfman
Denny O’Neil
Alan Grant
Mike W Barr
Many have slipped my mind, I’m sure, but back then I often didn’t even notice who had written the tales I was taking in. The characters became so real to me that it almost seemed that they were writing themselves. I suppose that’s a compliment to the writers in a way, in that their scripts were just so gripping that I forgot about everything other than the story I was watching come to life.
I leave you with some final words of wisdom from the “funny books”:
“Paradise unearned is but a land of shadows” – the Silver Surfer
“Childhood is the interval between nothingness and disillusionment. An interval of innocence” – text caption from the Question #3 by Denny O’Neil
“… that is the decision all lovers must make – whether their relationship will destroy or heal the other. It’s often the most difficult decision they’ll have to make, and as love is not a constantly stable factor, it’s one they’ll have to make again and again.” – the Black Panther
“Your hunger for battle is a disease and the hammer of Thor shall supply the cure!” – Thor
“Those who do not share my vision will be crushed by it!” – Doctor Octopus
"Madness is the emergency exit. You can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them away... forever." – the Joker (Batman – the Killing Joke)
“April sweet is coming in, let the feast of fools begin!" – the Joker (Batman: Arkham Asylum)
Acknowledgement: part of the inspiration for this article came from a fantastic web page I found. Have a read through here:
http://www.pulpanddagger.com/maskedbookwyrm/saga/quotes.html
Friday, May 24, 2013
The other Side of the Counter
I posted this on our company website a while ago. That site has since been taken down, so why not recycle rather than let my inane monologue go to waste?
It’s ironic in a way that I ended up as a Creative Director in an advertising agency that handles a big retail brand. Before I entered the wonderful world of media, I had a lot of practical experience in retail at a very different level: on the shop floor.
Yes, that’s right; my secret is finally out. It is cathartic to come out into the open with it. It wasn’t always the champagne and oysters (yeah right) of the advertising industry for me. It was once beer and hotdogs. It’s true. I was once a retail sales person.
“May I Help You?”
Retail is hard. It rarely sleeps, is open seven days a week for your convenience and requires a lot of humility and patience from its staff members. In my seven plus years as a retail salesman, I was a workhorse, a verbal punching bag, a selling machine and a frustrated artist.
I can’t fault retail for what it gave me, though; patience, the ability to relate to just about anyone, a lesson in the true value of hard work and a whole lot of empathy for others who do the same thing every day just so that they can pay the bills.
The most interesting part of manning the trenches in a retail store, however, is the people that walk through the doors every day. I could write a novel about my colleagues and the customers I dealt with. A novel is perhaps a little ambitious right now, though, so I’ll start with this short article.
My experience in retail was primarily in audio-visual and electronics stores. We sold hi-fi, TVs, computers, car radios and pretty much anything else that lit up, made a noise or plugged in.
When I entered the business I was about 20 years old and only really got into it because lying around watching TV all day wasn’t really an option (my mother insisted). My first job was in a large audio-visual store that primarily specialised in high-end hi-fi and home entertainment. Sounds like fun, right? Well, had I actually known anything about high-end hi-fi and home entertainment, it might have been. I didn’t. So there I was, a fledgling salesman (and commission based at that), thrown onto a busy retail floor having to answer in-depth technical questions thrown at me by hi-fi enthusiasts and techno boffins. My answers, at first, were somewhat creative, and I was often told in no uncertain terms that I should rather “call someone who knows what they’re talking about”.
It got better. I spent those quiet hours during which the shop floor was dead going around the store and playing with the equipment; familiarising myself with instruction manuals and all the technical stuff. I soon discovered that the best way to sell a piece of audio visual or electronic equipment was to just subtly read all the specifications off the packaging (in my own words, of course) – no more studying manuals for me.
One of the things about selling hi-fi equipment was always that you had to have the right demo disk to play. It had to be a high quality audio disk that highlighted the performance of the hi-fi. Sadly, high quality disks seemed few and far between. This is the reason I can no longer listen to The Eagles’ “When Hell Freezes Over”. It was the only demo disk we had, playing solidly in rotation all day for about two years. To this day I still cringe when I hear “Hotel California”. Customers loved it, though. The number of times I heard that old chestnut, “if I buy the system will you throw in the disk too…” (followed by a chuckle or a wry grin), are too numerous to count. In my mind, I was saying, “please, take it! Take every copy we have and never return!”
