No one writes songs about the ones that come easy.

For a reason that I don't completely  understand, I couldn't put down this book 'Scars Upon My Heart', a compilation of World War I poems written by women during the war. Every page offers some deeply profound imagery and powerful emotive language that had me reading whole segments at a time. I found the picture on the front captivating too; a portrait of a woman sitting with folded legged on a bed. Holding a pen to paper. And a smile you only have when the words just come. Her goliath shadow cast onto the back wall.

She looks a lot like my mom. Back when she was young and childless and happy.

A Silence of Four Parts

The first time he saw her... he stopped breathing. There in a car parked precariously close to the sidewalk... For once, the sun shone bright on this shanty town... A piece of sky had come down - and didn't crush him.

She spoke with a voice so strong, you'd believe in miracles. His world receded. And he didn't know what he was doing anymore. Since he had met her, words hadn't flowed easily. She asked him how he was doing. He struggled... And she still persisted. He had spilt his coffee twice at home... He had forgotten to pay the maid. His arms felt like they cramped... and the pit of his stomach was in upheaval. Otherwise, he was fine.

He didn't know whether he should get angry... or if people genuinely were supposed to swap those kinds of stories. He had no story to tell her.

A month later, she asked him if he danced.

He wanted to say something along the lines of how he found much less occasion for that these days. That he used to dance quite often before he uh.. turned 25. At clubs and at parties and all that. But how, that he was older, he didn't just take to it anymore. Something like that the dancing phase of his life was over. That he was afraid his skills may have atrophied.

He managed 'uh-uh'.

She held his gaze and spoke in a low voice 'Maybe I should have made myself clearer. I meant would you dance with me.'



xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx



He sat across the table in her city across her friends. One of them actually had the gall to ask him - why her?

He stared blankly back at her. He grasped at straws. Why? Why her indeed?

Because he could break down in her arms, and she'd still hold him. Because he could talk to her about his past. Because all she cared about was him. Because she prepared a romantic dinner. Because she'd ditch her friends to be with him. Because she could clean his house in five minutes. Because she'd reach out to hold his hand on a street. Because she'd rest her head on his shoulder while watching a movie. Because she could stand up to anyone. Because she played nice with him. Because she looks across the table to find his eyes right now. Because she wouldn't take his money even if she needed it. Because she wanted to go public, but respected his wishes. Because she planned a weekend getaway. Because she'd beat him every time racing cars. Because she looked so disappointed when he did something stupid. Because he thought she was hot. Because she left him notes. Because their secrets were hotter. Because they made elevators look good. Because she wanted to make sure he was okay. Because she finally took him out dancing. Because she loved her parents. Because he wanted her to trust him. Because even throwing insults was foreplay.

He didn't answer the question...

On the way back, he turned to her as she drove. 'S, why do you want to go be with me?'
She flashed him a smile as she took a languid turn. 'Well, that's for me to know.'

He was scared about what went on in her mind. Yet he was as thirsty for it as a fish out of water.

xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx

He thought he was disconnected from everything. For too long now he had been leading an unstable, risky life. He had hung out with all sorts of people. Nothing could shock him anymore. He was not impressed by the unexpected, he had always been able to handle it. That day however, when he saw S again, he just fell to pieces. He thought he had managed to push her out, that he had overcome the pain and remorse which made him want to see her again.

She looked at him again, then with a painful smile she kissed him on the cheek as she got in to a car and drove away. The room is dark again. S was gone. A few months ago he had asked her to wait for him. He had been scared he would never see her again. And now he was terrified that he'd never see her yet again. He moved away. No doubt believing it was all another lie, she slit her wrists with a knife. The Gods were on his side; they found her, saving her life in the nick of time.

At some point in the distant past he had asked her if she preferred movies with sad endings or the happy ones.

'The sad ones definitely' she had replied. The ones that could make her cry.

Ruefully he looked up at the ceiling. She was probably with the right guy then.

xx - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xx

She was reading his diary when he entered. He could see that she was past the end. He couldn't see her well through the heavy air. 'Well' he ventured. She looked back down. After a long pause, 'I blame you, you know. But not for what you have put down here.'

