Flow

Quick summary

2009-10-25T18:52:00.004+01:00

Best of luck to Zsombor in Singapore, keep up the good work bro! The same goes out to Dose, who goes beyond the great pond and scouts the area for himself, before taking over the Big Apple! And because two goes outwards, rule has it, two should come inwards (but those two are rather four): so, fingers crossed for Anna-Réka and Márti - ladies, go forward with that birthgiving business.
And last but not least I'm holding my breath for the certainly certain someone who happens to stand before the doorway of future.

Blogosphere

2009-10-25T18:52:00.001+01:00

My blogosphere is certainly round shaped, as I'm just about to return from the far side of it to this side.
I've visited the dark side of the sphere because of very enlightening facts of life - with all their bright colours.

I wanted to write a few words about many events, thoughts I experienced and maybe I'm going to - after all, there were in most cases a slight deley between the events, experiences and the posts describibg or reflecting to them.

I can only say to all of you, who happened to stumble upon my blog once in a while, what once captain Solo told to an angry bartender: "Sorry for the mess!" ;-)

Measure

2009-04-20T14:48:00.004+01:00

- Did you go the extra mile?
- Even the extra-terrestrial mile, too.

The humane Galactica

2009-04-19T11:20:00.001+01:00

At last we managed to watch the final four episodes of Battlestar Galactica. I mentioned it earlier here that this fantastic voyage on the - not so - small screen is about to end. On fridey evening we escorted Galactica on its final FTL jump.
I for one was very satisfied with the ending and the way tha writers handled the story. What was really important was answered, and even smaller parts of the whole story bacame clearer. It was, although not an entirely happy ending - and I'm not talking about only deaths, but choices and apparently unpredictable decisions - it was optimistic.
I really loved the way how the creators of the show handled Kara's role and how her mystery was answered.
The series' main message - at least for me - was that we have to try to break the vicios circles, we have to embrace the courage to do so, and at the same time: accept things.
I know it's a rushing world and time is something of a luxury - which all of us have in a very limited and ever shrinking supply - but I can recommend this series to anyone who wants to know more about humanity and being human. Don't be decieved by the setting and the style, this TV show is not a science-fiction which deals with scientific or fictional matters. Battlestar Galactica's only topic is the human behavior, no matter if the different aspects of it are represented by the artificial cylons or the biological colonials.

Balance

2009-04-19T10:59:00.001+01:00

Dolores O'Riordan's new album is titled as 'No baggage'. I'm looking forward to listen to it, but even without a note heard from the record the title sells it for me. As I just put down a baggage which was more of a burden than a boon to bear, but thanks to my friends - and only in a very small part to my better judgement - I was able to put that down instead of running with it a few rounds with varying speed and success.

My thoughts are not knotted anymore to a pier holding my little vessel at bay - while the currents and the calling of the sea wanted to drift it away from the shore time and time again.
Easier than I imagined the winds began to blow and as the rope untied itself the sailing boat ran out in a surprisingly balanced way. A few glances taken at the port from a distance it remains unclear wether these parts would be visited again, or eventually that place and state of mind will remain just a few notes in the captain's log.
Good winds are blowing: Ahoi!

Difference

2009-04-13T11:27:00.000+01:00

Make, believe. Not make believe.

Are You Listening?

2009-03-23T23:15:00.004+01:00

I bought Dolores O'Riordan's solo album when it debuted and since then it's one of my favourites. Even without the music these lyrics are among the best I've heard lately. And of course with Dolores' singing and music they're captivating.
Two examples:

"Ordinary Day"
--------------
This is just an ordinary day
Wipe the insecurities away
I can see that the darkness will erode
Looking out the corner of my eye
I can see that the sunshine will explode
Far across the desert in the sky

Beautiful girl
Won't you be my inspiration?
Beautiful girl
Don't you throw your love around
What in the world, what in the world
Could ever come between us?
Beautiful girl, beautiful girl
I'll never let you down
Won't let you down

This is the beginning of your day
Life is more intricate than it seems
Always be yourself along the way
Living through the spirit of your dreams

Beautiful girl
Won't you be my inspiration?
Beautiful girl
Don't you throw your love around
What in the world, what in the world
Could ever come between us?
Beautiful girl, beautiful girl
I'll never let you down
Won't let you down
Down, down...

"Human Spirit"
---------------
Don't let life consume you
It could eat you up inside
Can you see the human spirit?
Tell me why should I have to hide

And with my heart in my hand
And with my hand upon my heart
And with my heart in my hand
It's not like we planned

Don't betray your lover
You will just betray yourself
Can you see the human spirit?
Is there emptiness inside

And with my heart in my hand
And with my hand upon my heart
And with my heart in my hand
It's not like we planned

Can you see the human spirit?
Is there emptiness inside
Can you see the human spirit?
Is there loneliness inside

[Repeat refrain]

Rainwalk

2009-03-23T23:03:00.003+01:00

After ending my workday at around 9PM, I took a nice two hour walk in the city as the rain was falling from the sky. It was the first time this year that the rain had that delicate smell what spring rain has and it kept falling gently. I enjoyed the walk all along. I've taken the time to lament on things of the past, the things of recent times and all that what could happen in the future. Raindrops, ripples on small puddles, soaking clothes and splashing water - examples of calculable occasional occurences.

Neverending wisdom

2009-03-23T08:07:00.002+01:00

Never say never, they say. And they already said it twice in one sentence.

Odd enough for you?

2009-03-19T16:59:00.001+01:00

Dani was again in Hungary for a few days and we had a very good evening talking and drinking a few bottles of quality white wine. A lot of topics came up and at one time Dani revealed which character I resembled him the most back in the elementary school and later this aura just didn't seem to fade (No matter that becoming an adult usually would eventually result in becoming 'normal', and being an easily identifiable member of the society).
It was Mork, the extraterrestrial from planet Ork, portrayed by one of my favourite actors: Robin Williams.
Hell, I've felt really flattered, it was such a compliment. I loved that show when I was a child and I still do. Mork and Mindy was something very unusual, I haven't seen such humour on television until then, not to mention such an enigmatic character on-screen as Mork. It was overkill, it was light hearted but all the while it had some profound element of humanity there. Mork was someone who acted normal by his own standards, which sometimes seemed odd by human standards. So, if only a little I resembled my good friend to Mork then I did something very well back then, and I hope I'm still good at it.
Okay, I don't want to lay eggs instead of my bride and hatch a newborn old man who ages in reverse, but I would be more than happy to be able to drink with my pointing finger and talk with my clothes, not to mention travelling in space inside a large, egglike spacecraft.
Nanu, nanu!

Accidental collisions

2009-03-19T16:15:00.001+01:00

We went to one of our friend's gig last night. I made it there just for the closing 3-4 songs. The band in which our friend plays as a singer-guitarist is a quite interesting blend of rock, punk and irish folk music, with the emphasis on the latter. I'm not really into irish folk tunes, okay, I like them, but only in very limited quantities - I've heard some very underwhelming performances earlier. But Firkin's live performance was full of energy, without posing, it was simply alive, not only live. The tunes were energising and it was good to be there.
Of course the evening was also one of a kind as accidentally we ran into faces we haven't seen in a while, and it created a unique atmosphere. It's good to be alive.

Dream of the unknown

2009-03-19T16:14:00.002+01:00

I had a dream last night when someone - who was very important to me at a time - and her parents, me and my parents were sitting in a large livingroom. The atmosphere was a bit eerie, but later it became managable. My parents were looking all right, they were sitting on a sofa and their unison was sensible, they were quite relaxed. On the other side, however the two parents weren't really alive, and the father was talking in a slow, uncomfortable way, when you can't decide wether he arrived at the end of his sentence or just wants to continue - always keeping his audience's attention. And as his mouth formed the words, at one moment his lips began to change and his mouth became a very alien, repulsing opening, as if it would be the part of some kind of monster's face, not belonging to a human being. After a while even the room began to change, its walls transformed, changed their shape and colur and the whole environment was unpleasant. The two of us, who would be the connecting elements between these two groups of people, were apparently actors without a part to play.
It wasn't as scary as it could have been, so I'm really interested what this dream means, what my brain tries to process with these kind of dreams.

As it began

2009-03-19T16:14:00.001+01:00

I recieved a question wether my posts are true life experiences, or not. Well, they all are true life experiences. One thing is sometimes mixed up however, but not so often, is the posting date and the time when it happened to me, or someone else. It is really easy to understand why. One can not really process all the knowledge, feelings et al instantly. Sometimes one needs a little time to digest everything and see things clearly as they are, not in a distorted way. So, that's how it is.

Take a walk on the bright side...

2009-03-01T13:29:00.000+01:00

Whoa! What times I had! Reviewed my past two or so years and I'm glad that it happened the way it happened to me. I guess I've done (almost) everything the way I think it was right. And although some sections of the road turned out to be actually tunnel-like and its lighting became darker and darker - with some shiny periods here and there - I think walking along it wasn't in vain. I wish all those involved will come to the same conclusion and go forward with their goals and life in a progressive way.
Well, how it is now? Strange, I don't feel myself tired and I don't feel myself empty. In a way I'm more open than I was before and that is, I think, stresses that the invard looking period of 2005-2006 paid off (Hmm, I like it when I'm eventually right ;-)) as, without that it would have been impssible to identify my fears, longings, faults et al to myself.
Now, there are numerous opportunities and a lot of time and this time I can build on past achievements and don't have to form building blocks from the rubble of the ruins.
So, there are happy endings after all.

I'm melting...!

2009-02-25T20:35:00.000+01:00

Cries out the snow in these days - just like the wicked witch of the east (or west...?) did it in the Wizard of Oz.
Yup, the snow melts away, the sun shines and the coming of the spring is sensible. The noises the smell of the air are signalling: the days of the winter are numbered.
Of course there will be sideffects like the bacteria and virus strains back in action after their sub zero temperature hybernation, but anyways, no pain, no gain.

Let the sunshine in

2009-02-24T20:02:00.002+01:00

It's not that I'm fed up with the weather - which is a proper winter about a month later than it should be - but I can always use a bit more light.
Other than that I feel that the sun just began to shine on me. Not only literally. The sensation of warmth and freedom, the wide horizon before you and all that.

Framing ourselves

2009-02-09T19:05:00.000+01:00

Well, that little place called Keret (i.e. frame) was quite a nice find. Our regular meetings with the friends from IO-Circle were always good but since we discovered this place these events are even better than before.

I don't know, it may be only me but I feel that we can talk a lot more openly than in any other public venue we frequented before. It has a special kind of friendly atmosphere which isn't there anywhere else. It's not posh, far from it, it's not high-tech either but it definitely has good vibes in my opinion. Of course it may be that we are more in tune with ourselves than before and the trick would work even in the basement of an abandoned mansion too.

Sidenote:
Lately I've heard that a friend may return to us after more than two years. I'd be more than happy to see it - although I know I may have been partailly responsible for her choice of absence.

Out of order?

2009-02-09T18:58:00.000+01:00

I've heard in the last couple of months - we might risk, in the last year - in a growing frequency words like these: Time to give up, change your attitude, forget, time to leave, go for another, cut it, don't do it, and acknowledge the conclusions.
Hell, yeah. But there's only one problem with that: I don't work like that.

I'm usually go 'till the final frontier and sometimes even a few steps beyond if the cause is important enough for me. It's not something I'm proud of, or something I think of as a virtue, it's just the way I work.
I know it's often self-destructive, but I can't switch to another channel as if I'd do that there would be the forever bugging little bug which tortures its host by saying: you gave up too soon.
I have to look for the truth, I have to go the final mile, I can't let go something until I didn't try everything to save it, if it is or dear enough for me.
I know, that sometimes letting go is the smart way. I know, that sometimes this stubbornness could seem like a blown-up ego's selfish possessiveness.
But, in my world it's not that simple.

If you're like me, then when you make a connection it's not something which is really easy to sever. You were led by not only the instant rush of new electrical signals in your brain but other, more subtle forces to make the connection, so, you won't step down when things get harder, uglier or even scarier.
It's just not the right way.
And a few years ago I learned that there is no other way which is worth to step on to. I'd like to stay on this road and waving goodbye only when there's really nothing else is left to do.

Waving goodbye to a Battlestar

2009-02-09T09:43:00.000+01:00

Four years ago a tv series emerged bearing the underwhelming title of Battlestar Galactica. Well, the show had many surprises for those who were thinking a sci-fi story with such a title could only mean shallow entertainment. As the case is just the opposite, it is safe to say this series is the most intelligent and humane tv shows produced in the last couple of years.

Battlestar Galactica covers a plethora of relevant topics with wisdom, wit and - moreover - passion. Ethical, political and religious themes are torn apart and put to the test in every episode. There were many occasions when I've seen parallels with my own life watching the series.
The decisions the leaders of the ragtag fleet have to make, the questions they have to answer, the challenges they're bound to overcome are so real that you often find yourself forgetting you're just watching a sci-fi tv show.

One of the strongest points of the storyline is that that there are no black and white characters and not even black and white situations. The series starts off when almost the entire human race is annihilated by the cylons - the artificial life forms of their own creation - and a statistically marginal group of a 40 000 or so survivors are organised into a fleet which begins its journey towards a mythical planet which could be their promised land: Earth. From then on the fight for survival and the gauntlet towards the presumed salvation intensifies constantly and even though there are some calm moments, the tension is always sensible in the background. Gradually the cylons, although they remain mostly alien, are portrayed in a way which removes the mask of pure evil off their faces and uncovers their less savage - one might say - human face too.

In the following weeks this journey is about to end and looking back from where it started it's simply breathtaking what the writers and producers achieved so far. From here the humble beginnings, where the cylons were so alien and the humans firmly had the moral high ground the series boldly moved towards a more complex situation one episode at a time.

While Battlestar Galactica has numerous spectacular space dogfights and a serious amount of action sequences the series is driven mainly by the characters. The writers never pampered their heroes, this sci-fi world is not one where you'd have an easy life. It's much closer to our own where your inner strength and beliefs are tested under the heaviest weights, sometimes with a serious amount of extra pressure added.

Although I'm looking forward to see how Galactica's four years long journey ends I'm going to miss these characters brought to life by a top notch cast as their struggles gave me besides the epic journey's tale one very important thing: inspiration.

Heads, tails and the coin's edge too

2009-02-05T13:32:00.001+01:00

Revolving around the same person. First I got a question somewhat out of context concerning what is with that someone. Then later on the same day a short telephone conversation with the person in question, light and chatty. And at the end of the day a confrontation with that someone's hardly believable side. In one day, in three parts. Incidentally?

Uplifting

2009-01-30T11:07:00.000+01:00

It's quite reassuring to know that a few companies exist where the work ethics and organisation culture is very close to what I think is the right way.
I had the chance to introduce myself at one such company, and given my previous experiences I never witnessed something like that. There are some strict point which could be unaccaptable to others, but in my world those are necessary to maintain a rhythm. For instance, the beginning of the daily work. (I know many creative people find it quite hard to get in line with a daily routine, but for me creating it - like, getting up early, running, etc. - is quite important and allows me to concentrate on all te stuff that come in my way during a day.)
But all in all the company I talking about has a record which shows that their self esteem is quite high. But not in the manner which regards anyone else as unworthy, only, they seem to know where they're headed and all the while seem to open to new opportunities. So, a quite inspiring environment.
I'm glad that I know such business entities exist, as it shows that the strategies and concepts I believe in can become a reality and their life expectancy could be anything but short.

Relative time

2009-01-30T00:06:00.002+01:00

Anna-Réka came home for a week from Berlin and while she is here she arranged a few meetings with - not so close, but not that far either - members of the family.

She and I began to collect all the bits and pieces of the history of our family (about which I lamented in an earlier post under the title of Misty blood - or something like that) and this afternoon we have had the privilege to be the guests of Roni and his wife.
They're living about a 10 minutes walking distance from where I live. They have spent quite a few summers with Ervin Baktay and his companions in his famed indian-camp at Kisoroszi. (I just learned that these events ended only a few years ago and many of the former campers bought houses in Kisoroszi.)
They shared very intriguing stories, pictures and knowledge on their lineage of this wide and windy family tree of Erdőbaktay Baktay Gottesmans. Of course as we received answers for a good number of questions, not surprisingly almost just as many new questions arose. But that doesn't matter we have some good points and our investigation could go on - but I don't know what we can do when we have to go to tha archives of Austria...
We had the chance to get some rare pictures about Ernő and Ervin in their cowboy and indian outfits, we learned their indian names. On the slightly serious side we get a hold of numerous colored cartoons made about Ervin by a friend and indian-camp companion Pál Hallgato (a.k.a. Boggs) which are hilarious. And also we have a quite detailed family tree concerning the D'Albon-Gottesmann lineage.
It was really interesting to see how many cousins later became spouses. It was present in the family earlier and it seems that every generation can show a pair consisting of relatives - so the family trees branches sometimes twine together.
Well, and before I forget, the fine liquor - their own distilled plum pálinka - was an unexpected bonus on top of that.