I never got into audio-visual sales because I thought it would be a career. I was going to be the next great author, comic artist, movie director, pop culture icon. I did, however, work with some people who took it very seriously. They would stand at the counter on quiet days reading audio-visual industry magazines and get really excited about Nad’s new amplifier that put out 150W RMS (not going to explain that here) over 5.1 channels. They would test out the focus on Sony’s new digital video camera by holding a banknote up against the lens and marvel at how quickly it focused (this was a trick I picked up and used on customers – it sold me many cameras). They would have in-depth discussions about which speakers worked best with what amplifier and stare for hours at the high definition TV sets with the same scene from Toy Story played on repeat and never cease to be amazed (repeatedly) by the quality of the picture.
These were the salesmen that you would want to deal with. They really believed in what they were selling you, me not so much. I always resorted to the classic sales mainstays like, “I have one of these myself and it’s great” or “you know, I got my mom one of these for Christmas and she loves it”. Not the most ethical of tactics, I’ll admit, but I worked on commission. I had to pull out all the stops.
Now customers, that’s another story entirely.
“Do You Do Lay Byes?”
There are certain regulars in establishments like audio-visual stores that one might dub the “denizens of the sales floor”. They would come in at least weekly, corner a salesman and question him at length about a product that they had read about or that a friend had purchased or that they had simply zoned in on in the store. They would always come back but they would never buy. Once they’d made a few visits to the store, salesmen became familiar with them, and would generally dive for cover – burying their heads in paperwork, rushing to assist any other available customers or sprinting to the far end of the store. There was even a term coined for customers (or non-customers) of this nature. It is one that is probably still quite widely used today. Having worked in four audio-visual stores throughout the years, it was a term that was widely recognised and widely used: “FTW”.
I won’t discuss here what the fist letter stands for. The grown-ups in the audience can figure that one out. The last two letters, however, stand for “Time Waster”.
These people were generally retired, self-employed, unemployed or simply suffering from “ennui”. They had far more time on their hands than most of us do, and spent a large portion of this time interrogating hapless retail sales people.
Then there were the dreamers. I really felt for these visitors to the battlefront. Audio-visual and electronic equipment, remember, is a luxury, one which many are unable to afford. Many of the people who walked through the shop doors were not in the position to hand out in excess of 10 000 on their dream home entertainment system, but “a guy can dream”. These dreamers generally didn’t demand much of my time. They already knew what they wanted, how it worked and what the exact specifications were. They would come in with a friend or partner in tow, gaze longingly at the displays and leave the store in a state of melancholy uttering things along the lines of, “one day…”
The serious enthusiasts were often the hardest to deal with. They could often be mistaken for the aforementioned FTWs as they visited the store frequently without buying. They were tricky to identify but one could normally make the distinction between them and the FTWs when they always insisted on dealing with the same sales person. It could take weeks, even months to make a sale because these people researched everything, and made you do the same. You came to know them on a first name basis and generally, after much hard work and difficult questions, the enthusiast would walk out with the item he or she had been agonizing over.
The worst people in my experience to deal with on the shop floor, though, were those who were lacking in that most sacred of all virtues – patience. These are the types who make cashiers cry, yell at bank tellers, insist on speaking to the Manager, demand refunds and occasionally throw four letter words at whoever happens to be in their path. These creatures cannot be tamed. They do not like being cornered and you can’t even poke them with a big stick. I once approached a gentleman in store, blissfully unaware that he was one of the species. Unassumingly, I opened with my standard line, “May I help you?” He promptly snapped back, “Did I ask for your help??!” There’s nothing you can say to placate these people. They are sent by the unseen Gods of the retail arena to test you. The best thing to do is simply make a quiet exit.
The specific individuals I met during my tenure in retail are a story for another time. Names will be changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent. Look out for part two of “the Other Side of the Counter” coming soon. This is a story that needs to be broken up into episodes. I will close this episode off by saying, next time you find yourself wanting to make a snide comment at the cashier who does not greet you with a smile or the salesman who is not present when you are looking for a particular lightbulb, pause for a moment. Retail people are people too. Perhaps your arrival was preceded by a visit from an FTW or worse, an impatient passer-by. Have a care. Your purchase is important to us.
It’s ironic in a way that I ended up as a Creative Director in an advertising agency that handles a big retail brand. Before I entered the wonderful world of media, I had a lot of practical experience in retail at a very different level: on the shop floor.
Yes, that’s right; my secret is finally out. It is cathartic to come out into the open with it. It wasn’t always the champagne and oysters (yeah right) of the advertising industry for me. It was once beer and hotdogs. It’s true. I was once a retail sales person.