He stood perfectly still. He waited. 'Making me go through through the dark side wasn't the worst thing you know' she continued.

'What was?'

'Making me go alone' she sniffed.

He had been holding his breath he realized. He didn't care if he exhaled again. He couldn't meet her eyes anymore. He shifted on his feet as he exhaled. 'What are going to do?'. And she didn't answer. 'I am no longer the smart one here' he said. 'Help me out'.

She packed her stuff as she headed out. She stopped at the doorway to turn and tell him 'You have to do what writers do - You have to start on a new book'.

She carried on . She had to head back. Do a couple of things. And meet some friends. In no particular order.

It wasn't complete dismissal. He looked up the road and then back at her. 'Would you mind if I walked you for a little bit?'

She nodded and smiled. Politely. 'Why not?'

And he fell in step by her side. No word was spoken. When they crossed the street, she held his hand.

Breaking up. . . All over again.

This is hard. And I want you to know that I didn't expect this. I didn't uh, see this coming. But I umm I've reached a decision and I think it is time that we break up.

And you probably want to know why. You deserve to know why. Its because I have met someone else. Its not that you are bad company. Actually if I think about it, you've probably been very very good to me - if I really honest about it, I've had some of my best times with you. Its just that I have come to realise that the things I used to think were important aren't anymore. For instance, sharing. You've never been that good at sharing. And I am realizing that its something that it is more important to me now. With my blackberry I can send a song as an email, I can post it to facebook, I can even setup a caller ringtone all with just a couple of clicks. You've been really closed off. You have to admit that sometimes it is really hard to get something out of you.

And then you know, there is experimentation and wanting to feel more free and adventurous. You know, with the berry I have all these apps that are really fun, they are easy to use, sometimes even borderline cool. I can play around with videos and effects. I can even add a soundtrack to a video that I recorded. I don't know - maybe for you, things like shaking to shuffle and creating less than genius playlists was really exciting. But honestly it wasn't really for me.

And maybe the most important thing is, you are not always there. I know that is hard to hear, but you are not. And my smartphone is just always by side. If something happens, I have a three hour layover, I want to be entertained as I eat lunch, even if I am lost on a pointless conference call - it is there for me. I have to remember to bring you along all the time, otherwise you just sit there at home.

Waiting.

It is torture.

I am sorry, this probably makes me out to be a bigger jerk. I don't mean to be. It is just that I have come to realize this now. And... I don't even really know what else to say. I guess I should just probably just stop. Yeah, I am just going to go. And go.

Everybody knows this is nowhere

When you are away my heart comes undone

My house is tidy.

Actually tidy. For once, if i swabbed a finger across anything, there would be zero grime. And I walk around on said floor with no feeling of scrunching dust poke up between my toes. It’s almost magical. I also played a game of Tetris with the furniture and it actually looks bigger! I’m in awe. There must be some karma going on here that I cannot comprehend.

I was awoken this morning by the mailman ringing on my front door, wielding a silvery looking package that moved beneath his arm. He had me sign his digital thingimajig (I miss those days when there were some things at least that were left un-digitized) and left the peculiar parcel in my hands before rushing back inside and out of sight. I inspected the package and came to the conclusion that it was, indeed, a package addressed to me. So without further delay I ripped it open, feeling excited and nervous at what lay beneath its space-agey depths. Was it something wonderful, fantastical, technological, maybe anthraxable?

It was a pack of duvet sheets and a President's Day card from Pottery Barn.

I promptly fell back asleep.

Breaking the Cycle

Why you should listen to people and just buy a Japanese car - because those mechanics are easy to come by. In my case, the only one that would give me an affordable quote is twenty miles away.

So I caught the metra back home. And now I am all jittery about this girl sitting beside me on the metro with dark glasses pushed up on to her long, elaborately done up, straight hair. She is wearing a blue cardigan with a glowing white shirt under it. I cannot see her legs, they are hidden from me behind the seat, but I can catch a glimpse of her shiny silver bag.