So, it was a very fruitful afternoon-evening and I was so glad I persuaded myself to go with Anna-Réka, instead of writing an article - which I can just as well do during the night hours, i.e. now. It was really heart warming to see these relatives and listen to their stories, and knowing that they are very kind and good people, just as I expected they could be. The time we spent with them flew away relatively quickly.

Darkness after dawn

2009-01-27T18:34:00.001+01:00

Today my laptop just gave me a semi-heartattack. I was writing an article about a recently developed shiny tool helping people to identify early plaque development (if it doesn't sound interesting to you, you either have a denture, or have some uniquely fortunate mouth hygiene, so good for you), when the machine's lights went out. I was so surprised I even forgot to worry about it. Like a true professional - although I was rather shocked by than trained for this event - I pushed the big button to revive the machine which has more memory than the people of the whole building block I'm living in.
Pressed it once. Nothing. Pressed it twice. Nothing. Pressed even harder - maybe suspecting unconsciously tere might be some contact problems - and still nothing. Maintaining my cool - which surprised me even more than the blackout of the Vaio model on my lap - I was looking for clues on the backside. There it was: the cable somehow just slipped out. Oh, I thought that is easy and put the cable back and everíthing was just fine from then on. (Good detective candidates should've noticed that I forgot to check an obvious and important part of the machine.)

Hours later the paranormal activities returned again. The little icon in the lower right corner of the screen, which shows tha battery status once showed there was no battery. Then quickly changed and showed there is actually a battery, but it can't get charged. Of course, by then I was quite sure about what is the culprit of my problems: the battery of my laptop computer.
I checked the backside - more thoroughly than before - and realised the battery is wobbling a bit and its safety lock is wide open as the borders of the United States were in the beginning of the 20th Century. So, I took it out, put it back and made sure it's locked. The earlier event suddenly wasn't a mystery anymore, the loosened battery moved outwards and managed to put the main adaptor cable out of its socket, and as it wasn't in contact with the power supply chain anymore, the laptop just died out of a sudden, brutal change in its diet.

If you wondered, how the battery lost its connection with the IT world I can also tell you that was because of human error. A few weeks ago the ventilator in the little machine started to sound noisy. So, yesterday I dared the risk of electrocution by low-voltage IC modules and opened up the laptop's belly to dust off the small spinning thing. The operation was half success, as the dust really left the main body, but the occasional groaning sound is still there from time to time (I guess, someday I'm gonna take the little Vaio for a walk to the support department of Sony). As I screwed back all the elements I removed I didn't realise I'm just screwing up my morning work, too, as I just left the battery safety lock in its 'open' state.
The mral of the story: well, maybe something like that that before you'd go for a mystic to scare off the ghosts around you, you should first check, mate!

Three Mile Smile

2009-01-03T12:48:00.000+01:00

I just finished my first running session in 2009. It was 1:39 long between the Spoonman of Soundgarden and Edie (Ciao Baby!) from The Cult, the distance covered was the usual 20 klicks, as always. The sun shone graciously and brilliantly in the cold and a calm happiness was almost touchable. A lot of thoughts were constructed, reconstructed and deconstructed as the steps followed one another.

Maybe that's why I like this type of sport that much. You can be on your own, you face the questions, decisions, doubts and ideas alone, and you reassess every significant matter in your life and throw them before the most merciless jury for judgement: you. After these times I can feel a certain vigor and power within me again, a renewed strength and so much new ideas emerge that I feel pity that I can't write down all of them while I'm on the tracks.

Exactly at 00:00

2008-12-31T21:37:00.000+01:00

This is the last day of 2009. The one second longer year is just about to end. For me it was a mixed bag. Some very good things have happened to me, also I have had my fair share of challenging experiences and there was no shortage of - from a certain pont of view - hard times, too.
I wanted to move forward on different areas way faster than what this year have had in store for me. I thought I'm closer to specific goals and I thought I could leave some definitive matters behind. And not least I thought I can complete the first part of a personal journey which I started some time ago and, there, just as I'm closing this year I can not say the results I've been working for are clearly visible on the horizon.
I had to realise that patience is playing a bigger part in my life now than ever before. But also, being too tactful could slow down progress too much.
What for the next year, then? The same as for the old one. Only better executed.
I'm moving forward, the goals are clearer than before as these challenging times just magnified their values. So, I'm looking forward to this new round around the Sun and keep it up. Let's get going!
Happy New Year to all of you!

2008-12-29T20:08:00.001+01:00

What Your Taste in Music Says About You

Your musical tastes are intense and rebellious.

You are intelligent... but in a very unconventional way.

You are curious about the world. You love doing something new.

In fact, you enjoy taking risks and doing things most people would shy away from.

You are very physical. It's likely that you're athletic, but not into team sports.

You have the soul of an artist. Beauty and harmony are important to you.

What Does Your Taste in Music Say About You?

Lifecoaching

2008-12-29T19:22:00.001+01:00

Once I participated in a life coaching experiment. It was part of a company event cycle, and there was no way out of it, so I had to attend.
The woman who was responsible for the whole thing was quite enthusiastic about it, but she wasn't a really good communicator, so her message of what this whole thing is about was lost in translation. I guess out of the thirty-odd participants maybe two or three of us were really listening. As for me I think it was on my side only politeness, not that I was thinking very highly of such a things.

All in all, it wasn't anything more than I was expecting it to be, some self-knowledge exercises and defining goals for the future. Well, I played along and defined which were my most important goals for the future and how I think I could reach for them. Not surprisingly, those goals were the same as they are now, and the state of reaching them is, well, not really changed in the last years. I've made some progress, of course - but sometimes I feel like a boiler just about to explode - and still going on, but why this experiment came to my mind is that there's no such thing as planning in life. Lifecoaching, in essence was communicated toward us was nothing else than making plans in your life (which comes naturally, as everybody does that), but there was a cruel, somawhat inhumane element involved: making deadlines for yourself! I thought, and still do, that is ridiculous. One can, of course, make deadlines for work related and creative projects, and for every kind of activities which could be measured rationally, can be examined objectively. But dealing with personal matters, emotions, human interactions and connection involved in that manner is something really strange to me.

I think it has something in common with that kind of thinking which reduces life and events in life to chemical reactions and biological, physical necessities. I certainly admit that these also define the shape and possibilites of human interactions, but I don't think one can single out any other reasons, causes leading up to all the different kind of human interactions and relationships.
So, in that regard, lifecoaching for me is similar to that farmer which doesn't want to give the seed he sown enough time and want to harvest too soon. It's a triteness that our world is accelerated too much, it is indeed, but I don't think that human being should follow in every regard that pace, or else they could lose their humanity. So, quickness could come in handy in many areas but in human relationship I don't think fast love, fast reactions are really worth it. In my world they're like fast food: you can subdue your hunger quickly for a (very) short time, but after that you'll be even hungrier and there's a chance that you can even feel bad for a while afterwards.

Merry Christmas...in advance

2008-12-19T17:54:00.001+01:00

Christmas is coming. I'm usually among the few who actually like this holiday. Being with family, meeting with the ones you care for, exchanging small gifts or just talk and relax together. In essence: you celebrate the personally and emotionally meaningful things in life. I know it is accompanied by a quite cheesy, sugar coated atmosphere with plastic puttos, electronic Santa Claus figures and all the other whatnots the merchandising and decorating industry around the world could come up with, but the spirit of this holiday is definitely not this.

It's near the end of the year according to the christian calendar, and at the end of something, we usually sum up what have happened, what goes in the accounting books of our lives in that very year. And when you look over the numbers you see the really important notes were made about people. Christmas is a chance to express your gratitude, your feelings and whatever you want to express to the very people who defined your year, or defined so many years already in the past. I like to express some way that they were and are important pieces in the puzzle of my life.
So, in that regard I don't want to regurgirate anything when I see a burning candle, when I hear a Bach fugue and even I can go by all those kitschy accessories which are unremovable parts of this holiday season.

And, if you can't stand anything which has anything to do with catholicism, you can always think about the pagan customs, rituals and celebrations on which this whole holiday season is built upon.

Break-up songs for lunchbreak

2008-12-18T12:40:00.005+01:00

On a members exclusive blog (Fukitol) a topic came up on the songs, books and other stuff which can help you in those cases when you and your partner eventually break-up, so, when a relationship goes down the drain.
My favourite ventilating stuff is music. Not surprisingly those rock songs which deal with suffering, disillusionment, disappointment and handling something which just reached its end.

So, for that topic I collected my long time favourites for dealing with loves lost. Below you can find the list which was shaped in the early nineties, since then I'm still listening to these songs when something painful happens (regardless, wether the heartbreaker is on this side or on the other side of the table, as in my world splitting hurts everyone involved, either you are the active or the passive one in the process).

Pearl Jam:
Rearview Mirror - leaving behind the old
I Am Mine - Building up and maintaining self respect
Better Man - Hoping and a bit of self blaming

Pink Floyd:
Pigs on the Wing Part I - The cruel feeling of not caring and not being cared for
High Hopes - When something so important eventually ends, and there's the fact nothing will be same again
Coming back to life - About being abandoned, and getting up again
One of My Turns - When you yourself are really a pain in the ass
Final Cut - About trust and faith in others

Skid Row:
Get the Fuck Out - Accumulating hatred to solve the situation

Guns n' Roses:
Estranged - Being really alone
Back off Bitch - Realising that someone you care for is a complete idiot
You're Crazy - On rejection

Extreme:
Hole Hearted - About being uncomplete without the other

Aerosmith:
What it Takes - Well, about the burdens of letting go
Kiss your Past Goodbye - Leaving the wrong times behind

Queen:
My Melancholy Blues - Being left alone and just complaining about to ventilate the pain
Who Needs You - Forgetting that disappointing other
It's Late- Being late, but hoping not entirely
Funny How Love Is - It's about love, but yes, your failures could also be funny

Red Hot Chili Peppers:
Soul To Squeeze - Thinking about but not being ready for a new relationship, a new love
Under the Bridge - On being alone

R.E.M.:
Find the River - It's on being dragged by the currents, losing point and yet hoping in the future

Faith No More:
Midlife Crisis - About disappointment, mismatch and ill placed trust /Quoting: "Your menstruating heart, it ain't bleeding not for two."/

Mötley Crüe:
Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away) - It's as simple as the title suggests: no hard feelings, but get out of my life now
Home Sweet Home - It has a different angle lyrics-wise, but for me it's a perfect song about that feeling when you know that your apparent absence made sense, and you were caring all along, even if the other's perception translated it otherwise

Soundgarden:
All Your Lies - On the pain of being lied to and deceived
Outshined - Feeling emptied out, burnt out, not being able to give

Temple of the Dog:
All Night Thing - It's about a one night stand, but I always feel the yearning for more in that song, and in that way it's a perfect one for losses

The Cult:
Edie (Ciao Baby!) - On someone leaving your world (either literally or in an allegorical way) who is getting destroyed by something and you can't really help
Wild Hearted Son - Being free, getting free

Well these were my favourites for healing and processing scars from those loved ones, but I really like to listen to these tunes without being in a depressing situation. And, of course, since then, many other songs were added to the list, but this is the most authentic list in my case.

You could consider this post as somewhat dark, or not entirely cheerful, but, in my case, getting over with something which is not fruitful, stepping on the road ahead instead of looking back all the time is a positive change. Bu I admit that sometimes it is really hard to make the good decisions, but then these songs could help.

Heaven as hell - Salvation

2008-11-03T23:17:00.003+01:00

The vision of heaven is based on the demands of those vast numbers of souls who knocked and will knock on heaven's doors in the past and the forthcoming millenias. So, some people's heaven could be other people's hell - and vice versa.

Let's take a fallen soldier from roman times and an eskimo who died in their family iglu in the late 20th century.
The former, could have been a veteran who spent his time patrolling along the limes somewhere in germania, and was really looking forward to get his payment and his small property in a faraway province when his retirement comes.
He was a good man, never hurt anybody, at least according to the morals of his time and the customs of his society, he only killed slaves and enemies of Rome, although he lost the exact number of killed adversaries and feeble or annoying slaves.

As he and his mate were walking on the frontier, they suddenly got into trouble. No, not those annoying germans - who otherwise respected the borders of Rome - prepared
an ambush, it was a bear, a mother with her cubs, who crossed their path and the two footsoldier thought the best defence is to get offensive. Well, it turned out, that pissing off a female has dire consequences as the two glorious legionaires became KIA in the annals of their unit. The one unfortunate guy was quite a liberal in his time, he really liked the strange tunes which the savages of the north sang, and was quite intrigued by the germans trousers as it was a genuine clothing in his eyes. Also, he never slapped or hit any of the harlots he ever used, and sometimes he caught himself on lamenting about how could it be that the slaves - which were by the law lifeless properties, like furniture or jewelry - are so similar to actual human beings. He wasn't even angry with the bear mother who being scared got rid of those two strange beings who happend to cross her path.

The latter, the eskimo spent his life largely bay kayaking among icebergs, hunting seals and rubbing noses, he only killed animals to get food, shelter and resources for the family's garments. looking up on those meticulously cut pieces of ice their dwelling was built from. He tried to concentrate on his life, how his family lived and how it could have happened that his son left this beautiful place, where everything is white, or everything comes in different shades of white, and signed on to work for those goddamn swedish fishing company. His son became so reckless when the cold waves washed ashore a very strange magazine, in which among a lot of mumbojumbo there were large, colourful photographs of naked women from never before seen tribes. He, as a father could never forgot himself that he brought home that bunch of paper, and was rather saddened by the fact that he has to die alone in their iglu, as he refused to accept his son gift a new, solar- and rechargable battery powered satellite phone. He was a bit selfish, and that bothered him, but other than that he led a low-key life, he never wanted to look for the debaucheries those kinsmen were speaking about who left the community for work on those monstrosities called oil rigs and the oversized, soulless fishingbarges. There, he thought those friends and relatives became infected by something and were never interested again in kayaking among icebergs and beating to death some baby seals and
eating those delicacies like the seal excrement sauce.

As the passing of time, and the time management in heaven is different these two sorry souls get into heaven at the same time, although between their deaths almost 2000 years have passed.

The eskimo looks on the guy on his left and shooks his head: I've seen bizarre suits in my life, for example, when the swedish began to wear those polar fleece jackets
which were absolutely useless, as you couldn't sew them if something tore them up. But this guy, it's unbelievable he is dressed like those ladies in that magazin that made my son go away and on top of that he adjusted some canteens over his torso and his head to look like a complete moron.
What the hell is this place? How did I get there, I wanted to sleep, or if that is unavailable in the afterlife, I wanted to paddle in my kayak among icebergs and chase some seals or something with harpoons. But this, this is ridiculous, and the surrounding also disappoints. How can I get out of here?

The roman legionaire stands in awe as he inspects the landscape of heaven, he thinks it's unbelievably beautiful and it reminds him to his dreams about the elysium.
However when his eyes meet with the small figure standing on his right his awe dissipates and doubt gets into its place: What is this, a joke from one of our ever
ridiculing gods or demi-gods? I'm here, there is the beautiful elysium but this something besides me just spoils it. It mumbles like those slaves from the north and
is dressed up like a beast from the forest. I doubt that this little creature is human at all. What is this place, where are the harlots, where are the slaves and there's neither a good feast, nor a good fight. I have to get out of here this must be a trickery!