“May I Help You?”
Retail is hard. It rarely sleeps, is open seven days a week for your convenience and requires a lot of humility and patience from its staff members. In my seven plus years as a retail salesman, I was a workhorse, a verbal punching bag, a selling machine and a frustrated artist.
I can’t fault retail for what it gave me, though; patience, the ability to relate to just about anyone, a lesson in the true value of hard work and a whole lot of empathy for others who do the same thing every day just so that they can pay the bills.
The most interesting part of manning the trenches in a retail store, however, is the people that walk through the doors every day. I could write a novel about my colleagues and the customers I dealt with. A novel is perhaps a little ambitious right now, though, so I’ll start with this short article.
My experience in retail was primarily in audio-visual and electronics stores. We sold hi-fi, TVs, computers, car radios and pretty much anything else that lit up, made a noise or plugged in.
When I entered the business I was about 20 years old and only really got into it because lying around watching TV all day wasn’t really an option (my mother insisted). My first job was in a large audio-visual store that primarily specialised in high-end hi-fi and home entertainment. Sounds like fun, right? Well, had I actually known anything about high-end hi-fi and home entertainment, it might have been. I didn’t. So there I was, a fledgling salesman (and commission based at that), thrown onto a busy retail floor having to answer in-depth technical questions thrown at me by hi-fi enthusiasts and techno boffins. My answers, at first, were somewhat creative, and I was often told in no uncertain terms that I should rather “call someone who knows what they’re talking about”.
It got better. I spent those quiet hours during which the shop floor was dead going around the store and playing with the equipment; familiarising myself with instruction manuals and all the technical stuff. I soon discovered that the best way to sell a piece of audio visual or electronic equipment was to just subtly read all the specifications off the packaging (in my own words, of course) – no more studying manuals for me.
One of the things about selling hi-fi equipment was always that you had to have the right demo disk to play. It had to be a high quality audio disk that highlighted the performance of the hi-fi. Sadly, high quality disks seemed few and far between. This is the reason I can no longer listen to The Eagles’ “When Hell Freezes Over”. It was the only demo disk we had, playing solidly in rotation all day for about two years. To this day I still cringe when I hear “Hotel California”. Customers loved it, though. The number of times I heard that old chestnut, “if I buy the system will you throw in the disk too…” (followed by a chuckle or a wry grin), are too numerous to count. In my mind, I was saying, “please, take it! Take every copy we have and never return!”
I never got into audio-visual sales because I thought it would be a career. I was going to be the next great author, comic artist, movie director, pop culture icon. I did, however, work with some people who took it very seriously. They would stand at the counter on quiet days reading audio-visual industry magazines and get really excited about Nad’s new amplifier that put out 150W RMS (not going to explain that here) over 5.1 channels. They would test out the focus on Sony’s new digital video camera by holding a banknote up against the lens and marvel at how quickly it focused (this was a trick I picked up and used on customers – it sold me many cameras). They would have in-depth discussions about which speakers worked best with what amplifier and stare for hours at the high definition TV sets with the same scene from Toy Story played on repeat and never cease to be amazed (repeatedly) by the quality of the picture.
These were the salesmen that you would want to deal with. They really believed in what they were selling you, me not so much. I always resorted to the classic sales mainstays like, “I have one of these myself and it’s great” or “you know, I got my mom one of these for Christmas and she loves it”. Not the most ethical of tactics, I’ll admit, but I worked on commission. I had to pull out all the stops.
Now customers, that’s another story entirely.
“Do You Do Lay Byes?”
There are certain regulars in establishments like audio-visual stores that one might dub the “denizens of the sales floor”. They would come in at least weekly, corner a salesman and question him at length about a product that they had read about or that a friend had purchased or that they had simply zoned in on in the store. They would always come back but they would never buy. Once they’d made a few visits to the store, salesmen became familiar with them, and would generally dive for cover – burying their heads in paperwork, rushing to assist any other available customers or sprinting to the far end of the store. There was even a term coined for customers (or non-customers) of this nature. It is one that is probably still quite widely used today. Having worked in four audio-visual stores throughout the years, it was a term that was widely recognised and widely used: “FTW”.
I won’t discuss here what the fist letter stands for. The grown-ups in the audience can figure that one out. The last two letters, however, stand for “Time Waster”.