She knows I’m writing about her, and she is sneakily watching while trying to look interested in her social networking site.

I’m listening to Arcade Fire. And I really like them even if they are giving me a headache. They have this strange lyrical genius.

I think I know the girl sitting beside me from a long time ago or chance meeting. Only the people I knew before 2 months are about 8000 miles away.

Who can tell these days anymore?

For Life and and all that it does to us.

Maybe it is the way of telling a story of the couple's origins building to its romantic peak against the one of their present day relationship sinking, but the cross-spliced canvas is in so many ways the story of my life.

Blue Valentine seemed tailored specifically to my tastes: a natural anti-romantic-ballad that acknowledges the evanescence of mutual fascination, presented in grainy, deeply saturated imagery that captures those eloquent minutes that you can never have taken from you.

Most movies reduce love to a grieving heart sentiment. Eternal Sunshine of a spotless Mind treats it as a subject of extended philosophical viewpoint. The film is cerebral, conceptually realistic, dense with literary allusion and as unabashedly romantic when you least expect it to be. I am so seduced by Valentine's final moments primarily because I have so often tragically interpreted something that is great now to automatically mean it will be great forever.

Life, and love, can be depressing propositions. Good people meet, with good intentions. They truly love each other and want only the best. But you can’t depend on getting only the best. And how we deal with the worst is what, in the end, determines the poetry of our lives.

Incomprehensible foreign movies for three plus hours

Am so far away.

~ It isn't the choices we make that haunt us, its the ones we choose not to take.

Come as you are. Leave as you want to be.

People are defined by the cars they drive. It is part of the American identity. It is have your own car and the car will set you free. It is the extension of the horse in the myth of the exploration of the west and what-not.

But when you try and take public transport to ferry yourself around, there is this whole lifestyle of philosophical components to it. If you are hoping to cultivate things like detachment and understand a Buddhist notion like impermanence I would highly recommend it. You develop a strong sense of self. You get to know who you are fundamentally in the absence of any other external trappings or anything that socially people recognize, or frame our identities like - I was there; I will be there; It is 4 o clock now, I should be there in an hour. When you are publicly transported, you do nothing. You sit at a station. You listen to radio stations. You sit at a stop. You watch the young boy being yanked along by the bored mommy. You sit in a train. You read a book. You hop off. You pat yourself down searching for the ear muffs. You sit in a bench. And I guess I did grow in that regard too. I really became comfortable with myself beyond whatever society might have thought I was or what I was supposed to be doing or where I was from. I was the guy that sat there.

So in an effort to not just sit there and uh.. get around - I decided I am going to buy a car. So you do the usual haunts - reply to messages on social boards, walk in to coffee shops to look at notice boards, walk in to foreclosure sections in banks maybe (?). But yeah, the word was out on the street. This man was on a mission. He wasn't going to be content with life. He refused to just uh.. sit there. He was going to get himself some wheels. A sweet set even.

Then the time comes when you start visiting up on people that you have called in advance to make appointments to see their cars. Its this place where civic order and rules cease to apply. People tend to leave a sense of perspective and style that they believe has rubbed off on the vehicle that they have guarded for many years; sometimes many, many years. My first reaction to seeing trustafarians get out of a 80,000$ vehicle that gets 8 miles to the gallon to sell me a car that is older than me is - I hate you. But I am not going to do anything because I am going to deal with my hatred . . . . positively. By umm... grinding my teeth into nubs. The midlife crisis guys - they were the second worst in line after the sorority-sister-frat-boy types. The ones that are adamant that they need to find a good home for Old Betty and ask you embarrassing questions about your personal goals and financial plans. I hated them. For gods sake, I was going to pay in cash. In full. And I will never see you again. And you do not get visiting rights for the car. The most extreme example of people's sense of entitlement and fundamental laziness is the lack of engagement with the living. All of a sudden it is unfair to expect that the photo that you had on the ad is the picture of the car you are trying to pawn off and not something you found on the internet. For god's sake if this is how your car actually looked I wouldn't have made it 40 miles across town. And then I'd really feel sorry for the lonely looking grad guy who lives in a booth kind of structure that Jesus might have collected parking fees from, who needs to sell his car to pay for tuition or drugs or something. But student cars are really terrible. As a rule, it is like they have been told never to service it as long as they own it.