The example above from the appendices of the 'Salvation Treaty between the self proclaimed righteous beings of the Universe and their natural opposites' shows how it happened that heaven had to put out a table on its doors: 'vacancy, rooms with free breakfast'.
While hell estabilished a strict admission procedure as its once huge open spaces became cluttered in 1000 B.C. and they didn't want to accept all refugees, as the majority of the community became upset that the newcomers don't respect
their traditions.
Even a newly estabilished administrational body was formed which handled the ever growing number of pleas, pledges, applications and inquiries, but the flow was not about to stop.
Thus it happened that a hotline between Hell and Heaven was estabilished. And the father and the prodigal son, the former's once beloved first angel got into a lengthy conversation which was cut short very long ago when the first woman pissed off everybody by taking that fruit off the tree in the middle of the garden and the Almighty was not open to any arguments and kicked off everyone from the garden.
The father still didn't come to terms with that, but the fallen angel let the old god say everything because he was badly in need of a solution as his territories were in jeopardy and if he'd let the conversation go awry, damnation would only be another day at the bus station when everything is late and crowded.
After a lengthy talk they came up with the idea which could solve the problem. They agreed that the previous basis of the human-spiritual relations, the lengthy code
known to humans as the Bible should be in line with the new goals of the afterlife services and for that four amendments should be incorporated to affix the erronous
parts. Various solutions were circulated between the parties, what could be the ideal vehicle to deliver the new rule set to the human population of planet Earth and in the end they concluded that the Almighty should deliver the message himself. As he was reluctant to move out of his offices, they thought the easiest would be to send the Almighty's son, but until then there were no son. The fallen angel even proposed that he could also announce what the new deal is, but the Almighty thought that would be a too flashy, and overdramatised way to do it (which wasn't really nice from someone who wrestled with humans before and had a tendency of dressing up like a burning bush of fire). So, they agreed that the Almighty will provide a son
empowered by the Almighty's own essence as if they were one (the mechanics behind this remained a mystery to the fallen one) and the son's going to tell the population what was decided up there, so from then on they should act and behave accordingly. The Treaty summed up that the son of the father have to save the future generations (at least a percentage of them, which was also precisely defined in the Treaty) to avoid the socioeconomic breakdown of hell caused by overpopulation.

(this small synopsis draft is the stem of a writing which I think going to be finished in the near, or not that far future. It may be that my little darling Futilisers could
end up being incorporated into this heavenly blasphemous piece, but nothing is written into stone. The events would mainly revolve around the first phone conversation and the actual creation of the Treaty.)

Enshrouded

2008-10-10T09:24:00.004+02:00

This afternoon our agency begins to move to another office building, and our current offices on the island we're leaving behind. Today, as I was getting off the train and headed towards the office, mist were covering the route all the way to the building. The two small bridges leading there were all leading into the mist. On the smaller one, the pontoon-bridge, I was watching the always present fishermen as if they were some odd, timeless characters, like the small tin soldiers on a plotting board. It definitely had some echoes of the past lingering all around.
Life can always come up with the biggest clichés.

Time and again

2008-10-09T09:47:00.002+02:00

Sometimes I'm amazed at what rate time is passing. It was a year ago that I moved to the flat I'm renting today and it seems I'm living here since ages. It was one and a half year ago I began to connect with someone, and although it surely sems a long winded process from the outside, from the inside it looks just the opposite. And - thankfully and hopefully - there's a lot to discover still.
It was a year ago that I really started writing my play (not only outlines of the story), which deals with the story of corporate workers and managers, and, of course I've already threw a few versions into the recycle bin, so in essence nothing really happened on that front and still, a new idea is forming which could be a short story of a very different kind.
So, although nothing really happened on the outside there's still a lot going on, and time, in this respect also seems to fly faster than lightning. The online projects, the content creation one, and the measurement tool, or application are also heading for completion rather slowly, but they are moulding, shaping in my - and the other participant's - head, and I think their form gets more and more attractive as time passes.
So, time is a strange entity, when you need it, it just runs out, and you can't help but follow it quickly.

A weekend's gift

2008-09-28T19:57:00.002+02:00

Laid back, but exciting. On your own, but connected. Talking, but unspoken. That was sunday.

Compelling and deadly - Death Magnetic

2008-09-20T13:40:00.002+02:00

The new Metallica album, Death Magnetic was released last friday. Although an mp3 rip was circulating on the web I resisted the temptation and waited patiently until the day of launch.
That evening a colleague of mine and I just decided to talk a while at a local pub-a-like, he had some stuff which needed to be discussed with someone, or just to be spoken out. So I thought it could help him to ventillate his thoughts, fears and concerns.
That way, my first experience of Metallica's new album was postponed until late night.
But then I popped the small plastic disc into the hi-fi and cranked up the volume...
About one hour and fifteen minutes later I was sitting on the sofa and realised, something heavy just entered my apartment. I knew this album is good, but I didn't realise until next morning how good it is.
On that morning I didn't know when I pressed the play button on the remote what's going to happen to me: Metallica took my hi-fi (and later my walkman too) by storm. The album spinned (and as I am writing this still spins) in my hi-fi unstoppable and to change it or listen something else since then - even for a split second - didn't occur to me.
For me Death Magnetic not a return album as the media out there echoes the view in countless reviews (and lightyears away from a failure what some hungarian critics stated in their articles on Metallica's new album). I'm among those few (labelled as 'simple idiots, eating everything Metallica spews out' by some critics) who considered the Load and ReLoad era a very interesting route in Metallica's career and also St. Anger, with its rough edges and raw sound, partly because all these albums showed different layers of Metallica, and in those times they wanted to go that way. In my world, living within the same confines continously equals being dead already. So, I think, those albums were the result of their creative adventures within- and beyond the borders of their trademark musical style.
In my eyes Death Magnetic not an album which returns to the legendary Ride the Lightning and Master of Puppets way of doing things, rather an album which sums up everything Metallica ever done and shows this band in all its colours.
The album starts relentlessly with End of the Line and the tempo only slows down (for a while) two times. First, when The Day That Never Comes, then second time when Unforgiven III begins. I prefer the latter as it is a very intimate song and James Hetfield shows his more lyrical side in this particular song. My personal favourites are All Nightmare Long, The Judas Kiss and Suicide & Redemption. The former two are just songs which could be listened to before or after a challenging day and you gonna feel completely prepared or replenished by the energy what radiates from these tunes. Suicide & Redemption is an instrumental song but its title's message echoes through the song.
The closure with My Apocalypse resembles to Master of Puppets' Damage Inc., not that it resembles that well known song but in the way as it closes the album with full force, rather than with some easy going, the story ends now sort of way.
Metallica's new album is not an easy experience, it won't be your favourite if you listen it only once. The songs don't give away themselves easily. Death Magnetic crawled under my skin and with every new listening it got deeper and in the end it just entered into my bloodstream and became a part of me. Deadly magnetic album indeed.

You Know My Name

2008-09-20T13:40:00.001+02:00

I called her name and when she turned towards me she was someone else, I knew it wasn't her. Her face was more like someone else's I knew before and with whom we were together a long time ago. I told her her real name but to no avail, she only responded the name which wasn't hers. We were travelling on a tram, I was pondering over the idea that maybe I've gone mad, eventually we took off at the district where she lived and it turned out that I was renting a flat in the house she lived (everyone in the house was greeting me as someone they all knew for a long time), however, I've felt that something is not real, something is staged here. I really wanted to go back to the house where my real apartment was, however she told me confidently that I was living here for years why would I go to somewhere else. She always replied to the name which wasn't her name, and never to her own and that sent shivers down my spine. I walked up on the stairs to the flat which was supposedly mine, but I stopped there. I touched the doorknob... She stood with an all-knowing (and, in a way haunting) smile on her face in the lobby of the house as I left the building without opening the door of that flat wich was allegedly rent by me, and began walking back to reality what seemed to be so far away.
That was just a dream, a dream with some recurring elements from other dreams.

Extremely surprising - Saudades de Rock

2008-09-20T13:39:00.001+02:00

So, it happened. Nuno Bettencourt, Gary Cherone and Pat Badger realised that the world is lacking a band which could carry the torch what Queen dropped when Freddie Mercury deceased in 1991. I was infatuated with Queen's music until the new loves in the form of Pink FLoyd, Metallica and Guns n' Roses extended my musical love life to a harem (well, there goes my promiscuous side, in music I just can't get enough...). My love of Queen's music came from the fact that they were a band which no one could put into one specific cathegory. They could play (and they played) everything from heavy metal (as Freddie entitled those songs: heavy rock n' roll), through classic rock, to lively musical jokes and experiments.
The world of music became a lot emptier when Freddie Mercury and his creative genius left this world.
The new Queen + Paul Rodgers formation as a group of good musicians but their songs just don't get close to what Queen was doing for almost two decades - but I don't think that this was something Brian May and Roger Taylor thought would be possible with a new formation, so it's not a rant about their work or songs.

But here comes Extreme. The band which I discoverd not long before the Freddie Mercury Tribute show took place in the Wembley, back in 1992. Everyone knew their two most successful songs - the ballad More Than Words and the funky-rock Get The Funk Out - but I doubt that the majority of the people knew what other gems were on their records. Their 3rd album, III Sides To Every Story became a commercial failure, but it was a very ambitious album in 1992 with categorisation-defying songs. The following Waiting for the Punchline unfortunately signalled the end of Extreme, but at least they went out with a bang as this album was more mature than anything they've done before. Afterwards, the main creative mind of the group, Nuno Bettencourt made quite a few outstanding solo works (some of them were quasi-persistent project bands, such as Mourning Widows, Population 1 or later Drama Gods). Gary Cherone went to Van Halen, then performed in musicals, did an electronic-heav rock experiment with Pat Badger, the Tribe of Judah and recently put out a solo work, too. Pat Badger, apart from Tribe of Judah was occupied by his civilian career of choice: breeding alpacas on his farm. However their paths crossed every now and then and some Extreme reunions happened, but only on a very limited scale (the number of them could be counted on one hand) and apart from performing the old songs together there were no words of a true reunion.

Then everything changed last year, when Nuno and Gary put out a press release stating that Extreme is alive again in its original form (apart from the drummer Paul Geary who left before the Waiting for the Punchline), and they are working on their new album.
August, 2008. came and the new Extreme album, Saudades de Rock just arrived. Unfortunately in Hungary music distribution is sow low-grade that international release dates are only valid in this country if they are really big names (i.e. they would fill not one, but two arenas simultaneously). So, the release date of 17th of august slipped to late august for me. Anyways, what could a few weeks mean if you've waited already months following the press release, or even years, after they disbanded back in 1996.
After I popped the CD into the hi-fi I was slightly surprised by the fact that they begin the record with a chorus, which, in this day and age is nonexisting on contemporary albums. I was shocked, the previous years in music conditioned me not to expect something like that and there it was, unbelievably fresh, yet so familiar. The song (Star) continued and even more layers became obvious. I was now confident: quality hard rock just entered the building. The following song, Comfortably Dumb was a true follower of the previous one with good tempo and a lot of energy. I realised Gary Cherone's voice was never so mature and never sounded so good before, his themes were flawless and all the others sounded more confident than ever before. These guys grown up and their maturity just shines from this record (apart from the design Nuno made as album artwork, it should've been left for someone else as it is not in harmony with the album's otherwise top notch qualities). Then came Learn To Love which was a surprising take on a love-centered theme, from the viewpoint of previous failures and the fragile prospect of future love. Then Take Us Alive came as a surprise, its easy style and country-like themes just shook me up from the quite spleeny themes of the previous song. By this Extreme showed a new, playful side, as this song ended Extreme already bought me. I could go on by dissecting and analysing all the songs which followed each other on the record but I don't want to spoil the fun for anyone, as this album has many surprises in store for the listener. Suffice to say, rarely a similar song follows consecutively another. I'd only mention one song which averyone could know who happened to listen to Nuno's last project's DramaGod's album titled Love. On that record debuted the song Interface which now found its way to Extreme's fourth studio album. Back then Nuno sang alone, but this time Nuno and Gary sing as a duette, and their joint performance makes this already wonderful song just perfect.

After my first few listens were over I was wondering from whence this attitude, this mood is familiar to me. I knew I've heard something similar before, but what was that I still didn't know. And then one morning the revelation came as I was listening the song Star. Suddenly everything became clear: I was listening to 21st century's Tie YOur Mother Down, and from that moment I know the Queen became Extreme.

Walkabout

2008-08-12T08:28:00.004+02:00

You can realise only after a while that you've made a detour, when the path, you've left intersects the road you're walking again.
And even then, you don't know if you step on it again that if you're heading for another detour.
Life and it's strange ways...

Summer nights

2008-07-30T18:26:00.000+02:00

Summer turned to high gear, and with that the so called silly season (concerning work et al) should be here. The case is just the opposite: hectic deadlines, working overtime and all that jazz is what we have.
Of course, at the end of such days I'm trying to get as much out of the remaining hours as I can. So I'm reading through the midnight hours, or watching some flix which were scheduled earlier, but I still haven't found the time to see them. And, of course, I'm walking a lot in the city (or meeting with my friends) as these fine nights of summer will be gone for long-long months very soon. So, any of you out there, let's go out there! Grab a book or just your - imaginary - walking stick and breathe in the summer air until it's there!

Cortazar

2008-07-24T17:30:00.002+02:00

A few months ago I discovered Julio Cortazar's works.
(I lost close contact with literature when I thought that work is something what I have complete control over - fortunately some staggers and falls showed me that it's not true in the sense I was thinking back then. I was rather yearning for literature but in a manner which never had any results. But recently, in a big part thanks to a special someone, I rediscovered literature and began to delve my teeth into various novels, poems and short stories. And these affected me ecstatically.)
What I've read from him so far are some short stories and a loosely connected series of (very) short stories. Among the first group are heartgrippingly beautiful and sad stories with such unexpected twists in viewpoint, series of events, characters that I'm still blown away how rich Cortazar's imagination was. But not only his imagination was something out of this world, but his wisdom and wit also. I've found some of his short stories so close to reality - although the story and the characters and even the events were sometimes surreal - that the hair stood up on the back of my neck and I was shivering while I was reading them.
I was also blown away by his book Cronopios and Famas. This is a loosely connected series of short stories in three parts. All of them are small gems, you treat them like special literary sweets. You don't want to eat too much up at once, because all of them are distinctly flavoured and you have to enjoy all those small bites out of them, like a real gourmet.
But again, what really hit me in the chest was that tone of pure, witty, humourous but above all serene wisdom what radiates from Cortazar's stories.

Yesterdays

2008-07-23T12:21:00.001+02:00

I mentioned that emotional rollercoaster ride before. I think I have to explain it - at least to myself. I think I'm not going to write on subjects like these too often anymore as there are loads of happier topics on which I could write, but I think I could go into details about my last 6 months, and especially the last three, or two months concerning my emotional states.
I was confused, my balance was missing and I thought that I'm doing everything the right way. Then I realised last month, that I shouldn't wait to get my balance back, that I won't be able to continue my own progress if I'm peering more outward than inward. I've let myself down and in the end I was even wondering how my things are not going forward, and why I can't make any real progress.

That week in Brussels helped me a lot. As we talked and shared stories, laughs and thoughts with Marti and Dani, as I was walking on the streets of Brussels, watching not only the buildings, but also the people, and as I was walking among the dunes and stood in the waves with rolled up trousers I began to find myself inside again. My desires, wishes, goals, important issues. The picture clarified a lot, I was able to discern the important ones from the meaningless. I was again in tune with myself and I don't want to lose it again for a while.
One could say that this is an ego-trip, but in my world everyone is always alone if we are talking about the life defining events.

(Can anyone help anyone to take his/her burdens away? No, those burdens can only be dropped down or carried by the one who has them. Of course loved ones, caring partners, friends could help in ways, but all in all, the toughest parts are always left to you. However, if you can make progress and earn a distinct pride by doing so you really think that you want to share the joy with those you love. Loving one is - at least in my world - not an easy task, as it binds your thoughts, entangles notions and needs a lot of energy. And that energy can only be regained when it is reflected. So - for me at least - it is more a mind related issue, than something connected to secreted chemicals in the brain and instincts, because the most important part is stimulation feeded by thoughts.)

What the end results will be? I don't know it yet. But it is clear that what I've done until now is a dead-end. Walking back to the junction will take some time, but going back on a road to whence you came from always seems faster than walking that for the first time.

I believe in second chances (even third ones...) all it takes is a mature mind and personality which can forgive and is able to overcome the destructive part of the ego. And I believe that vicious circles can be broken. (When I first heard the lyrics of Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here going: "we're just two lost souls swimming in the fish bowl, year after year, running over the same old grounds and how we found the same old fears, wish you were here" it hit me in the chest as a high-speed train, that life has many tough situations in store for us and we should really be careful not to make the same mistakes again, and again - I think I was 13 years old back then).
So, I'm inclined to break them and make my own life and by that the lives of those I care about (not a big group of people I could say, but hey, I'm not Santa Claus) a better one.
The lesson of summer '08 has been learned. Now comes the exercise part.

Imaginary graffiti: 'Magritte was here!'

2008-07-17T15:21:00.005+02:00

"These two fruits walking down the street..."