These people were generally retired, self-employed, unemployed or simply suffering from “ennui”. They had far more time on their hands than most of us do, and spent a large portion of this time interrogating hapless retail sales people.
Then there were the dreamers. I really felt for these visitors to the battlefront. Audio-visual and electronic equipment, remember, is a luxury, one which many are unable to afford. Many of the people who walked through the shop doors were not in the position to hand out in excess of 10 000 on their dream home entertainment system, but “a guy can dream”. These dreamers generally didn’t demand much of my time. They already knew what they wanted, how it worked and what the exact specifications were. They would come in with a friend or partner in tow, gaze longingly at the displays and leave the store in a state of melancholy uttering things along the lines of, “one day…”
The serious enthusiasts were often the hardest to deal with. They could often be mistaken for the aforementioned FTWs as they visited the store frequently without buying. They were tricky to identify but one could normally make the distinction between them and the FTWs when they always insisted on dealing with the same sales person. It could take weeks, even months to make a sale because these people researched everything, and made you do the same. You came to know them on a first name basis and generally, after much hard work and difficult questions, the enthusiast would walk out with the item he or she had been agonizing over.
The worst people in my experience to deal with on the shop floor, though, were those who were lacking in that most sacred of all virtues – patience. These are the types who make cashiers cry, yell at bank tellers, insist on speaking to the Manager, demand refunds and occasionally throw four letter words at whoever happens to be in their path. These creatures cannot be tamed. They do not like being cornered and you can’t even poke them with a big stick. I once approached a gentleman in store, blissfully unaware that he was one of the species. Unassumingly, I opened with my standard line, “May I help you?” He promptly snapped back, “Did I ask for your help??!” There’s nothing you can say to placate these people. They are sent by the unseen Gods of the retail arena to test you. The best thing to do is simply make a quiet exit.
The specific individuals I met during my tenure in retail are a story for another time. Names will be changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent. Look out for part two of “the Other Side of the Counter” coming soon. This is a story that needs to be broken up into episodes. I will close this episode off by saying, next time you find yourself wanting to make a snide comment at the cashier who does not greet you with a smile or the salesman who is not present when you are looking for a particular lightbulb, pause for a moment. Retail people are people too. Perhaps your arrival was preceded by a visit from an FTW or worse, an impatient passer-by. Have a care. Your purchase is important to us.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
The Adventures of a Time Travelling Wannabe
I read an interesting article about a whacky Iranian scientist today who claims to have made a "time machine". When I saw the headline, my geeky sensibilities kicked right in and there I was imagining myself in medieval attire rescuing damsels, drinking mead and trying to explain away to the natives of the period why I was wearing this strange apparatus on my eyes (I'm pretty much blind without my glasses). I would have gone with something along the lines of "an enchanted window that allowed me to see the future", followed by tall tales of flying machines and a failing economy.
Upon reading the article I was convinced that the aforementioned whacky scientist was simply, well, whacky. That's immaterial here, though. My imagination had already gone off on its own, rendering any kind of "real world" work pretty much impossible to complete. So I decided to write a blog. Interaction and comments are encouraged here... (crickets chirp; tumbleweeds float across the screen; the sole member of the audience coughs).
Real scientists suggest that time traveling to the past would not be possible. In theory, one could only travel as far back as the time that the time machine was created, convoluted though that may sound. It does make sense, I guess, but years of losing myself in comics and other fantastic stories have allowed me to suspend disbelief adequately enough to imagine myself traveling back to a bygone era. I'm not thinking medieval times or any other such breeding ground for fantastic tales, however; no. I would go back to the recent past and kick my own ass.
I would go back to 1988, when I sat next to my first real crush in History class and be far less inept at making conversation with her. I would then shoot forward to 1994 and actually listen to my dad's advice. Upon doing that, I would have avoided eight soul destroying years in audio visual retail sales and, when I headed forward into the year 2000, I'd be making my acceptance speech as Director of the Best Film at the Oscars. I'd say something along the lines of "it's such an honor to be in the company of greats like Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorsese..."; meanwhile I'd be thinking, "hmmm... I wonder if my next blockbuster will also kick these old codgers into obscurity"(Villainous cackle).
Flash forward to 2013. I've divorced the supermodel and am begging Clint Eastwood to have a glance at my newest script; the sordid tale of a 36 year old has-been who did everything right until an unfortunate incident with (insert scandalous tale here: a pair of scissors, a sarong, a Haitian signature dish, an elephant and a pair of little people... etc). Perhaps this is where past experience, exactly as it is now, sans time travel, is something that should be held in higher regard than suspension of disbelief.