People would bring a certain assumptions to play in their interactions with dealers that to them seem perfectly rational and may seem rational and reinforced elsewhere in consumer culture. You know, the notion that the customer is always right. The notion that if you have the money, you have the right to get whatever the money can I buy you. These are the kinds of things that are if not taken for granted are pretty often the case. But if you are buying your first car, they are simply not true. There's registration and then titles and deeds. Then there are plates, temporary, special, vanity. And then the license. And don't get me started on insurance. And all of these have these are viciously cyclic too.... You need a combination of a couple or more to get each of these. And for someone like me, who doesn't have any, this can be a trying experience.

It makes you seriously consider the existential implications of your quest. What does this actually mean. Where does this fit in. Which is of course the problem of being unnecessarily over-educated at a fairly uncomplicated service sector job. You plenty of time to think about it.

If it all goes well, tomorrow evening I won't just be sitting. I'd be victorious after my battle with humanity. I'd be driving. Something that would say "I'm just sexy enough for you to notice me (wink wink), but I'm elegantly understated and well-groomed. Without being high maintenance. I'm quality. I'm sporty on the weekends. You can introduce me to your parents."




Saddle. Up. Baby.
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Dual Personality to Diabolic Possession

You know when you go on Facebook and all your friends are going to a million parties every second with people who are more awesome than you? Scientists say that's an illusion — but it can still make you sad.

Specifically, Stanford researchers found that undergraduates underestimated how often their friends got lonely or had fights, and overestimated how much they partied and had fun. The researchers also found that underestimating the crappiness of other people's lives was linked to feeling crappy oneself — although its unclear whether students were sad because they thought their friends had better lives than they did, or the other way around. Slate's Libby Copeland applies these results to social networking: "[lead study author Alex] Jordan's research doesn't look at Facebook explicitly, but if his conclusions are correct, it follows that the site would have a special power to make us sadder and lonelier. By showcasing the most witty, joyful, bullet-pointed versions of people's lives, and inviting constant comparisons in which we tend to see ourselves as the losers, Facebook appears to exploit an Achilles' heel of human nature."

Copeland's piece includes some of the kind of talk about Facebook that just makes me feel old — teenagers creating "a character" in their profiles and experiencing "presentation anxiety" about how said character comes across. This kind of Facebook use frankly feels like science fiction to me, and I sometimes wonder if teens exaggerate their investment in social media just to mess with impressionable adults (kind of the way I suspect this Amazon tribe of messing with anthropologists). However, it's certainly accurate that the nature of Facebook encourages the documentation of fun over the recording of malaise, boredom, or misery.
The real disconnect, though, is between the fun depicted in Facebook photos and (some) status updates and the crushing e-nnui we often experience when looking at a lot of said photos and updates. Our posts on Facebook may depict the high points of our lives, but we're most likely to troll through others' posts during our low points — when we're avoiding a looming deadline, killing a dull evening at home, or stalking an ex after a recent breakup. It's not just that Facebook presents other people at maximum awesomeness (though it often does) — it's that we're most likely to view their lives from a vantage point that's decidedly un-awesome, and it's no wonder that a virtual parade of others' fun makes us feel even worse. I'm not one of those Luddites who thinks Facebook rots your brain or whatever, but I do think that when you're feeling down you should turn off your computer and pick up a book. Because there's nothing like literature for reminding you that other people are secretly miserable.

 - The Anti-Social Network [Slate]

When I die young . . . .

No Crueler Tyranny: Accusations and Other Terrors of Our Times

Luke Skywalker might be a hillbilly with a bowlcut, but his dad was Space Jesus.