2008-07-17T15:17:00.003+02:00

Screw the cork!

2008-07-17T15:06:00.005+02:00

An unconventional bottle-opener

Gifts

2008-07-10T15:39:00.002+02:00

Street style

2008-07-10T15:32:00.008+02:00

1)

1)

Space Lords

2008-07-10T15:30:00.002+02:00

Ain't Life Grand

2008-07-08T22:02:00.001+02:00

My week-long vacation in Brussels was everything I hoped it would be, and even more.
Some people advised me that possibly Brussels is the most boring city in Europe and even a few days could be an anticlimactic experience for the visitor. That might be true for seasoned travellers with a hefty mileage already behind them, and with senses which already experienced the spectacular sights and exotic smells and tastes of lands far away. But, for a landlocked guy like me, who travelled only once to the other side of the great pond between Europe and America, and whose experience of travel was almost exclusively that of a hiker (mountains, rivers in Europe) with some occasional trips through civilised areas (mainly villages and hamlets, someimes cities) the place seemed very lively.

It may be that I got there in the best season, when the city offers many options to its residents and visitors. It may be that I was too enthusiastic that I could see my friend and his wife again and talk with them about everything we couldnt talk over e-mails or chat clients or by whatever means modern technologies could offer. It may be that the Monster Magnet show on the first day set my mind into a specific state which lasted until I waved goodbye to the city. It may be that I'm rather curious about art deco and art nouveau and I was constantly amazed by the facades of various buildings I've seen there. It may be that I was craving for a week of recharging. It may be that I was blown away how even the smallest frontyard sported a minature garden, complete with bushes, vines, flowers and all that. It may be that I was captured by the taste of fries and tescargot. It may be that I was also overwhelmed by the amount and quality of exhibitions in Brussels' various museums.
Well, it may be that all of the above, some of them and even more resulted in a battery-recharging week in Belgium.

I thought I'd write a lengthy post about the experience, but I think I don't have that kind of time and attention which could do justice to my experiences in Belgium, so I'd rather go with the option of some highlights in a few words.
"Space Lord motherfucker!" (Monster Magnet chorus echoed by a few thousand fans while the band had projected images behindthem from such movies as 2001: A Space Odyssey and Apocalypse Now). Spontaneous reading session of short stories of various authors with Marti and Dani. The museum of musical instruments. The buildings with art nouveau facades. The fries with tartar. The Magritte museum. The now local breed of parrots in the public parks. The quality of street art. The delicious escargot stew/soup. The dunes at Du Panne with a good book in hand. The comics store with that replica of a specific german metal wind-up toy car which I didn't buy. Experiencing Delicatessen on a public screening again. Smiling on the fact that the main building at the main square is really not what it seems to be. The opera of the Marolles. Discovering a wonderful chocolate shop. And I could go on for a long time and even then I couldn't mention everything.

Misty blood

2008-06-21T13:29:00.002+02:00

Part of our conversation revolved about the unknown, mist covered roots of this Baktay family and all the questions which may remain unanswered forever. We only know that Adolf Gottesmann a german uhlan captain in the service of Hohenzollern's army came to Hungary and there he joined the fight atthe hungarian's side in the 1848-49 conflict between the Habsburgs and the independence seeking Hungary we call the Revolution and Freedom fight of '48-'49.
It could be a good background part for a romantic movie, but now comes the interesting part which mixes up everything. After the fighting ended with Hungary loosing Adolf Gottesmann was granted peerage by the Kaiser which he refused to accept, and later a lesser rank of nobility he accepted. He estabilished his domain at Erdőbakta (whence the shorter name of Baktay later came), now a part of Ukraine, and married a french nobility from the lineage of marquis D'Albon - from this line came later Ervin Baktay and Amrita Sher-Gil. After his first wife deceased he took Mária Paulay (my great grandmother) who was at that time a lady in attendance at the Kaiser's court in Vienna. I don't really understand why a defiant soldier would recieve such an attention (I can come up with a few theories but those would be only theories) from the otherwise not that warm-hearted Habsburg court ruling over Hungary. So, wit Anna-Réka we were talking about that maybe we should organise a meeting with the six brothers (among them my father) and some pieces of the puzzle could be uncovered. We'd film this occasion and make a documentary out of it, only for the family. It would be very interesting and could reveal something about the past of our ancestors. Also, it would be interesting to do another documentary with the other lineages as well. I contacted with Katalin Keserü, she has written a book about Amrita Sher-Gil not long ago and via her we could reach the others as well. These are only plans now, of course, but I'll discuss it with Anna-Réka and together we could come up with a specific roadmap how to proceed in this investigative matter where not just mystery and blood, but whole bloodlines are involved.

An-Ré in the City

2008-06-21T13:28:00.000+02:00

Last saturday we had a so called cousin meeting at my sister's place. Apart from the usual suspects everyone turned up from the small group. I really enjoyed to meet again with the closest cousin of mine Anna-Réka. We are not in everyday connection but in the family I think my way of thinking, habits, etc. ar closes to her. So, after the mini-monsoon of Hungary, called Medard wiped away the fun in the garden we headed with her to join to some of our mutual friends. Unfortunately the heavy raining also wiped away their desire to go out again, after they just made it safely back home and then there wer just the two of us and we decided to look for a cozy place and talk about our lives, plans, future and all that. We were lucky as at the Kiado which is usually loaded with people any time I want to go there only a few tables were reserved otherwise the whole place was quite airy with a lot of empty tables.
I learned about her plans of choosing the right religion for herself following her husband. I think, although our late granny would roll her eyes and would oppose this if she would be alive, this decision is a good one. It came from conviction and it doesn't seem to be a forced action although Anna-Réka is - a little bit like me - rather an agnostic one (just a tiny step away from being atheist). Anyways, I hope their hopes will be fulfilled and although we don't exchange phonecalls, e-mails that regularly (not that I consider the frequency of contact the measurement of the quality of any relationship) I, for one can assure her of my full support.
They gonna move pretty soon from Helsinki to Berlin and I hope she can find there a more fitting job for her skills and talents than what she does currently in Finland. Oh, and also I hope her short film 'Magyar hullám' gets some well deserved attention.

Hey June

2008-06-18T15:21:00.000+02:00

June, the definitive month of summer has arrived. Well, on my backyard a lot of work is waiting for me to sort them out. One web project where I'm involved writing the copy materials for it and do some other minor this and that, I have to finish a journalistic project's concept complete with an initial business plan, also have to start making up some ideas for a children oriented english book thingy. As things are going now all these will be taken care of in july (month-hopping again, oh yeah).

As for june I'm looking forward to see my friend Dani and his wife Marti in Brussels next week, and look around in the city where Art Noveau was born, drink some freakin' strong beer, check out the museums, window-shopping antique stores, and chocolate shops, and talking about anything and everything with my friends.
I'm also very enthusiastic about the Monster Magnet show on the 25th of june, so after the show (or at the latest I made it back to Hungary) I'm gonna write a review on the subject.
Regarding my personal life, I'm a bit confused because of a certain someone's behavioural patterns. I think I already know what they supposed to mean, so I feel like if I'd be on a rollercoaster ride - and this time safety is not guaranteed.
Other than that I bought a lot of good books at the annual Bookweek, which was a quite good experience again in spite of the heavy rains of that weekend. After I walked home from there I felt like I was a kid again sitting under the christmas tree with all the packages and gifts and picked one book after another, read a few pages and I felt overwhelmed in a good way.

Music also comes in bigger quantities than before. It began with a generous gift from Dose, Brant Björk's new album called Punk Rock Guilt. Although its title suggests otherwise it is a rather laid-back album of mid- and lowtempo rock, which soothes your mind and fills you up. A few days later I bought some CDs on-line from SmallStone Records. A Glasspack album and two compilation double CDs performed by various stoner rock bands. One of them covers hits from the '70s and the other is a tribute to Aerosmith. So distorted guitars are filling the air, and my ears, and hey its good to hear so many talented bands rocking again.

insights from out of sight

2008-06-09T12:10:00.001+02:00

I have had some turbulence in my life lately. I had to face confusion, doubt and a little bit of exhaustion. I needed a day by myself, which was granted on sunday. I lamented over my last 365 or so days and tried to look for patterns and answers. I've found them, and the analysing process was also fruitful as I rediscovered the most important elements again. The surprise was that there was no surprise: I still consider the same things important, and the source of my good moods are still the same things and behaviours and the same people. Of course, the big questionmarks are still hovering in front of my eyes, but the temporary confusion has gone away (ok, I'm still afraid a tiny bit, but that's only natural if something or someone is important for you). The exhaustion is also dissipating and I can feel the flow of energy again. It could be a cliché, but I feel like as if I'd been drinking from a rejuvenating spring on a long road and afterwards I could go on refreshed, with the same vigor I started the journey. I'm grateful that there are sometimes such lowdowns as without them I couldn't possibly put anything into context, and peeking out from the shadows one can point out the highlights more precisely.

Fingers crossed...

2008-06-05T09:41:00.001+02:00

...for Zsombor's weekend in London. He goes there to talk about the future and opportunities awaiting in the times coming. I wish his dream could come true - and as I know him his dreams will come true. Way to go, bro'!

Notwithstanding

2008-06-04T22:34:00.003+02:00

I was aware that it would require continous work, that I have to maintain it perpetually, that I have to be prepared and that I have to use all the wisdom I collected in the past.
I rolled with the cube, moved my piece...

Rocking Magnet

2008-05-22T10:48:00.001+02:00

The magnet in this case doesn't stand for any kind of experiment in physics. I just ordered my ticket for Monster Magnet's show in Brussels. They gonna play in the belgian city on the 25th of june, and considering my tickets to the show and the plane I already bought, I might risk to say I'll be there, too.
I've heard Monster Magnet back in the early nineties, but among the strong mainstream rock bands they didn't really earned the fame they deserved.
I picked up again their records after we stepped into the 21st century, and I was amazed how good they were. Unfortunately their 2004 European tour was cancelled due to Dave Wyndorf's overdose and, no wonder, their then upcoming album was also postponed. I was a bit disappointed that I couldn't attend a Monster Magnet show, but now as soon as I learned that they're coming to Europe, if only for a few gigs, I thought I don't want to miss this opportunity.
So, I'm planned and booked to go to Brussels and I really looking forward to see the magnet live.
Forget physics, this magnet is made out of rock!

Sticky notes on the treadmill

2008-05-22T10:29:00.000+02:00

Three weeks of relentless work is behind me. Our deputy managing director has flown to London to show our campaign ideas (almost fully fleshed out - only the films weren't shot, for obvious reasons, but we sent animatics with professional voiceovers and narratives). I don't think we have a chance, as the briefing method and our beloved client's sudden changes of mind resulted in a hectic and in every way unpredictable workflow. I have a book on online project management (I'd suggest it to anyone who have to manage any kind of activity which involves the cooperation of various - and, in their nature very different - departments), its subtitle is: workflow that works. Well, based on my experiences here, during the past few weeks I could easily write a book on the opposite, with the subtitle: workflow that doesn't work.

Frustration levels are always high in these cases, as many ideas (dear to one team-member or more) are supposed to die on the desk of the creative director, if not there, then they get strangled by the client service's hands and last, but not least the naysaying client could shot your babies without hesitation. But sometimes it's better if your idea dies a fast, painless death, as the alternatives of being twisted, turned inside out and mutated into something very different than what it supposed to be is even worse. It's like when Ripley entered the cloning chamber in
Alien 4 and confronted her disfigured, suffering copies.

Anyways, however hard our weeks were (with days slipping into the next day, weekends at the office, and so on and so forth) the work is still fun. I could only suggest a better workflow and a more practical time-management, as these tasks that we usually have could be managed much better. What is needed for that: willing to change the approach, clear goals, strategic thinking and quality communication.

Disawoving of disillusionment

2008-05-14T01:16:00.005+02:00

Even as a grown up, one can really anticipate events as children do. Promises, possibilities are forming in thier minds as crystalline truth. No matter how often those impervious formations are shattered before their eyes they can convince themselves again and again that what they believe, or what was told to them are true and that previous mishaps were only slight detours.

I can catch myself every now and then in that childlike manner believing everything what is told, anything what is promised and anticipating something what is in prospect according to those promises and possibilities revealed to me by others, and sometimes constructed out of others' words or from my own toughts and memory snippets by myslef (dissecting, deconstructing and reconstructing every precious one of them, analysing and attaching secondary meanings to them as if I'd be an Intelligence Officer, and my duty would be to reveal the true meaning of words, and by that the true intentions of others). Among these this latter one is the most dangerous, as it can form entire worlds of the nonexistent with their own rules and properties, and even a few steps in those unreal realities could lead you quite far from sanity and reality. Although these travels could be dangerous and ridden with delusion and disappointment I really enjoy them until I can control my feelings. When the first signs of uncontrolled emotions arise I force myself out of the road and trying to take those necessary few steps back.

In other words: sometimes I still believe in Santa Claus. But, all in all - no matter what others saying - I don't think that is such a bad thing. Hmm, maybe Peter Pan is not such a bad tale as I usually think it is...

Dreaming my dreams

2008-05-11T09:44:00.000+02:00

I have had a few rough dreams lately. I don't know what sort of memories and experiences my brain is trying to get over with and solve that way, but the dreams resulting that process are quite frightening sometimes.

The number one: Don't you know?
The scene is a slightly ruined wooden family house, it resembles to those nordic buildings. It is a house of sorrow as the event is that my grandmother is just dying in another room and we, my two siblings and me are sitting in the main room, not talking to each other. Suddenly my cousins and other relatives are coming into the house and they start to take away pieces of the furniture, accessories, paintings, books, carpets, whatever they find attractive and useful to them. We, with my siblings are weeping and when we realise what is going on I stand up with shaking legs and shout at them inhumanely loud voice I'm accusing them of being indifferent and selfish and expel them out of the house which they recieve with stone cold faces.
Then, in another room there is a tall woman, whom I never seen, she is about 50 years old, has a dry voice and asks me why am I weeping. I tell her that my grandma is just dying and that makes me sad. With a cruel voice she replies: Oh, so they said that your grandmother is dying right now? The truth is that she is already suffering in hell!
Tht was the moment when my eyelids popped open and I was catching my breath, I was shivering, it was so terrifying.

Number two: Restriction of movements
Seashore, with huge waves on a beautiful afternoon, the colours are awe-inspiring, the scenery is simply breathtaking. I'm doing some kind of tai-chi crossed with aerobic style exercises on the beach and there's a woman who supposed to help me, driving my movements as it seems she is some kind of a coach. But, instead she restricts all my movements and smiling at me with a smile which seems to be friendly, even caring, but for me it looks as if the devil itself/herself would smile and laugh at me.
I didn't wake up because of this, but its memory remained with me for days.

Number three: Can't get out
It's a fresh one, yesterday's result: I was in a multi-storey residence building, and wanted really to get out of there. The front door was closed, I couldn't get out so I pressed the doorbell of a close flat to ask for help. One of my ex girlfriends opened the door in all her glory and suggested she would help if I'd go with her into her bedroom. Been there, done that, I said and walked up one floor instead. There the same happened with another girl from the past, and then another and another, and so on. Eventually I reached the top of the building and there was no way out of it, so I started to climb out through the glass ceiling just below the roof. My dream ended when I woke up while I was making my way through that glass surface.

Educated guess

2008-05-07T13:34:00.007+02:00

It may not be the place where I'd go in the near future, but I feel that an instiution like this danish college could be a much better place to start off than any hungarian college or university course I could take as someone who already graduated from a university.
I read about it in Anna-Reka's blog who happens to be my cousine (her and her husband's life could be followed on their more than just a blog website called Pont mi - by the way, their website is similarly redesigned as Bart's, jeez, I guess I'm missing out on something by staying with these prefabbed designs of Blogger).

Some of you know already that I realised not so long ago, that I'd really like to be involved in teaching. Not exactly the way where I'm going into a room full of bored teenagers, attempting to put some information into their heads, instead I'm looking for new ways to convey knowledge towards them and help them reach their potentials and unleash their creativity. I'm working (very-very slowly) on an e-learning concept but I think that I should get educational qualifications to represent the idea succesfully or just get a few experts to work with. But I had my reservations (and, to be honest I still have) as it was more than enough to fight my way through the hungarian educational system's institutional elements (from elementary school to university). I wasn't really impressed in any of those institutions during my student years, but those unfortunately rare examples of brilliant teachers I had the luck to meet and learn from left their marks on me. Anyhow, check out that danish college if you like, I think it is a brilliant idea to train future teachers the way they do it.