Said suspension must, inevitably, give way to reality. It is what we live through every day. We live through our failures, our triumphs and our moments of weakness in real time. Perhaps a time machine could alter our circumstances but it could not alter the fabric of who we are. Our stories as they stand now are equally as exciting and simultaneously disappointing as a Robert Altman movie.
The time travel fantasy soon faded into obscurity just as my vapid dreams of grandeur were crushed one by one. Real time taught me to think, to fight and to deal with challenges that confront me every day. I have failed, and many times at that. I am likely to continue to fail but the short lived time travel fantasy made me realise that everything that came before was a necessary evil. I think I am beginning to like the scientific fact that time travel is only possible from the point that the time machine actually exists.
I am eagerly looking forward.
Upon reading the article I was convinced that the aforementioned whacky scientist was simply, well, whacky. That's immaterial here, though. My imagination had already gone off on its own, rendering any kind of "real world" work pretty much impossible to complete. So I decided to write a blog. Interaction and comments are encouraged here... (crickets chirp; tumbleweeds float across the screen; the sole member of the audience coughs).
Real scientists suggest that time traveling to the past would not be possible. In theory, one could only travel as far back as the time that the time machine was created, convoluted though that may sound. It does make sense, I guess, but years of losing myself in comics and other fantastic stories have allowed me to suspend disbelief adequately enough to imagine myself traveling back to a bygone era. I'm not thinking medieval times or any other such breeding ground for fantastic tales, however; no. I would go back to the recent past and kick my own ass.
I would go back to 1988, when I sat next to my first real crush in History class and be far less inept at making conversation with her. I would then shoot forward to 1994 and actually listen to my dad's advice. Upon doing that, I would have avoided eight soul destroying years in audio visual retail sales and, when I headed forward into the year 2000, I'd be making my acceptance speech as Director of the Best Film at the Oscars. I'd say something along the lines of "it's such an honor to be in the company of greats like Clint Eastwood and Martin Scorsese..."; meanwhile I'd be thinking, "hmmm... I wonder if my next blockbuster will also kick these old codgers into obscurity"(Villainous cackle).
Flash forward to 2013. I've divorced the supermodel and am begging Clint Eastwood to have a glance at my newest script; the sordid tale of a 36 year old has-been who did everything right until an unfortunate incident with (insert scandalous tale here: a pair of scissors, a sarong, a Haitian signature dish, an elephant and a pair of little people... etc). Perhaps this is where past experience, exactly as it is now, sans time travel, is something that should be held in higher regard than suspension of disbelief.
Said suspension must, inevitably, give way to reality. It is what we live through every day. We live through our failures, our triumphs and our moments of weakness in real time. Perhaps a time machine could alter our circumstances but it could not alter the fabric of who we are. Our stories as they stand now are equally as exciting and simultaneously disappointing as a Robert Altman movie.
The time travel fantasy soon faded into obscurity just as my vapid dreams of grandeur were crushed one by one. Real time taught me to think, to fight and to deal with challenges that confront me every day. I have failed, and many times at that. I am likely to continue to fail but the short lived time travel fantasy made me realise that everything that came before was a necessary evil. I think I am beginning to like the scientific fact that time travel is only possible from the point that the time machine actually exists.
I am eagerly looking forward.
Monday, February 18, 2013
The Thing with Feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all.
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chilliest land
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
Monday, January 28, 2013
Friday, January 25, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
A Hazy Shade of Winter
I turn 36 years old this Friday. I never thought I'd be pushing 40 this soon - well, I knew I would but it feels like it came along really quickly.
Simon and Garfunkel wrote the song, "Hazy Shade of Winter" as a cautionary tale about getting older, living with regret and missing out on opportunities.