I have written a dozen posts that are saved to drafts where the first sentence always began with “So” and the ended with “right?”, but they all seem too obvious or a little too weird or too similar. Here is me starting from scratch.

The truth is I am terrified. That came out of nowhere. But it is still true. Here I am. Scared. I’ve been scared for a while though, so I’m getting used to it in a strange way. It feels like getting a tattoo and feeling the pain at first, but then becoming used to it despite the fact that it still hurts.

Anyway, I am scared. I stood at the tallest point in the city yesterday and as I looked down at the world beneath my feet and I knew I was not ready. My writing isn’t getting any better. My social skills are retarded. My memory fails me at every turn. My laziness is all consuming. I spend too much money I don’t yet have. I eat when I am not hungry. I spend too much time doing nothing. I never finish anything that I have spent so long beginning. I never make the effort to see my friends. My tastes for music and books are collapsing in front of my eyes.

And everything seems to be ending so very quickly. My winter is ending. My social life is ending. My lust for blogging is ending. Everything is ending. At at the same time so much is beginning and I am scared because I am not up for this future. I am not ready for economical and social turmoil. Neither am I ready for oil wars and mass exodus, climate change and all that kind. The world is ending and I am scared because it is ending at the worst possible time. If the economy collapses I’ll never sell a deal. If energy wars begin I’m going to be crushed under greedy men’s feet. If the world ends then I’m not going to get the reward that school and family and television have promised me.

This is the most exciting time to be alive ever, and it’s only beginning and I am fucking terrified.

Fuck. This. Shit.

This now adorns a wall.

.

No proof just faith. No reason just faith

Removed on grounds of blatant narcissism.

New Years' Deception

He sat around the living room with his partner and friends, not to mention about 6 people he didn't know particularly well. It was large in size and better decorated than any bachelor flat he'd ever seen in his life. He held his partners hand and tried not to look his old flame directly in the eye.

Yes, his girlfriend knew they used to date, and it was in the past but neither of them had expected to see the girl from his past on New Years Eve of all times. He knew his girlfriend would get jealous as they used to date for so long and they had so much history and that the new relationship was still new but that made it no less valid - this had been explained to her already, he had confirmed this to her. The girls on the other side of the room was his past, the girl next to him was his present.

The unfortunate part was that so many people he was friends with were also chummy with the girl he had separated from all those months ago. It looked like he'd end up talking to her at some point in the night. Even if it was only to make sure the the party went on as smoothly as possible. Someone always cried at a house party, and he wasn't going to be the reason that someone cried at this one.

Most people knew his girlfriend B already. So once she was comfortable with the idea, he chose his time to go over and speak to the ex. A hard conversation to approach he knew, but he waited for the right time, when there was only one or two other people talking to her at the time. As he started talking to the group, it meant he could talk to her to to clear the air.

'So.. how's everyone's New Year's Eve?' he asked

He got some acknowledgements, cheers' and high fives from the small group. The ex however, ignored him. 'How about you M?'

'It's OK, I guess'

'How have you been?' he not so much inquired out of wanting to know but out of duty so people can witness he tried.

'Not bad' she answered. Everyone sitting around looked awkwardly around and just started talking amongst themselves, blatantly still listening however in case they needed to intervene at any point.

'Have a good Christmas?'

'Yeah'

'Right, I'm gonna go for a bit. I'll maybe come back later and see if you fancy catching u with more than one word at a time. Good to see ya.' He said standing up and leaving.

If nothing else he was missing his girlfriend. That's why he knew that the new relationship was going to be different. He never felt this with M, he couldn't even get a conversation out of her now, all these months later without being scared for retaliation. He never missed her after days and he missed B after minutes, this wasn't the 'honeymoon period' either - this was different. This was Love.

He stopped on the way to talk to some friends before making a trip to the bathroom, where he saw B, crying. He took her outside and asked what was wrong, he consoled her, he hugged her. She wouldn't let him kiss her though.