Room for improvement

2008-05-06T11:43:00.003+02:00

Advice to self: Don't speak if you don't have anything to say. Don't be impatient, it gets you nowhere and could just alienate important persons from you. Don't poke - even if you're kidding - those around you in a sarcastic manner.
Then I could get my Superman dress out of tha closet and fly up in the sky.

Gaze into four days

2008-05-04T21:42:00.000+02:00

There was this long weekend, which, at least for the lucky ones lasted for four (and for the luckiest even for five) days. My first day of "freedom" was spent with work, some running and tidying up my little home (as it had become clear that an expert could probably date the settled dust-layers on the TV-screen back to the age of dinosaurs), and after that leaving for Dunakeszi, there I attended my cousin Junior's birthday party (where a bigger portion of the family was present).

On the next day I finished some other articles and after that a previously planned meeting over a coffee would follow, but that was called off, as the other participant had to work on a feature article with a tight deadline. As it was planned that I'd go from there directly to the Nyugati Railway Station I decided to take a longer walk, and enjoy the sun on the way. So, I took the route which led through the western side of the Castle-hill. It was so exciting just to walk in the sun, listening good music and smiling on the world all along, I felt that I could explode at any minute and my particles would fly through the Universe and spread this unbelievably good vibe I just got in (for those of you suspecting kinds, I'm not on drugs - my drug is life itself and its experiences, no matter if they are good or bad, eventually they all become good ones, but that could be a topic of another post...).

With that smiling attitude I just arrived in time to the railways station and started my trip towards Debrecen, where the annual English Festival of Drama was taking place. I watched two productions, one of them was an intriguing piece because of its main theme (a kind of Office Space, Something Happened style story aboout the micro-worlds and absurdities of work), but wasn't that well executed, while the other was - I guess - a unique performance on behalf of the University of London's students, the play was called Gaze and it was about the inner thoughts and struggle of suicide attemptees. This was very well executed and both the performance and the directing was very appealing. After the curtains rolled down (theoretically, as there were no curtains) the actors and the director all came back for a Q&A session.

The day after I was heading home, and for a change on the train which left Debrecen at 8:08AM I worked until it finally arrived to Budapest. Then, some running and working, shopping at the groceries followed and an easy evening with some friends.
By the way, thanks for Anett for the accomodation while staying in Debrecen, and I wish her a fair amount of luck for her plans of moving to Budapest and pursue her career at one of those Waldorf-schools. Her cat has left a lasting impression on me, this little kitty called Pipen is a french breed - of course, I forgot which one - but she had steel-grey coloured fur with a white spot on her neck, and I have to say she was a really smart little meow-machine.

Now it's sunday and Mother's day. Of course I gave my presents to my mother and grandma and spent the time with them until early afternoon. Since then I helped the old lady above me (who, sometimes complains about my habits of listening to music, so she is not the friend of decibels, I guess) to look for a train on the internet, and now I'm trying hard to give birth to some ideas I should present next monday at the office (well, from here it seems that they are all in their incubation periods at the moment, if you know what I mean).

I remember, I promised myself before this weekend that I'm going to take off two whole days for reading...

Natural allies - in your head

2008-04-25T14:09:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I've met a friend with whom we are planning an online project and partially the purpose of our meeting was to hold a so called, kickoff discussion on that particular subject.
Earlier that day - in the morning to be precise - I think I just ruined something, by hurting someone whom I never intended to offend. Being so boorish left its mark on my day, I was a bit melancholic from the moment I realised what I've done (which was the moment I said, what I said).

Knowing all that it was no wonder I wasn't in a very happy mood while I was en route to the venue of that aforementioned meeting.
But after the discussion started and we were hopping from one idea to the other and even further, my gloomy mood dissipated. Scientifically: dopamine kicked in - the chemical secreted in the brain in relation with understanding and discoveries. I've found my way back to positive thinking by thinking and finding solutions to various problems, and also I've found my way back to the route which I followed successfully up until the beginning of April. Back then my fuel tanks were beginning to show the signs of becoming empty, and despite it seemed obvious that I should take my time to fill them up, I wanted to go forward.

But now, I feel that the time of exhaustion has ended, and at least partially it was heralded by that discussion on that specific project. Thinking, learning new things, sharing them with others you respect is a process which refuels you quicker than a whole week of refreshing at state-of-the-art spa complex. Your brain can really surprise you (and not in just those moments when it refuses to give you information).

Z's insight journey

2008-04-21T14:21:00.002+02:00

Somewhat vaguely Balázs mentioned us that one of his close friends, Zoltán has left Hungary for a long journey as a backpacker tourist around the planet. I don't know him very well, we are not friends, but he was always very sympathetic to me, and another strong point of his that he is a seasoned runner, moreover a marathon runner. We occasionally stumbled upon each other at various running events and races and chatted lightly. Of course that he is Balazs's good friend is enough, because his definition of values and personal values are very similar to mine.

Anyways, back to the subject.
Zoli is a lawyer, he had a very highly regarded job at a telecommunications company, and suddenly (although I'm convinced that his decision was the result of a longer, slowly flowing process) on one day he decided he leaves all the comforts of this society - for a time - and rather explores far away lands and people. In short: discovers our world.

I wish all his hopes, dreams and desires connected to this journey come true. I really appreciate when someone can make a brave decision like this. I'm sure the journey will be memorable not only because of the far away locations, cultures he encounters with but because of that memorable inside route he embarked upon by making a life changing decision, which is signified partly by travelling afar.

Check out his blog azanap.
(Beware, long posts in hungarian - definitely not for the faint hearted!)

Through the quagmire

2008-04-13T15:34:00.001+02:00

A nasty cold, long nights at work, missed events, forced presence and the unknown. I wish I could be more patient.
Life is a journey, as they say. Apparently these parts are not about the scenery.

Strike the pause

2008-04-07T10:26:00.001+02:00

Today, we have a strike for half a day in Budapest. The strikers are the members of the public transportation company's workers. They object against the decision making processes oftheir management team and against the proposed thinning of quite a few lines of BKV (Budapest Public Transportation Company).

It took me an hour to walk into my workplace. I contemplated that maybe I should rather go by a cabbie, but despite the falling rain I decided: I'm gonna walk. I had good music in my ears (Monster Magnet's Dopes to Infinity album, the perfect match for a gloomy morning), raindrops kept fallin on my head (although B. J. Thomas wasn't on my playlist) but it was a great experience. En route to the office I noticed, despite the absence of BKV's vehicles, the traffic was just as clogged (seemingly more so) as it would be on any monday morning. I was glad I opted for the walk, rather than for the taxi ride.

The mood, the sight was resembling to the Taxi drivers' blockade some 15 years ago. Back then we also walked home from high-school, although we didn't do it right away when we were allowed to leave the school. We organised a quick, spontaneous meeting at Dani's room, where, from various high-schools, we, former classmates met. My poor parents were a bit edgy when I finally arrived home, quite late, as we had no telephone (landline - cellular wasn't even the horizon in Hungary back then) and they hadn't have any clue where I could be. I've got to say, they had to accept that their little babyfaced, kind boy in the coming years will stay out more and more, and they won't be sure of his whereabouts as the music and the girls he will fall in love with will define his priorities. I'm sure that my child(ren) won't be anny better than I was, and then I'd know how my parents felt back in those years. These, and some other memories and thoughts were swirling in my head while I was walking the monday morning miles with a big smile.

The first...

2008-04-06T17:34:00.000+02:00

...and more to come - hopefully.
This one is far from good, even farther from perfect, but I think it's not a bad start.
Wassup Rockers review

They're doing allright

2008-04-02T11:53:00.001+02:00

The title of this post refers to a memory snippet what just came to my mind. It happened in the infamous K13 room at Korridor Networks, where we, the 'Chicago 8' of TV2 were working. It was a small room detached from the main newsroom, and we always had fun, no matter how hard we had to work.
So, what just came out of nowhere was a friday afternoon, when an e-mail message which announced that it's the end of the workweek and under the message the dancing figures of Laurel an Hardy were animated.
Laurel and Hardy somehow merged in our minds with the iconic cabaret act of Hacsek and Sajo (this cabaret act was born in hungary sometime around the same period when Laurel and Hardy were famous in the States and around the world), and one of us getting the e-mail with the dancing figures stated aloud: "Hacsek and Sajo are doing allright!"
It was hilarious back then, now it brings back memories and it's really good to evoke them. I was really lucky I had the opportunity to work with those people for years.

Finally Faith no More!

2008-03-30T17:36:00.001+02:00

At last! With a help from my colleague, Arnold we managed to recode my Faith No More DVDs and get some extra footage along the way. I'm not into criminal acts of unathorized copying, etc. but this double DVD edition which contains You Fat Bastards, a live performance of Faith No More from 1990 and a video collection was collecting dust on my shelf as it was limited to players which can handle region 1 DVDs. Unfortunately mine doesn't fall into that group. Anyways, at last yesterday night, while we threw a party - connected with movie marathon - we enjoyed those unbelievably original songs written by Mika Patton and his buddies in Faith No More. Moreover, while, due to daytime savings we lost an hour we played another disc, which came from my colleague. It contains two VHS recordings of Faith No More gigs in Brasil and Chile. Of course, these recordings not on par with an official DVD publications in terms of quality, but they were just as good as the official ones. Not to mention, we saw, how Mike Patton sang out his soul while the fans(?) from the first row kept him under a constant barrage of ejecting saliva. Moreover, Mike didn't constrain himself to a stand and deliver approach, he fought back. While he was singing the most difficult songs they ever wrote, he managed to take revenge on his spitting fans. What came to my mind: Ricochet. This song has a line: It always fun until someone gets hurt, and then its's just hilarious.

Gesture lecture

2008-03-30T17:17:00.000+02:00

If you think Activity, the game couldn't offer any new challenges to you, the try to explain the following only with gestures: stuffed roespine au parisien, with truffle and blueberry mousse.
Hilarious!

Midmarch miles

2008-03-17T21:41:00.001+01:00

I just decided a few weeks ago (to be precise, on march 2nd) that I'm not waiting for any international marathons to run my first 42+ Kilometers. Rather I'm gonna do that alone. Running 8 laps on Margitsziget equals a full marathon (actually, a bit more than the official marathon distance). I really wanted to test myself if I'm up to it, as my times on half-marathons and on the 20-30 kms long runs on the weekends were quite promising.
I've spoken about this plan with some good friends, and I was really surprised that they thought it's a good idea, and they would gladly provide some refreshemts during the private marathon.
I thought, that 15th of march would be the ideal day to hold such an event. Although in the last couple of weeks we had very hectic weather patterns over here (and based on this week forecast we are heading for more colder days, showers and winds for eastertime too) the skies were also in favor of my running event. On saturday we had a bright, sunny, warm spring day, temperatures rising almost as high as 20 degrees Celsius.
After some minor organisational difficulties we managed to get to the point when I changed to my running suit and began the marathon, some 15 minutes behind schedule.

The first four laps were absolutely breathtaking, everything went smoothly, I kept my barely 25 minutes for every round. I received refreshments (some 200 mls of water, mixed up with gatorade, and 2 bits of banana at every 5kms or so) from the third round.
I've finished running sessions without any refreshments whatsoever about 30 Kms in length, but this time I had to top that performance by 12 Kms and it seemed wiser to refill the expended energy before my body would notice.
The fifth round was also OK, but the sixth - just as the seasoned marathon runners explained to me - where you make your 30th kilometer, was the hardest of all. I was extremely thankful when at the end of that round I recognised my friends and the opportunity to take some refreshments.
The seventh and the eighth lap seemed easier and easier, but during the second half of the eighth I noticed that I couldn't accelerate. My muscles didn't let me run at the speed I wanted to, as one by one, individual muscle groups in my legs started to jerk, or stiffen periodically when I risked a little bit faster pace. That way, my final three laps were done with worsening times, climaxing in the final one at about 30 minutes for the 5+ kms. All in all I managed to finish my first ever marathon in 3 hours 45 minutes.

Some people say that not the process, but the result what is important. I couldn't disagree more. Running a marathon, at least for me, shows again that being on route, running along is what matters. Reaching the finishline, however delightful, is - in some way - a loss, a point from whence you will move forward. So, in a way, there's no finishline. Although finishing the marathon was very moving. My friends held up a scarf which was doubling as a tape at the end of an official race, and they gave me a special certificate and a gold medal commemorating the event. I was flattered, as it was more than enough for me that they came and spent their morning and afternoon supporting their strange friend, apparently, running amok.
So, thanks Anna, Annamari, Dose, Matesz and Barni for that you came!

The first week at home

2008-03-08T10:19:00.000+01:00

Monday was my first day in my new job. I was excited how it would go as I never worked on advertising before.
My intuitions were spot on, I had the best week - regarding work - in long years. The work isn't easy, actually it's hard and challenging (just the way I like it), but it is fun also. I'm learning new things every day. Our creative director lent me two books already on the trade, one of them is a general overview and the other is specificly about my job: copywriting. I always bought myself the books I wanted to learn from, I dod it with online project management, web development, journalism, writing, etc. but it's the first occasion where someone gives me directions, helps me to find my way. That is extremely rare, at least in Hungary,
I know, a lot of people despise the advertisement industry as it is nothing more than a device to sell the products of other businesses. But in my world advertising is not that far from journalism (my other love interest, and also a quite despised trade, for that matter), as both should raise awareness and convey a message to the audience, the readers. The message in journalism could be nagative or neutral, reagarding the event, person type of article you write. In advertisement you could rarely go for a negative angle, less likely a neutral one.
The final ad is not always that what you imagined at first, not always what you and your colleagues considered as a good, original idea, as the companies you work for, their marketing experts could find your darlings useless. It is more important that you have to raise awareness and help sell the product. Anyways, I'm really enjoying my days at the company, the people I've met so far are really sympathetic to me and they're really hard working bunch. So, after a few years in exile from the full-time wordsmithing and sentencecrafting I feel home again.

Exit to Excitement

2008-03-02T10:13:00.001+01:00

I left my job at tha multinationals, no more management type of activities for me. I wanted to leave, as there I wasn't able to create anything. I was a mere sprocket between the cogwheels and all that was interesting was done in the first few months. I know some people thinks I'm a reckless rebel and, moreover I'm not reliable, but I have to say tha case is not that simple. I want to pursue my ideals, my goals as long as I'm able to change, as long as I'm fresh. My mind cried out for a change as I was working way below my abilities, and I guess the meaning of life - at least a part of it - is to release your potential.
And an opportunity just crossed my path.
After long years of hiatus, I'm excited again starting fresh at a new company. Why the excitement? This time I feel what I've felt when I began my career as a journalist: the calling of wordcrafting work, constant challenges and the atmosphere of a creative working environment. I have no doubts that the work will be sometimes hard and tiresome, but that is not the point. I've ventured far enough to realise what is important to me and what is not. I have a unique opportunity, and I feel positive vibes again. Before my first day on the job I feel what I haven't felt in long years: excitement. Ain't life grand?!

Radio silence

2008-03-02T10:12:00.001+01:00

For one month the certain someone goes to half a world away, and while away there won't be any communication between us. No phone, no texting, no occasional stumbling upon, no chatting between two stops on the public transportation vehicles.
I hope the trip will be everything it could be, and maybe even more. Good to know that dreams could come true, if you work realy hard on realising them and know where you're headed.

Crossing the line

2008-03-02T09:55:00.000+01:00

However nervously, the line was crossed by me. I wish I could have been more concise, focused. The experience was real, as from the point of no return everythings seems the same - for now. If the things will take a brighter or a darker shade that is yet to be discovered. I'm glad I finally spoke up, as it was my duty, I owed with it to both of us. Whatever the future brings, I feel real bonding which is more important to me than any formal, or socially preferred connection. I never hoped I could be so fortunate that I can experience this twice in sixteen years time.

