I was at a gig this week, reveling in all the good music currently on offer, when I was approached by a new friend. We keep bumping into each other at events and share a loose connection via work. And while entertaining some small talk, he mentioned something that I know I didn’t tell him.
It was a small and insignificant fact, but still, he must have picked it up online as it’s not something we’ve ever discussed.
It made me wonder… Could I have been Googled?
At first I blamed the end of the year and its traditional tiredness, but no, my words just aren’t binding lately. Sure, I sense guilt and a desire to write, but nothing translates. So instead of pushing it, here are some random bits and pieces that have been billowing…
* I love lists and there are so many things I like about this interview on them, featuring the rather brilliant Umberto Eco. The mental image of his 70 meter hallway dedicated to literature, which only houses around 50,000 books, blows my mind. Just slightly.
* I’ve been writing a lot lately, you know, the old school way. There’s something about that soft scratch of a pencil on paper that romances me. Wolf starts kindergarten soon (no, let’s not talk about it) and I wonder whether an early introduction to technology will rob him of this. And whether it will really matter.
* Everyone seems to be getting tattoos these days, with the exception of those pesky-to-remove inky eyelid kinds. And although they’re probably considered mainstream, I’m still struck when I see one that is aesthetically quite becoming or just plain cool… yes, I thought of you my friend.
* I love the movies. Love. I adore sitting in the theater after the film has finished and reading the credits, the playlist, etc, but am rebelling against the hype of Avatar. Won’t/can’t do it. No.
* I have a hole in one of my back teeth. It’s not a small one either and seems to be getting bigger. My tongue is a bit obsessed with exploring it. I have health insurance and no real excuse… just keep forgetting. I know, it’s bad.
I know it’s a trait of modernity, but I feel a rebellion against instant gratification lately. We can get everything on demand these days. What happened to a slow seduction and developing ideas over time?
Instant messenger, instant friendship, instant pleasure, instant food… I feel like turning off, going off the technology reservation, writing letters, slow cooking and getting to know people over long afternoons where there’s comfortable space for a bit of silence.
I think we can sacrifice quality for wanting everything now. Flavours don’t have any depth – whether it’s in a relationship or a concept. I don’t want to use abbreviations anymore. I want someone to tell me a good story. And the irony is that I want all of this now.