'Whats wrong?' he asked ' You can tell me anything, I love you'

'Why did you have to say that' she shouted

'Shouldn't I have?' he retorted, shocked.

'I cheated on you' she said through streams of tears

'When?' he said calmly, with eyes as cold as stone

'With my ex, on Christmas eve' she said again through more tears.

He called her a taxi and waited with her until it came, he couldn't look at her, couldn't say another word. He gave the driver the money and the address to get her home safe.

He turned to B 'I'll see you around, but I don't want to. We're over. Lose my number. Don't call me. Don't expect anything.' He opened the door and let her get in. She was still crying. Harder than ever now he guessed. 'Happy New Year B' he said, before closing the door and tapping the roof of the taxi.

Thought for the day -  God loves fools. Women love bastards. Everybody loves cake.

Enough to make Baby Jesus cry

On February 4th 1912 Franz Reichelt attempted to test his latest invention — a parachute jacket — at the Eiffel Tower. He donned his apparatus and tentatively stepped to the edge of the viewing deck.

He had multiple primitive video cameras pointed at him to capture this amazing feat. The video shows Reichelt standing on the edge and staring down for a long, long moment. Obviously, he was nervous about what he was about to do, but knew that there was no turning back once he had gone that far. Anyways, what a wonderful publicity stunt it would be!

When he leapt off the edge, he plummeted straight to the ground. The jacket was supposed to open up and allow him to float gently to the ground, but it failed to perform as he intended.

His parachute jacket turned out to be a failure of an invention. But Reichelt inadvertently invented something else that day: taking videos of yourself doing something wildly idiotic and hurting yourself in the process. It's something that took a long time to really catch on, but it's safe to say that Franz was truly ahead of his time in this regard.

- Gizmodo

Currently listening to

Lucky Man - The Verve

~For my own reasons.

If they could make a movie along the lines of "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb"

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess. Her name was Victoria or Katherine or something like that. She was the princess of Bratislavia or Latistonia or one of those eastern European nations that later disappeared under the brutal heel of Stalinist terror and his misguided efforts at breaking the backs of the bourgeois landlord class and forging the mighty industrial monolith that the Soviet Union isn't today.

Ever since she was a little girl, her mother (the queen) and her father (the king) had told her that appearances weren't everything, and the chances were that one day she would meet a horrible warty frog and, merely by kissing him, he would reveal himself to be a handsome prince and the love of her life. An unlikely story admittedly, but back in those days before worldwide information technology and "mythbusters.com" they believed in all sorts of crazy things.

And so, Princess Victoria went in search of her frog prince.

Eventually after wandering the length and breadth of the kingdom she happened upon a pretty little pond and happened to rest. To her great surprise, sitting on a medium sized round stone half submerged in water, was a horrible, ugly, warty frog. Actually more often than not, it is toads that are horrible and warty. But in this case it was a grog with a particularly nasty skin condition.

Pausing only to wash her travel weary hands and change in to one of her favourite evening gowns she closed her eyes, puckered up and kissed the frog. And when she opened her eyes, she felt a gentle breeze wrapping all around her, birds fluttered from their tree perches, the sky started to turn azure. She felt the magic in the air. But then nothing happened. The frog just stared back at her with its unblinking exophthalmic eyes.

Now her mother always called her fickle and her brother maintained that she was pathologically unable to commit to a meaningful relationship for various reasons (not the least of which all was her eating disorder and drug abuse) and her father well... he was just annoyed, he had had quite enough of tripping over her many shoes scattered all over the palace.

But she decided that she would jolly well prove them all wrong. She felt the tug of magic and she knew in her heart of hearts that her handsome prince was within grasping reach. So by the bank of the pretty little pond, she made her home, forsaking all comforts save for three square meals a day and a new gown brought daily to her from her father's castle about a mile away (Silk and mud just didn't seem to go well together).

At the dawning of each new day and once again just before bedtime she planted a kiss on the disgustingly horrible, ugly, warty frog.

But he remained unchanged.