Your flight is up

2008-02-04T21:36:00.000+01:00

While you run against the slope in the morning on the white cold concrete under your feet you notice the remains of past nights. Partly dried up, or frozen streams of urine. Bombshells of throw ups near the walls. Their originators could have been homeless people balancing on the edge of existence, youngsters proving their undue maturity, disappointed familymen, giving up hope, or just unfortunates not listening to their inner voice of reason at the right time. What stories would these human excretements tell if they could speak. You run over them, trying to get as soon as possible getting out of the filth covered streets to the muddy paths of the forest not so far away. Only forty minutes, and your mind could be free from such distractions. You got approximately the same amount of time to absorb the feeling of freedom. When everything what counts are your decisions, your steps, your thoughts. You have only one adversary, the biggest one. Of course you know him quite good enough to expect beforehand his every attempt to distract you and persuade you to give up. The struggle, as always is biggest in the beginning, when he seems stronger than you. Your lungs seem to agree with him at first, until the point when something tearing them up, experiencing fresh air surging in unconveniently. You feel blood around your teeth, saliva sticking to your palate and throat, and his argument gets stronger. Then all of a sudden everything changes, you managed to repel all of his attacks and kept on going, and now are rewarded with the pleasure of the feeling of subtly burning muscles, changed perception of time and for a moment everything seems clearer. Routine takes over and you leave the asphalt strips behind, rushing into the woods. You let willingly small branches slap, thorns scratch you as it feels you are definitely alive. You are free, and enjoying every moment of that freedom knowing you earned it in battle with that other you. The one that you despise, the one that you fear. Of course he'll be back...

Weeks as if they were mere hours

2008-02-01T09:40:00.000+01:00

I guess that (the title of this post) would sum up the feelings I have about the last few weeks and - presumably - on the following ones. At my official workplace tasks and projects shifted to high gear, and as one of my close colleagues has some health issues, I have to act instead of her. Well, that was quite a thing to do, as her projects weren't really well known to me, and I have to come up with solutions pretty quickly. Well, I'm very fortunate that I have good stress-bearing capabilities (it wasn't always that way - I was a real complaining machine 5 or so years ago), and I can keep my cool in those situations where many others would lose their tempers (to be honest, deep down, I'm losing too, but I don't let it rule over me, as it won't lead to solutions, only to more problems, and inability to tackle with the unconvenient circumstances). So, my primary job is a real time-management carussel right now, but that is not the only thing what keeps me busy work-wise. Also, I'm on the bandwagon again with those projects I began last year with some friends and former colleagues. The online project looks very promising, I have to flesh out its details in february, and then we could start working on it in march (development, design, etc.), I think it will be a good experiment and media workers could be intrested in the project. I also working on the business plan and concept of an online/print cross-media content project, which I'd discuss with friends, and former colleagues interested in it, and there is also a book project, just for fun (not for public purposes).

I started to write at home, more or less for myself (I'm working on short stories and a play), but am also continuing my journalist endeavours too. I'm writing for two media products regularly and by these I'm trying to keep my writing muscles in shape. So, my days ending at the office around 6-7, and then I'm off for working either at home, or with others on the various projects, mentioned above. But I don't want it to be that way for a long time. I'm working on a better time-management for myself, as this kind of living takes away a lot of time from reading, movies, and from other inspiring events.
Also, I'm looking for opportunities where I could work on a field which is closer to my personal desires than what I'm doing now (OK, I thought it would be the case with this job too, but it turned out to be something different from what I expected it would be).
There are opportunities, and I'm keeping an eye open for them. And if it won't happen anytime soon then I'm keeping up my current - a little exhausting, but at the same time very rewarding and inspiring - way of parallel works.

Hereby I'm taking the opportunity to thank for the members of Guns n' Roses, Velvet Revolver, Metallica, Slash's Snakepit, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Faith No More and Monster Magnet for their continuing support of my life, in the form of their music. Without them it would be much more difficult. Thanks!
Rock on!

PS: I wanted to write about a lot of things lately, but I didn't find the time, so many events, persons which were and are important to me weren't mentioned. I don't know if I'm gonna make up these in the near future or ever, but that is how life is. You can't go every way at once.

What future holds

2008-01-10T16:58:00.000+01:00

Saving ourselves of becoming instinct. Communicating with non-human intelligences. Healing our planet. Extending our mental capabilities, and creating the 'cathedrals' of future and more importantly becoming more human. According to James Martin, this is the meaning of the 21st century.

The rather utopian prospects, mentioned above are accompanied by many many more of similarly important, profound changes what awaits to our species in the 21st century. James Martin, in his critically acclaimed work 'The Wired Society' foreshadowed the principles of today's information society, the usage of internet and the technology penetrating our life. In his most recent work, 'The Meaning of the 21st Century' the british futurologist, technology and education expert and enterpreneur draws a future so exciting to the board, that I was saddened for a moment I won't live long enough to see everything it holds for humanity. But, this bright and unbelievably exciting future can not begin until we make it through the menacing dangers ahead of us. Martin defines 21st century as humanity's most challenging, most dangerous and with all that finest time in history.

The book describes the most serious dangers of our time and in our not too distant future. These events and trends are repeated throughout the book, which could seem strange, but later one realises that it is necessary to deliver the message: you can't have that bright and compelling future, until you can find the solutions of these truly apocalyptic dangers. Martin describes what happens in the next 10-50 years if we continue our blind destruction and straining use of Earth's ecosystems with our illogical lifestyles and virus-like reproduction rate.
As Martin states "there is no silver bullett" to solve all the problems of our times with a single, decisive action, but different leverage factors could change the balance toward the better. What makes the book's vision believable is the fact that these leverage factors are not hard to achieve goals in themselves, and the majority of technology required to pull them off are at our hands. Martin is not a thinker who believes that the extraordinary future will begin without hitches and that we will manage our way through the dangers without some very serious problems and catastrophes. These events will be on magintudes never before seen in human history, and some of them won't happen because of wrongdoing, but out of sheer economic logic, and factors far beyond our control - like the eventual drastic reduction of human population.

The book emphasises the importance of gender equality, education and smart implementation of technological and scientific marvels. These factors are crucially important to realise the meaning of the 21st century. In Martin's vision - which is based on facts, data and different analytical works of various important subjects - we can provide a meaningful, exciting future to every human being at the second half of the 21st century with tools at their disposal we could have only dreamed of in our time. But not without hard work of implementing better management of resources, and critical changes in our lifestyles. (Not)surprisingly: these changes will make our lives more meaningful, purposeful and eventually more comfortable, one might risk it: worthy of human beings. A compelling element of our success is the means of education, and by that releasing our human potential. Martin suggests that the harsh reality, violence of shantytowns and in his terms of the Fourth World could be overcome only by education and giving a chance to grab a hold on the ladder of development.
If humanity can pull it off, and could make that future happen, then we have perspectives beyond our imagination. We have every means to make it, we have every reason to make it, technologies, alternatives exist, and if we do the right thing then as Martin says: "when the wallpaper becomes more intelligent than we are, we'll spend our time becoming human in ways that machines can't imitate."

/This was a (biased) review, or rather summary of James Martin's The Meaning of 21st Century, as it - after the two days spent with it - had changed my slightly pessimistic vision of the future, and new goals appeared on my life's horizon./

Omega legend

2008-01-10T09:59:00.000+01:00

After a quickly organised, rather spontaneous meeting with some of my friends from the IO-Circle group, six of us watched the movie: I am legend.

I wouldn't bash on the film too much, the critics would do it anyways, but given, I have seen a good number of very high quality asian and european movies, I was shocked by the shallow nature of the title. There were some powerful scenes and I wished that the film would build upon them more, but, as it was the product of the average hollywood film making machinery, this hope of mine was completly unfounded.

These were the ones, where no CGI trickery and pointless suspense were used, namely the scenes where the apparently last man on earth goes to a DVD rental shop and other places which he inhabited earlier with mannequin figures, and speaks to them as if they were living humans (unfortunately this element gets a "purpose" later in the movie, and that somewhat ruins these earlier scenes). The antagonists of the motion picture are CGI characters and this makes them quite irritatingly rubber-like. I couldn't help, but these creatures never invoked fear in me - the associated and loudly presented voices and sound effects did it instead of them. Rather, they were an annoying presence and dull, two dimensional plot devices. I wished that I would see something cross-bred from 28 days later's angst-deformed zombies, as real as they can get, and Omega man's (on which I am legend was largely based) intelligent, but villainous mutated humans.
What was more shocking, that Will Smith couldn't deliver a few scenes as an actor. There were scenes which should have ended on the cutting room's floor, as in them Smith couldn't make the situation believable.
But I have to mention, his scenes with the dog, the action packed, or suspense parts were not bad at all. The movie's strong point was the protagonist's relationship with the dog. Her presence on-screen made the whole story believable (what the CGI scenes ruined systematically), and gave Will Smith a good opportunity to emphasise his loneliness.

All in all, the movie was a fair product of american film making, which isn't that compelling to those who like the more subtle approech of european cinema. Falling into this latter category, I wasn't impressed, but considering the movie's genre, origin and target audience I couldn't say it is bad. Such movies are not made for those who like sci-fi like Stanley Kubrick's 2001:A Space Odyssey or suspense/thriller, like Alejandro Amenábar's Open Your Eyes, and horror as Danny Boyle made it in 28 Days Later.
But it could work for some people. Behind our row a couple were definitely affected by this movie, as the boy was consoling his girlfriend after the screening, as she was apparently shocked terribly by what she has seen.

Blush response

2008-01-10T01:14:00.000+01:00

Well, my private communications have become quite low-grade lately. I've spoken and texted in a weird unbalanced and unfocused way recently, and it looks like as if I'd made some desperate moves. I feel embarassed a bit, but at the same time it just signifies the importance of that certain connection. I feel like a fourteen years old, clueless, fearful. Sounds vague? For me too.

Brandishing the sledgehammer

2008-01-09T12:09:00.000+01:00

This week had an explosive start on the working front. More and more tasks and duties heading my way, relentlessly. Some of them are really exciting, and I'd like to spend more time on them, but the less inspiring chores don't let me fiddle with minute details too long. So, I have to manage my time much better - and I'm still not the best at it, to say the least.

Anyways, I like to be gainfully engaged, and the exciting opportunities are worth the efforts needed put into less interesting tasks. Of course, the whip cracks behind my back, my deadlines and reporting duties are quite strict - although the company itself and its partners are slow reacting entities. The dichotomy of demanding and speedy work and the almost motionless corporate environment is, in essence makes working at a multinational company similar to the experience of playing a part in an absurd play. But, if you know what you exactly want to reach, what you gain from working in such an environment, and you won't let your work slip into the realm of making ever growing excel sheets and documents of documents made for interpreting some documents' contents, rather than achieving your goals, then you won't be too stressful, and you can wade through the corporate jungle seemingly in an effortless way. Therefore I'm more concerned to come up with a viable strategy for short, and long-term to meet the goals of the company, than worrying about the apparently meaningless tasks, while making myself content if I look on the results of my work. This latter part is the hardest of all.

So, I'm again absorbing new knowledge, reaching for new boundaries and while it could seem from the outside that I'm getting further away from what I really love to do (writing, coming up with ideas and conveying information), the case is just the opposite. My apparent distance from editorial work and less frequent professional writing exercises made it clearer how much I'm enjoying it, and also, that I have to absorb more to become better at it (if you are confident that you are good at something, you can only be sure of one thing: you have yet to learn). Of course, I'm missing the atmosphere of the newsroom, the squabbles with peers and superiors, the good and bad times what a journalist can live through in such an environment, but a few years ago my career continued on a different path.

Heavy snow

2008-01-01T14:39:00.000+01:00

It is unbeatable on the first day of the new year to take a walk in the wildly falling snow while listening Metallica off your Walkman. It was tempting to switch to Snow from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, but the relentlessly falling, almost painfully white snow paired with the similarly unforgiving riffs seemed a perfect, however unlikely pair. I was taken over by the combined feeling of hope and reconciliation.

New Year's eve

2008-01-01T14:38:00.000+01:00

Live performance of Paradise City just before midnight. One can hardly resist the temptation to take it as a sign - and maybe that is what we should do...
Happy New Year to all of you! See you on the far side of midnight!

Round

2008-01-01T14:37:00.000+01:00

Last year, 30th of december. A good 30 or so cyclists gathering at the southern entrance of Margitsziget. Among them a few familiar and more - at least for me - unfamiliar faces. He'd know them all. Soon, they start their round of honour. Small coffee shop in the 9th district, close to the bridgehead. It was his favourite, we suppose. He was passionate about coffee - even completed a barrista course to get the most out of the black liquid. I'm sitting among a small group of his former classmates from the university. Chatting about him - memories, mingled with personal accounts, and hypotheses - with strangers. But we talk as if we'd knew each other for a long time. No wonder, he was the connection, so the commons is him. The group with bicycles arrive and now the coffee shop is crammed with people on this otherwise sleepy and grey, very last sunday of the year 2007. He filled it with customers. We talk along, chatting about everything and sometimes unwittingly we are glancing to the door. Waiting for him.

The shocking booth

2007-12-28T12:51:00.001+01:00

Every time I had to go to the bathroom at the office, the wall to wall carpet, made from the finest grains of plastic molecules on the Earth, fills me up with static charge. OK, my hair was never a sight you could imagine in fashion magazines (only as comparision illustration in a before and after article, strictly in the before section), so if it's raised by electricity I'm not that concerned. But if you are in a hurry, and you get hold on the doorknob of the men's room and it welcomes you with a small electroshock, that makes me somewhat frustrated - not to mention: afraid to open the door to salvation. Need driven, serve yourself electrocution at work - a fitting end in the world of cubicles. Zap!

Companions of the night

2007-12-28T12:20:00.000+01:00

I've just finished last week the book 'Captain Pantoja and the Special Service', a novel by Mario Vargas Llosa. It was among the best reads I've had lately, and that is something to say, because I've read a lot of good novels in the past months. The style was captivating, the continuously written, intersecting dialogues, the interwoven field reports, letters - both private and official - made the book the type which you just can't put down, and even when you have to, you are yearning to have just a minute to pick it up again and get back to it. The story itself is quite simple, but as simple stories have it, there is more to them than what meets the eye. I'm planning a second read of the story of Pantiland sometime in the near future.
I've also had the chance to read the 'Memories of my Melancholy Whores' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, which was among the most beautiful stories ever written on the subject of love. Although - as I later learned this - the critics weren't blown away by this novel, I've found so much eternal truths in it, and it was written with such a style, and the figure of the lead character was so familiar that I don't really care if everyone else on this planet says this book wasn't the best book of the aforementioned writer, it's going to be among the books which would make it to my little space cabin if I'd have the opportunity to travel to a distant star - where cargo space limitations are very strict. Now I'm halfway through Woody Allen's 'three one-act plays' (which means, one and a half plays read), these are three - ten or less years old - plays of the well known movie and theatre director, writer, stand up comedian and jazz musician from New York. And then I'm heading 'Closing time' by Joseph Heller, who is one of my favourite writers and shamefully I left this novel half read when it was published many many years ago (a bad habit of mine, which I picked up due to constant time management conflicts in my life - I'm workin' on it, I know it sucks).

The time between Christmas and New Year's Eve

2007-12-27T10:42:00.000+01:00

Waking up in the morning, around 6:00 AM. Leaving the usual waking rituals behind, you just lie on the bed awake but with closed eyes. Turning on the TV to wake up, but there's no sign of mumbling anchors and apparently lobotomised guests of morning shows. Instead, there are smurfs and other children oriented stuff in the tube. You feel like you are still in a dream, this can not be true. The blanket gets heavier, so, you roll out of the bed and take a look out of the window. The sight doesn't help. Another gloomy, winter day. Anyways, this is Christmas time, the Holiday season and all that. Walking to the fridge in your sleeping shorts you leave out the obligatory cereals and other healthy, energising breakfast (real fast) options and head for the cakes, cookies and other sweets you got for Christmas.
Nothing compares to the feeling of a choclate flavoured sacher slice and a mouthful of basket with walnut creme in the morning. Christmas mood is already knocking on your door.
In a perfect world you would make the right decision: tactical retreat to the bed with a tray packed with sweets, and a cup of hot tea. Then you would turn that bloody telly off and open a book and read all day. The thought of this possibility fills you with the sweet memories of past Christmases and at the same time gets your little task-master shouting: 'You, Mickey in those plaid shorts! Get your head out of the clouds and pull yourself together, there's work to do!' Moving sluggishly you walk to the bathroom, take a shower, brush your teeth, ponder the idea of another bite from the sacher cake - and dismiss it in an instant under the influence of that heartless little task-master - dress up and walk out the door towards the place where you work. You know there won't be too many colleagues today at the office, and you gonna steal some moments for personal tasks, so, in a way Christmas still lingers on even at work these days. But you can't wait to get home and make a good cup of tea from that special mixture you got as a present this Christmas, open up a book and wind back to the part where you left off this morning.