According to www.lyricinterpretations.com the meaning behind it is:
(It) seems to be about how Paul Simon is (remembering) how he was looking for something or someone perfect, but never found it. And now time is running out. Spring, winter "leaves are brown" (fall), seasons are being used as a metaphor for the cycle of lifeWith that, allow me to reintroduce a short little piece I wrote a few years ago, bookended by the classic Simon and Garfunkel lyrics and a version of the song performed by the Bangles - great cover in my opinion. Take it away... younger me:
Days are getting shorter; nights longer and colder, and - not for the first time - autumn feels like a bit of a metaphor for me. For all the new things that Autumn brings, there are also grey skies and dead leaves. Change isn't always as good as a holiday despite the fact that it may be necessary. One has to move with change, but it's not always a weekend in the Bahamas. Autumn is temporary though, so let's see what winter brings.Hazy Shade of Winter - Lyrics by Paul Simon
Time, time, time, see what's become of me... While I looked around for my possibilities. I was so hard to please. But look around, leaves are brown and the sky is a hazy shade of winter Hear the salvation army band. Down by the riverside, it's bound to be a better ride than what you've got planned. Carry your cup in your hand... and look around, leaves are brown... and the sky is a hazy shade of winter Hang on to your hopes, my friend. That's an easy thing to say, but if your hope should pass away it's simply pretend that you can build them again. Look around, the grass is high, the fields are ripe, it's the springtime of my life... Ahhh, seasons change with the scenery, weaving time in a tapestry. Won't you stop and remember me... At any convenient time, funny how my memory slips while looking over manuscripts of unpublished rhyme drinking my vodka and lime and look around, leaves are brown... and the sky is a hazy shade of winter look around, leaves are brown... There's a patch of snow on the ground... look around, leaves are brown... There's a patch of snow on the ground... look around, leaves are brown... There's a patch of snow on the ground.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Welcome to My Nightmare
So I’ve decided that rather than using this site to occasionally showcase art, I’ll actually start putting some thoughts into words and wowing (or irritating) you with my humble opinions on life, the universe and everything (yeah, that one belongs to Douglas Adams).
What is a blog or journal – call it what you will – other than an individual’s thoughts or feelings that are topical to him or her, or sometimes others? So that’s what this will be. It will be mine but may occasionally be relevant to some of you.
My last entry, oddly enough, seems to have had more hits than any of my posts featuring drawings and comic pages I’ve done. Doesn’t say much for my drawing prowess does it? Either that or there are more like-minded people out there than I thought. I’m hoping for the latter. That said, perhaps it makes sense to write more of these things.
Human beings are relatively resilient creatures. We can withstand extreme weather conditions, be punched in the face, perform amazing feats at sports events, bring down evil dictators and survive holocausts. We are far less equipped, however, to deal with emotional difficulty. This is the human condition. Give us a 50-hour working week or calculus and we’re fine but break-ups, overbearing parents, hurtful remarks or sad movies about beloved pets – whatever your poison may be – are capable of turning us into puddles of tearful or emotionally scarred goo.
We are a product of our memories, or rather how we file our memories in order of emotive value. Humans are the only species prone to bouts of indulgent melancholy. Whether it’s a song that you and your ex-girlfriend used to listen to driving home together or dance to, a certain smell, a nostalgia-inducing photograph or a simple household object that belonged to a different time; there are certain triggers that open that little filing cabinet in your mind and take you back to something fond, painful, sad or simply memorable.
I often find myself pausing when going through a drawer or cupboard for fear of what might turn up. Scars have been left by various experiences – more specifically relationships – that I often do not want to unearth. It’s curious how one inanimate object, like the hairbrush briefly mentioned in my previous entry, can bring back a flood of emotion, how a song can reduce you to a state of hypnotic melancholy regardless of its content – rather it is the song’s context in your situation that has an effect – or how a photograph capturing a moment that may have been whimsical at the time can induce a state of emotional shock.
Our lives are made up of a collection of postcards that capture all the places of interest we’ve visited. They depict the perfection that was there in that moment that the picture was taken and have a message scrawled on the back saying, “I was here”; yet like so many idyllic locations featured on picture postcards those moments can never be reproduced. Shopping malls or parking lots now exist where once there was an unspoiled landscape.
Tom Waits sings in his classic song, “Time” that “memory's like a train.
You can see it getting smaller as it pulls away”. Perhaps sometimes that train comes around again to remind you of where you came from. You can never board it again but you cannot forget the view from its small square windows; the landscape flying by in phases, from lush greenery to industrial squalor. Good memories and bad blur into motion as you make your way to the station, imprinted into your mind like withered postcards.
One of my favourite little pieces of melancholia is Hendrix’s “Little Wing”. From what I gather, it’s an ode to a groupie who had more of an effect on him than he realised at the time. Link and lyrics below.
Well she's walking through the clouds... With a circus mind that's running round. Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales That's all she ever thinks about, riding with the wind. When I'm sad, she comes to me with a thousand smiles, she gives to me free. It's alright she says it's alright, take anything you want from me... Anything. Fly on little wing, Yeah yeah, yeah, little wing http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLvND_uav
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