The days stretched in to weeks and the weeks in to months but the beautiful princess repeated her ritual. She was sure that only through a supreme act of devotion and love could she save the prince from the spell that was upon him. . .  which she assumed was laid on him by the evil witch that lived in the sinister and crumbling old house close by. She knew that through her sheer constancy and single mindedness she would prove wrong the bleatings and winnowings of her family. So the beautiful princess stayed true to her promise (the one that she had made to herself about sticking around) but the handsome prince still stubbornly stuck to his amphibious form.

Occasionally it occurred to her that the whole situation was a bit ridiculous and that the very idea of witches and princes being turned to frogs ran contrary to all her hitherto sensible sensibilities. But damn it all, she had started and she was going to see it through to the end.

The months stretched in to years and years stretched in to . . . well, more years (decades?). And eventually, the princess grew old and died.

Shortly after that the frog died too.

* * * THE END * * *
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Prologue

Once upon a time there was a handsome prince who happened to visit an ugly old witch while he was on his way to pay an impromptu visit to a beautiful princess who lived a castle nearby. His name was Colin (of Firth fame - I continue to own movie rights by the way).

He had dropped in to buy a love potion or something. Anyway, he must have said something off-the-cuff of some sort because the witch got really annoyed and cast an evil spell on him. . . and turned him in to a rock (of medium size, and round).

She said - a rock he would be until he received a kiss from a beautiful princess, or for that matter from anyone. And without further ado she hurled him out her window and he rolled down the slight incline till he came to rest half submerged in a pretty little pond.

Soon after that a horrible, ugly, warty frog crawled out of the pond and sat on him.

Quod me nutrit me destruit

From our days hunting on the prehistoric Savannah, the human brain is famously adapted for picking out relevant details from a jumble of images. Computers, however, would most likely have starved to death long before discerning an antelope in tall grass, let alone a phone number or contact information in a scanned document or PDF. They're evolving, though.

I've been devoting most of my working hours (and then some) to a difficult campaign with some asinine clients. The guy doing most of the work designing the campaign (thereby working closely with me) pretty much keeps to himself. Mr. Chill speaks only when necessary. Gives looks that make people think their mere visage offends him. Wears his headphones so as to block out ambient noise and makes a mess on the table he eats on. Still he doesn't talk.

In the beginning of this month, I joined this new team when we were all allocated, and I found myself in the cube directly across from Mr. Benign Rotundness. Late last week, we had this much-needed communication breakthrough. RB started actually speaking to me. Both about work in general and about things unrelated to work. I was particularly pleased with the turnaround and looking forward to the benefits of our new found working relationship. And yeah, Hindi was the medium of communication.

The other day, my work buddy Buddhist Catholic tapped the glass behind me and blew me a kiss. I turned in my chair just enough to blow a kiss back at her, which left me facing the aisle and Mr. Chill. Usually engrossed in his work and/or social networking, Mr. Chill took this opportunity to turn toward me - as I was mid- kiss... lips puckered, hand in air... and facing Mr. Chill directly.

I tried to assure him that I wasn't blowing him kisses, but I felt the flush rising in my cheeks and saw my shame mirrored in his suddenly rosy face. Certain any further explanation on my part would only make things worse, I turned back to my work.

So, yeah... Pretty sure the new found lines of communication with Mr. Chill are shut down as of now.

And Buddhist Catholic? After laughing hysterically at my retelling of the story, she's banned from blowing kisses my way.

* No, that's not an excuse, just the facts, people. I'm not silly enough to think anyone is out there wondering where I've been. It just happened to be a good lead-in for a little self-deprecation. And we all know how much I love some self-deprecation.

I know, I know, I haven't been spending too much time at the blog lately because I've been working on advancing my career. Or so I'd like to believe, but all that is about to change.

A pattern in the fractal

She checked the time on her phone. He should have been here by now. So she went back to waiting. It would have been sweet if he had shown up early, and she wasn’t the type to raise a ruckus if he was a few minutes late. This was definitely hovering over that line.