My year before Christmas

2007-12-22T10:57:00.000+01:00

This year was the first full year when I've felt thet I was able to move forward, evolve and progress. It wasn't easy and never will be, and it meant some very hard decisions, cutting off some parts (people I thought I know/knew, habits, obsessions, wishes, etc.) which seemed to prohibit progression or were proven to be empty. This year I realised that if I want to write, then I don't necessarily have to work as a full-time employed (or should I say exploited) journalist. I also came to the conclusion, I like to be a manager. I mean, actually managing the operations, creating and conceptual planning of different content related projects. This year I also accepted a lot of things. I came to the end on the road of learning to let go, and now everything seems easier than before. Also learned to take responsibility to my actions and be willing to take that even for actions of others. I also learned to accept and admire people I love and care for in the way they are, it seems trivial but as it is it was hard to realise at some time in my life. I realised what love really means to me, and how I want to share it with a certain someone.
So, the change what began about two years ago at last shows some results, I hope it will be beneficial for others too, not just for me.
As for my career, I was never so confident in myself as I am now, and as I was during the whole year. I'm not arrogant, or some know-it-all, but I'm confident that I can handle stressful situations, I can cooperate and nurture people I work with and express my appreciation of their work, and I can stand up for my views and for my colleagues ideas and rights. Some people said from their point of view it seemed that it is really easy for me. Well, I got to disappoint them, it isn'T easy I'm ponderous, doubtful and stressful, but I can handle them, and when the moment of truth comes it doesn't matter how you come to that point, you have to deliver. And if you have to deliver, do it rather with a smile, and in a way which reassures others, instead of making them nervous or uneasy. I'm trying to smile on the world, they say if you do that it smiles back on you.

Gulps

2007-12-22T10:56:00.000+01:00

Alcohol. Deep inside I don't really like it, and my guts don't like it either, my organs are fighting with it everytime. I don't know why I'm drinking it anyways. It is just a strange custom to share a cup (and after that many more cups) of a sense bending poison. But, because there is always a but, in the company of friends I can drink a lot, and in the company of strangers or people I don't really know (like colleagues, friends' friends) I drink even more. I should stop that, I know. But these "traditions" of drinking and the patterns I learned during high-school and university year are not easy to overcome. I was drinking a lot, just for escapism sake. I never were a study case, more like a frequent drinker than a frequently drunk. But deep down I always knew there is something wrong with alcohol that way. Nowadays I'm less likely to drink that much, but sometimes old habits overcome newly formed determination. Alcohol. I want to get over with it, even if people would say 'what kind of sissy are you." Sharing a cup is okay, that has some ancient meaning, but a game of self poisoning seems futile, arrogant, obsessive. I don't need this anymore.

Heritage

2007-12-21T20:01:00.000+01:00

Yesterday night I waved Good Bye to Robi by reading through his blog from the beginning to the end. He had a very unique style - a witty, sarcastic but wise and humourous manner ruled his writing style. He frequently quouted poems or song lyrics too.
He only let just a few hints how badly he suffered at times. He has written with the wisdom of someone who has seen it all. And that was the case, he has seen it all. Sooner than any of us, and he understood life more than any of us. Some entries contain fully christallised truths. So, I've read all what he left behind, and I'm gonna read it again, and again from time to time, because Robi left us warnings, warnings to concentrate on the really important things in our lives, and live our life, not just imitate it.
While reading his powerful lines I was listening to psychedelic rock, which genre was a common ground although he was more into electronic music, and a few Guns n' Roses songs which I've felt appropriate. Robi also loved music, it kept him going, he was very passionate about it. So, I wished farewell to Shadowrider (it was one his identities in Cyberspace), or as I knew him since our childhood, Robi. I'm grateful I had the privilege to know him.

Christmas with VIPs

2007-12-21T19:04:00.001+01:00

Yesterday I had a very warm evening with Eszter and Peti, we exchanged our Christmas gifts and chatted till late night. It was great to see them again, as they were at some point an integral part of my life, and they will remained very important persons to me.
Peti has grown a lot, and he is a very talented boy now, and I've got to say he is also very handsome, so the girlies in his class could consider themselves very lucky (beware the heartbreaker is among you little ones). It's not surprising that given his father and his mother are exceptionally gifted writers that he himself also sinked his teeth into this perilous game of creative writing. Right now, as his Christmas gift for me (a complete novel on the creation of an ancient world with its own cultures!) has shown his readings' effects on his themes and style, but at some parts one can point out genuine elements. (Of course it wasn't different in my case when I was the same age as him - far from it, I didn't even come up with an original idea, I wanted to make a Hobbit comic book, but as you can guess, I left it unfinished - honestly, only the first page was completed.) So, I'm really amazed what Peti did, and the passages on that fantasy realm's first god were truly amusing. Those were the best parts in my opinion. So, Peti, thank you very much, I must apologise that I can not give you such an original gift - so you had to accept Terry Pratchett's funny story on Death's family and how Death's absence could cause a lot of trouble, especially to his relatives (you can read all about it in 'Soul Music').
Although Eszter was still fighting with a nasty cold, it was really good to see her, and talk about a lot of things from interface design, through the Battlestar Galactica series, to atheism and the spiritual/transcendent. I'm grateful that I got the chance to get to know them and share so many things with them. Merry Christmas!

Waking up in a smaller world

2007-12-20T15:19:00.001+01:00

I've had some very good days lately (emotionally, intellectually and every possible way), and I'm sure, I'm gonna have a lot more. But today I've got a reminder again, how fragile our lives are, and how precious relationships are worth to maintain - even when you don't always feel the need to be connected to so many people.

Yesterday my friend Robert died. I just got the bad news from his brother. He was the same age as I am. I knew him since kindergarden years and we were good friends at the elementary school, and although later on we haven't met that frequently we kept our connection. His serious problems with his health arose in our early teenage years, but despite the complex and dangerous operations he went through, he remained a lively, smart, uber-intelligent and sensitive person with an exceptional sense of humour. Every conversation with him - even those in a hurry, say, on a tram or bus, between two stations en route to work - were refreshing and there were always a certain aura of good vibe, creativity, love of life and positive thinking around him. I'm gonna keep his memory and trying to follow his steps of being a man with purpose, wits and wisdom, no matter how hard burdens you have, how harsh conditions you have to endure.

Only four days left to Christmas eve, my thoughts will be with him and his family too while I'm gonna reflect on this year in the company of my family.
The world seems smaller, for now. Robi we gonna miss you!

The Revolver is even closer

2007-12-18T19:38:00.000+01:00

I'm referring to the Velvet Revolver tour, which has new dates for the band's European shows.
03/29 - Cologne, Germany
04/01 - Amsterdam, Netherland

Full Circle

2007-12-17T11:56:00.000+01:00

My friends, belonging to our group were all in quite good mood last week's fridey evening/night - although this year wasn't very forgiving to some of us. This little company which gathers daily at the virtual fireplace, called IO-Circle is a little surprise in itself. I think it is a quite unlikely group. The majority of the members are former/current colleagues, and considering how those relationships are usually playing out, they should have faded away a long time ago. Yes, some members faded, some former members have found their real routes and went along those paths leaving this pack behind. Good riddance for them, their memory, the good times we had while they were among us will always be good memories. But a fair number of people remained, and our virtual meeting place is a home to us since we began posting our little messages five years or so ago. It was moving to see how the chatty people of this group as time went forward began to express their deeper thoughts, emotions, desires and doubts, in one word, how we began to trust each other and respect our shared and different views. I consider myself lucky to have the privilege knowing these people and that I could call them my friends. Other than that it is very amusing to party with them. Lately I'm not that big party-goer as I was before, and I really hate to loose control because of excessive drinking and such things, but when this group parties it's like a bunch of schoolchildren on the loose with brains thrown out of the window. I always have a good time with them and I can really appreciate how lively they are. So, it was great to see almost all of them together before the end of this year. Thanks IO!

Christmas shopping

2007-12-14T10:02:00.001+01:00

Wow, on this week I almost finished acquiring all the gifts I'm giving to my loved ones - and their relatives. I'd really like to give something for my good friends too, but this year the only thing I could give them was a few tickets to a one-act play, called Keresők (and some of them were unable to come to the theatre) - OK, I didn't mentioned them on the first place that my plans are that I'm giving this to them as X-mas present, but I know them enough if I'd tell them they wouldn't accept it. I guess the others have to come to terms that I'm thinking about them and that's it.
But back to the subject. So, I almost finished getting everíthing I planned, there are only a couple of small things to buy, and I'm ready for Christmas. It's such a weird thing, I'm not a believer, not a religious guy (in the common sense of these words), but I still think of Christmas and any other occasion when you can give gifts to those you love, that these opportunities are very useful for expressing non-verbally that you actually care for them. I was always thinking abut gifts and gift giving that way, and as I'm quite reserved and very tight lipped about my feelings I can really appreciate thet there are such customs.
As for my gift acquisitions, I'm more or less buying such things which I'd be very happy to own or get myself. Now, as I was watching this year's gift lineup on the sofa I was really temted to look inside each and every book, and listen to every single CDs I bought. Some may say this is a very egocentric approach, but it's not. I'm trying to pay attention what needs the others have and choose something which could be useful to them, which enhance their lives and make their world wider, more colorful. But one can only choose carefully from a pool which he knows well, and that is why all the gifts I'm giving are books, music, things, etc. which are interesting and important for me as well. Of course this approach could be arguable, but that's the way I do it, and until this point it worked very well.

Playing in the name of...

2007-12-13T23:32:00.000+01:00

Some people usually ask me, why I'm going to gigs, where mere copies of different rock bands are performing. So, what makes me to go to shows of various tribute-bands? I used to answer to questions like that, if these guys are real fans, then you get a performance on par with the real deal, and sometimes, even better! I know some people despise these guys in those tribute bands, but I don't know why. Rock music is as much about fandom, than about originality, rock and roll lifestíle and many other factors. In my opinion, if someone couldn't be a fan of someone else's music, then that person can not be a great rock musician. It may be a false assumption, but as far as I can see, those bands in rock history which made it tu superstardom were never afraid to play the songs of their idols, and even paying tribute to them evoking their sound and other properties in their original compositions too. So, in my opinion, quality tribute bands should be not just good musicians, but exceptionally motivated fans too. But it is not an answer why I'm attending the shows of these bands. Well, the answer is very simple, because I like those bands they are paying tribute to. Not to mention, you can't really catch Guns n' Roses in their early lineup, while you definitely can attend a gig which evokes the essence of those shows in the late '80s presented by a band under the name of Dust n' Bones (also a tip of the hat toward the real deal), or I could mention AB/CD a fantastic AC/DC tribute band and Vertigo a breathtakingly good Metallica cover band. These three groups are standing head and shoulders above the other similar bands I've seen lately. Their performances are a special mixture of a not-so-serious impersonation of the ideals, utmost fandom, originality (yes) and musical precision. What I can really appreciate is that they can make these bands' music and everything these bands and their music conveys accessible live for an audience which haven't had the opportunity to experience the original acts personally. And this is something which should be respected, not criticised. Rock on!

2008 VR and Metallica back in Europe again

2007-12-12T09:23:00.000+01:00

I've just read that Velvet Revolver will continuie touring in 2008, and they are coming back to Europe. I'm still holding my breath if they will end up playing a show in Budapest, but if not, then I'm willing to go abroad to see them performing live. Here are some just announced dates for UK and Ireland.

"Velvet Revolver are coming back to the UK/Ireland. See them at Dublin Ambassador March 12, Liverpool University 15, Leeds University 16, Manchester Apollo 17, Newcastle Academy 19, Glasgow Apollo 20, Wolverhampton Civic Hall 22, Birmingham Academy 23, London Brixton Academy 25, Brighton Centre 27." www.totalrock.com

Oh, and by the way, Metallica is also coming back to Europe next year, as their official site declares: "Metallica will be playing the Rock Am Ring and Rock Im Park Festivals in Germany on June 7th and 8th, 2008."

Without You - the mystery of November Rain solved

2007-12-08T14:04:00.000+01:00

I was always wondering, what was really going on in the November Rain video, why Axl's then-girlfriend's character dies in that clip. Well, at the end of the video it is stated that that it was based on a short story of Del James. Del was a senior editor at the rock magazine RIP which was run by Lonn M. Friend (I'd like to write a post about him and his book: Life on Planet Rock, because he lived and I think still lives a very fascinating life which is ruled by rock music, so I feel a certain connection as a journalist and rock music fan), and was founded by no other than Larry Flint. But, back to the subject. Del James is a friend of Axl and his book of short stories was published with GN'R's lead singer's foreword, and many more Guns n' Roses videos and songs were based on James' short stories.

For me the November Rain video was always a mystery, 'cause I didn't have the ide why the bride dies so quickly. In the high school we came up different explanations, but none of them seemed plausible. But, the wait is over, I've found in an online discussion group's page the whole story by Del James. It was published in his book - mentioned above - Language of Fear. I'm not sure if I can do this, republishing this certains short story online, but since I can't find the book on any online store, I guess I won't harm his business this way. Anyways, I'd really like to read that book, so if someone can buy it in a used-book store anywhere , I'd be more than happy to fork out a fair sum of many for it.

So here it goes the story whic reveals the fate of the bride immortalised in the November Rain song and video by Guns n' Roses:

-------------------

Without You

By Del James

Although he wanted to share the dance, Mayne
could not bring himself to interrupt such beauty.
Her well-toned body swayed childlike, peacefully,
slowly moving to the rhythm. Her innocence was
enchanting, her beauty breathtaking. Mayne knew
she’d be angry at him for sneaking about,
watching without letting her know, but the
teenage voyeur inside his adult body encouraged
him and didn’t care about the consequences.
Besides, this was for his eyes only. Her eyes
sparkled, reminding him of the ocean, vast with
beauty and mystery. A slight breeze danced
through her lion’s mane. A full-length
see-through dress covered her shapely body and a
light glaze of sweat made her glisten. She seemed
too beautiful to be real. During this split
second of visual euphoria, Mayne conceded that
she was the only woman he ever truly loved. Her
eyes flickered. She must have heard me, he
thought as she turned toward him. He didn’t want
to ruin the beauty, only to enjoy it. Her thick
lips smiled sympathetically. Then the song
started growing in volume.

A sharp twinge of panic shot through him when he
realized which of his songs it was. Cold sweat
seeped out of his pores and dread consumed him.
His vision spiraled as reality distorted.
Breathing became difficult, complicated.
Desperation attacked and twisted every muscle in
his thin body. Much worse than the pain was his
fear. Unsuppressable anxiety swept through him as
he started toward the stereo. Everything lost its
natural texture; the walls, the floor, the air
became surreal. The louder the music, the more
difficult he found it to move. He had to remove
the compact disc but his feet felt like large
concrete blocks. He couldn’t move fast enough.
She already had the pistol’s barrel against her
temple.

BLAMM!

Mayne awoke covered in sweat, a mute shriek still
lodged in his throat. The past six hours had been
spent in a drug-and-alcohol-induced coma that he
put over as sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity and
was impossible to achieve without some
assistance. It didn’t matter whether he slept six
hours or six minutes, the nightmare always
managed to creep in. No sleeping pill or
antidepressant could spare him. He had written
the song and was forever damned by it. With
unsteady hands, he wiped sweat from his brow and
rubbed his fingers against the satin sheets. His
silver and gold bracelets clinked together.
Rolling onto his side, he stared at the digital
alarm clock on top of the black night table that
had a built -in refrigerator as its base. On top
of the clock was a half-empty pack of Marlboros.
He stared at the green digital numbers but they
made no sense. It really didn’t matter what time
it was anyway, his time was other people’s money.
Next to the clock was something more important
than cash or time. Slowly he sat up. Tortured
eyes scanned the black marble tabletop, searching
for any leftover precious brown powder. There
were burned matches, bent cigarettes, and empty
bindles, but no dope. It didn’t matter. He could
always have more delivered. Sitting on the edge
of the bed, Mayne reached down and opened the
night table’s refrigerator door. Inside were
several Budweiser’s, baking soda, and a chilled
bottle of Dom Perignon. He grabbed a cold can,
killing half of it in one sip. He did this every
morning. Instantly, his aching head began to feel
better. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the
time had arrived to rejoin the living. He knew he
had to be at the studio soon but didn’t feel up
to it. Besides, the recording of his latest
album, Alone, had been finished over a month ago.
The album was now in the final mixing stages. If
Mayne liked what he heard, he’d approve it and
the record would be released on schedule. If not,
it would have to be remixed until he did approve.
So then, what the @!#$ did they need him for? He
procrastinated for as long as he possibly could
before finally standing up.