He might actually have a good excuse. Maybe a scooter splashed a puddle over him and he had to change. Maybe he was dropping that elderly aunt he told her about. Maybe a hyena had escaped from the zoo and had him trapped in a corner. Still, he should have at least sent her a text.

She flicked through the magazine again. Somehow Maxim didn't seem to hold her attention today. Served her right for arriving early, so eager and excited and stupid. To pass the time she tried to memorise the release dates of all the films PVR seemed intent on screening. June 29th, July 12th, August 3rd, which was also her birthday. Maybe he would surprise her and they would start going out and he would take her to see the film as a birthday treat.

She got her phone out again. No new messages. She told herself she would wait 2 more minutes before sending him one. The film was due to begin. That way she wouldn’t seem desperate or needy, only practical. “The movie is starting now, are you nearby?” She composed it, added his number, and when the two minutes were up sent it.

And then she waited two minutes. Not a problem, parking lots can be painful to type in.

Then five minutes went past. Well, she could miss the trailers.

Then another three minutes. She hoped there was a long credit sequence at the start.

How much longer would she need to wait before it looked pathetic?

20 minutes or so probably, though she knew she’d wait as long as 40.

A boy sat down beside her, and her heart soared.

It took three seconds before she realized that it wasn’t her date. Just someone that looked as bored and lonely as she did. He caught her looking, and flashed a tight smile. Then he went back to staring at the cinema entrance and glancing at his watch. It was curious to see him doing exactly what she was.

146 seconds passed. She counted each one, in hope that time would go slower and she might still see the film with her date.

When she got to 147 an enormous sigh let up besides her. She looked and again he caught her.

“You've been stood up too?” he asked glumly. She smiled wanly, a little glad to see that she wasn’t the only reject in the world. “Sucks” he said. “Yeah” she mumbled.

A silence followed this. He took one more look at his watch. Then he said “Which movie?”.

“Sorry?”

“Which movie were you going to see?”

“Oh, Finding Neverland”

“Ha, same”

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It looked like some paper, and he tried to iron them out with it in his hands “Did the smart thing and bought both tickets early” he said.

She gave him a sympathetic nod. At least she hadn’t gone that far she confessed.

“Yeah, sucks to be me too” he said.

He stared at his hands holding the tickets in front of him. Then he looked up.

“Do you…like the look of the film?” he asked.

“Well I thought the trailer held promise, and of course Johnny Depp’s in it”

“Of course. And let’s not forget Kate Winslet either”

“No,” she laughed. “I guess not”

He looked at the tickets some more. “Would you like one?” he said “I don’t want to let the world know I was stood up - sit alone next to an empty seat. And I don't think they'll give me a refund” He tried to give her a ticket.

“Oh, well let me buy it off you” she said, as she rummaged for her purse from her rather large handbag.

“It’s no big deal.”

“Then let me pay.”

“Girls shouldn’t have to” he muttered.

She smiled.

At least there was one gentleman in the world. And while he wasn’t handsome in the classical sense, he wasn’t particularly unattractive. Besides, she had been looking forward to the movie; A date for the film was insurance that she didn’t have to go in and sit alone. She made up her mind.

“At least let me buy the popcorn” she was still rummaging around her bag.

“You don’t have to sit next to me if you don’t want to.”

She looked up sharply, got up, took his hand and pulled him up as well. “Come on” she said “we’re missing the film, so get moving”

“Oh, ok fine. Let’s go”

So they did, and it was nice, and they did end up having fun after all. Except as they got out, the doorman shot the boy a wry smile and shook his head, but she soon forgot about that and its oddness. The film had been lovely and she was feeling so grateful towards the boy.

It was next week. The boy went to the cinema by himself again. He looked up at the listings and went up to the ticket counter. Behind it was the doorman. He smiled at his old friend.

“What films are out that couples will want to see today?”

The doorman rolled his eyes “The Pianist”

The boy bought 2 tickets. He sat down and waited, looking around for when a girl would show up, looking unhappy and alone.

Looking like they had been stood up for a date.