Much like his bedroom, the bathroom was a
disaster area. Discarded clothes, creams, trash,
cassettes, and towels dominated the view. Using
radar to locate the bowl, he found the porcelain,
fought off the urge to puke, and relieved
himself. He reentered the bedroom, not really
feeling human, more like a robot dressed in
rented flesh. There was a dull pain in his
abdomen that he’d grown accustomed to. It, like
many other flaws in his health, could be
attributed to his excessive life-style. Besides
hi jewelry, Mayne only wore Jockey briefs. He
stumbled over to his dresser, removed a pair of
custom-tailored black leather pants, and changed.
He found a dark purple silk kimono hanging in a
walk in closet and put it on. In a dresser drawer
was a gram vial of cocaine. Scooping with the
long fingernail on his right pinkie, the tattered
musician snorted eight blasts of rock ‘n’ roll
aspirin. The kimono felt cool against his warm
flesh. He wondered if he was feverish and
concluded he probably was. He was always run
down, as if with a perpetual fever. That is, of
course, until he got his chip. He finished his
beer, tossing the empty can in the general
direction of a wastebasket that was already
crammed with empties. Staring into a full-length
mirror, the run-down recluse didn’t recognize the
reflection. Sure, the long blond hair and tattoos
gave him away, but he looked so frail. Mayne
looked like someone who was ready for hospital
pajamas. His once attractive face was blue, taut,
and expressionless. A scraggly beard covered his
chin and his emerald eyes were no longer
authentic gems, but rather costume jewelry. He
needed a drink.

For the past fourteen of his twenty-eight years,
he’d spent the majority of his time inside a
bottle. Teenage beer and wine parties turned to
vodka and rum at nightclubs, which in turn
evolved into straight whiskey. Exiting the
bedroom, he said a silent prayer to his patron
saint, Jim Beam, asking that there be some in the
liquor cabinet. An illuminating golden glow
surrounded the thick blackout curtains. A small
war had gone down in the living room the previous
evening. Full ashtrays, assorted liquor bottles,
empty and half-empty packs of cigarettes, and
beer cans were strewn everywhere. Several CD
covers were caked in cocaine residue. Mayne tried
remembering who had been partying there and
couldn’t. An empty pack of Kool cigarettes meant
that one of his many dealers, Jamie Jazz had
delivered something. It didn’t take very long
before he made the connection between the empty
bindles in the bedroom and Jamie. Jamie
(pronounced Jay-mee) was typical Hollywood trash
who hand delivered coke, toke, crack, or smack to
troubled celebrities, exploiting their
vulnerabilities. Mayne searched for more clues as
to who else had been over partying but came up
blank. He slid behind the bar that was adjacent
to the kitchen and opened a cabinet. There were
several unopened bottles of assorted white
liquors. A nervous surge shot through his small
stomach. What if there was no whiskey? He
shuffled the bottles around until he found the
proper one. A sigh of relief escaped him as he
twisted the cap off and made a mental note that
he needed to restock. The whiskey’s aroma was his
equivalent of fresh brewed coffee. “Here’s
looking at you, love,” Mayne said aloud, raising
the bottle to his lips.

Like every day, one sip led to another. After
several sips, he started feeling right. He put
the bottle on the counter and made it to the
refrigerator. If he was lucky, he’d be drunk
before the day started. He removed another
Budweiser and went back into the messy living
room. There was a dull hum inside his cranium.
He couldn’t differentiate whether it was
cocaine-induced or the central air-conditioning.
If only he could remember what day today was,
then he’d know if a maid was scheduled to come
by. She could bring booze. The musician sat on
the couch, picked up the phone, and dialed 411.

“Operator. What city, please?”

“L.A.”

“Yes?”

“What day is it? Mayne asked sincerely, lighting
a Marlboro.

“What?”

“What day is it?”

“Sir, I’m an operator.”

“Ma’am, you’re Information and I asked you a
question,” Mayne corrected her. A snide laugh
escaped him. After a silent moment, she answered
his question.

“It’s Wednesday, sir.”

“Thanks,” he said, and hung up. There would be no
maid service today. This was not the way he
wanted to start the day. He polished off the
beer, finished his cigarette, and snorted more
cocaine. After several confusing seconds, he
remembered where he kept the large green garbage
bags and began straightening up the mess. Moving
around the large one-bedroom condominium, he
picked up anything that wasn’t bolted down and
threw it out. Bottles and empty food containers
stretched the garbage bag to a point where it
threatened to rip open. After ten minutes of
straightening up, the apartment began taking
shape. Besides this condominium, he also owned
one in Manhattan and another in Houston. He
rarely frequented his Hollywood Hills mansion, or
for that matter, his house in Maui. Both brought
back too many memories of her. It was in the
Hollywood Hills house where he and Elizabeth
Aston had spent most of their quality time. As
his thoughts began betraying him, thinking more
about her, Mayne instinctively went to the bar
and retrieved the whiskey bottle. He could think
of her as long as he had a safety net. With all
the money, fame, and success he had attained, it
was the simple things like friendship and love
that were the hardest to keep. He never meant to
hurt anyone, especially those closest to him, but
for some reason that’s who he usually hurt the
worst. He never set out to be malicious, but by
living under a microscope with the world
scrutinizing him, any wrongdoing, public or
private, tended to blow up in his face and often
wound up as Nightly News. Personal flaws and
@!#$-ups are not allowed of the elite. He often
suffered silently, trapped by his own fame, until
he needed out of his cage. But the cage was as
wide as his eyes could perceive. All Mayne had
ever tried to be, right or wrong, was himself.
With all the doctors, specialists, therapists,
fans, and everyone in his organization trying to
help him, he just sank further into his cocoon,
alienating himself even more. He often wondered
who he really was. Was he another regenerated
social security number automatically inherited at
birth or a genuine reflection of society? Was he
a phenomenon or just a facade? Was he a product
of his own imagination or just another brick?
Would he ever understand his own destiny?

Inside his mind, he analyzed why his relationship
with Elizabeth had failed more times than were
countable. Like the scholar he wasn’t, he
dissected situations, pondered things he
should’ve said and shouldn’t have been caught
doing. When it came to sex, why couldn’t
Elizabeth understand that just because he
occasionally strayed from their bedroom didn’t
mean he didn’t love her? Sex was like
role-playing. He never forced her to be
monogamous but deep down he knew that if he found
out she was fucking someone else it would have
hurt. A lot! Even with that knowledge, he
couldn’t confine himself to only one woman. He
wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He tried
being open with her but concluded that certain
things should’ve remained secret. Sex was an ego
addiction similar to the one felt onstage.
Different audiences, like different partners,
were more challenging and made him work harder
for the applause. Like drugs, he was addicted to
the rush. Even with an empire at his disposal,
money couldn’t buy him love, nor happiness, nor
peace of mind. Nor Elizabeth. Looking around the
large living room, a very disenchanted artist
absorbed the modern decor. None of these
possessions except a few token items had ever
meant anything to Mayne. None of this @!#$ was
real. He was surrounded by trophies of a game
that had no meaning. And he was tired of playing
games.

A sharp pain in his left ear sent him back to the
dark corridor that led from stage to dressing
room. Inside his ringing head, speakers feeding
back ignited and exploded. He was experiencing
another rock ‘n’ roll side effect, ear damage.
The dull hum lasted only seconds but the memories
of his final show with his former band, Suicide
Shift, would never fade. For reasons he couldn’t
remember, Elizabeth had been unable to attend the
tour’s final show. The band had been on the road
for the better part of fourteen months, over 285
concerts. Every few weeks Mayne had flown her to
whatever city he was performing in and she’d stay
for a few nights. The final concert of any tour
is an important night. It was Suicide Shift’s
first headlining tour and Mayne wanted to share
the experience with her. It was the culmination
of many miles traveled, many hours worked, and
the celebration that went on afterward was well
deserved. He called her several times to offer
her plane tickets, trying to persuade her, but
she couldn’t make it.

The gig was well over two hours of electric
ferocity. Of course Mayne consumed plenty of
drugs and alcohol before and during the show (he
did every gig), but it was the Florida crowd’s
enthusiasm and knowing that he’d be able to sleep
for a month that gave him extra spark. Every time
he took a solo, he tried to best any previous
soloing effort. Every time he approached his
microphone to sing backups, his voice surged with
whiskey vigor. For him, this was rock ‘n’ roll at
its best. The 4,000-plus crowd acknowledged this
with deafening applause.

After the final encore, it was time to celebrate.
Mayne wound up with two eager females in his
hotel room. In the privacy of his bathroom he
injected a little heroin. Not enough to make him
nod out but enough to get him good and high. The
two nubile females would only make him feel
better. After struggling to get his wet brown
suede pants off, he joined the nude women, and
thus the revelry began. The dope clouded his
not-so-good memory but Mayne remembered a very
drunk Peter Terrance walking into the room. The
band’s drummer had mistaken Mayne’s room for his
own. In the spirit of celebration, Mayne offered
him a girl. Terrance declined saying he’d find
his own and left. The menage-a-trois continued.
Shortly afterward there was a knock on the door.
Thinking it was Terrance taking up the offer,
Mayne called out, telling whoever was at the door
to enter. Standing at the door with an overnight
bag was Elizabeth. On the spur of the moment
she’d flown from L.A. to Miami to be with him. A
very bad scene played itself out. Elizabeth left
broken and hysterical. That was the beginning of
the end for their relationship.

Mayne snapped out of the past. His left knee
popped loudly as he straightened his legs and
headed for the phone. He pushed a button.
Elizabeth’s number was still programmed and every
now and then he pushed it just to hear her phone
ring. Also in the phone’s memory was his record
label, his manager, the three members of his
current band, the Mayne Mann Group, and several
drug dealers. After receiving no answer at
Elizabeth’s, he pushed another button. His many
bracelets clinked together and a few seconds
later there was a reply.

“Yeah?” spat an unenthusiastic voice from a car
phone.

“It’s me,” Mayne said, swallowing, cocaine
dripping down his throat.

"My main man,” Jamie’s voice declared like a cash
register ringing. “What can I do ya for?”

“Uptown and downtown.” Cocaine and heroin.

“No problem. You remember what I did for ya last
night, right?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t.

“You owe me three bills from that @!#$, brother
man,” the dealer explained just in case memory
failed. I’m sure I got some change floatin’
around. If I can’t find some I’ll five ya my
Versateller card and you can get what I owe.”

“Bet. I’ll be right up,” Jamie said as if he was
doing Mayne a favor and hung up.

“@!#$’ prick,” Mayne mumbled to himself.

He lit up a cigarette and got himself another
beer. The lid popped loudly and foam rose to the
mouth hole. He watched, amused, then walked over
to the black-out curtains and pulled the lever,
letting bright sunlight invade his living room.
“@!#$ you very much,” he loudly announced,
squinting, and raising his middle finger to the
sky. The view from his balcony was vast,
displaying the City of Angels below, yet more
often than not Mayne kept the curtains shut,
preferring not to be a part of the world outside.
It was safe inside his apartment. Against a far
wall, tucked in the corner so that the ivory keys
faced out toward the living room, was a vintage
Steinway. He spent many pleasure-filled hours on
the instrument, and even when he wasn’t playing,
the piano gave him visual stimulation. It was an
instrument of precision and grace. Next to the
piano, resting comfortably on stands were half a
dozen vintage guitars: Les Pauls, Stratocasters,
and Telecasters. The guitars he kept in the
apartment were the ones that meant the most to
him.

The buzzer sounded, waking Mayne from his
drifting thoughts. He went to the intercom and
pressed the button that unlocked the front door.
A few minutes later, Jamie Jazz was inside his
apartment. Dozens of platinum and gold records
adorned the walls. Hours upon years of planning,
writing, recording, and struggling had reaped
these round rewards. His songwriting stemmed from
inner pains and his slower, more blues-influenced
songs often dealt with personal hardships. Those
were the songs he was most proud of and believed
might stand the test of time. The faster, more
hard-rock-oriented songs often had little
significance or wore their meanings on their
sleeve. Unfortunately, the awards were no longer
awards without Elizabeth. Mayne excused himself
and went into the bedroom. Hidden behind yet
another platinum disc was a safe. He removed the
disc from the wall, twisted the combination, and
opened the safe. Inside were jewelry, documents,
over four thousand dollars cash, a freebase pipe,
and a loaded .357 Magnum. He grabbed a few
C-notes and went back into the living room,
leaving the safe shut but unlocked. Jamie was
seated on the black leather couch, feet up on the
marble coffee table, looking casual in Suicide
Shift sweatpants (that he’d gotten from Mayne)
and a matching sweatshirt. He’d helped himself to
a beer.

“What’s the total?”

“Including last night? Six,” Jamie replied,
fidgeting with the beeper on his waist.

Mayne handed him six bills and put the rest in
his pants pocket. Judging by the look on his
face, the dealer understood he wanted to be alone
and took the hint.

“Call me if you need anything else,” Jamie
offered, exiting the apartment.

The moment the front door clicked shut, Mayne’s
mind rushed into overdrive but his body refused
to move. He had drugs in hand, but instead of
finding a syringe, he went back into the bedroom.
Something in the wall safe more powerful than his
addiction had caught his eye. He walked to the
safe and pulled the door open. Inside was a photo
album containing precious Kodachrome memories.
Placing the drugs on top of the messy night
table, he fell on the bed, and began flipping
through the leather-bound book. Captured in
photos were images and feelings so intense that
it made him warm as well as suicidal. Elizabeth
had challenged him intellectually while
stimulating him sexually. She’d mothered him when
he was sick, which was quite often. She’d set
free inner feelings that he’d often tried
avoiding. Her beauty, both inner and physical,
was something he wanted; yet when she was his, he
did everything conceivable to lose her.

He turned to the second page. He had no idea how
many times he’d masturbated to this photo. Every
other day perhaps. It was just a snapshot he’d
taken of her while on vacation in Las Vegas. In
photo form, the wind blew her long hair away from
her face and she was smiling. Behind her was the
Caesar’s Palace hotel where they’d spent the
better part of two weeks in the penthouse suite.
It was a typical tourist photo but it was her
smile that turned him on. It was so free from
pain. Mayne would do anything to have her smile
for him like she had in the photograph. He’d do
anything to have her lips, her body again.

He unbuttoned his leather pants. Before beginning
his self-stimulation, he pulled himself over to
the night-table refrigerator and removed an
unopened bottle of Dom Perignon champagne. The
bottle opened with a loud pop and smoke billowed
from the top, but no liquid spilled.

Sipping deeply from the bottle, he flipped
through the photo album that was all too short,
carefully avoiding the final page. He rarely
looked at the last page. As always, he wound up
back on page two. With the bottle two-thirds
empty, he pulled his pants and briefs down to his
knees and poured the remaining champagne onto his
palms. This was part of the ritual. Fine
champagne was something he and Elizabeth enjoyed
sharing. He could still share it with her. As he
took hold of his wet erection, his thoughts began
to slip. It was during one of their final dinner
dates that she had said something that inspired
him to write the most beautiful song of his
career. “I can’t live with you and I can’t live
without you,” he could hear her saying as if it
were just yesterday. Words flowed from pen to
paper faster than he could write. Mayne concluded
that this was his private way of explaining all
that had happened between them. The song “Without
You,” was not an apology, it was his side of the
story. It was rock ‘n’ roll sincerity that sold
over three million copies in the U.S., topping
the record sales charts and putting the Mayne
Mann Group on top of the rock world. He offered
Elizabeth half of the royalties from the song
because without her there would be no song. She
politely declined. A sold-out Mayne Mann Group
tour ensued. When the tour arrived in Los
Angeles, Mayne desperately wanted to see her. No
matter how many women he had, no matter how over
her he told everyone he was, he’d do anything for
her except let her permanently slip out of his
life.

He’d called her a dozen times over the course of
two days, leaving message after message on her
answering machine. Even though she never
responded, he’d left her ten All-Access passes at
Will Call. She never showed.

After the show, Mayne vowed he wouldn’t make the
same mistake twice. He quickly showered, changed
into dry clothing, and left, avoiding all the
backstage hoopla. He and his driver headed for
Elizabeth’s apartment. Using the phone in the
limousine, he dialed her from the street below
her apartment. Again he was greeted by a recorded
message.

“Elizabeth, I know–I hope you’re there. I’m
downstairs and even if I have to break down the
door to see you, I’m willing. If you’re gonna
call the cops, well, call ‘em now. . . I don’t
expect anything from you. I don’t deserve
anything . . . @!#$, I don’t even know what I’m
trying to say other than I still care about you.
Words can’t heal what I’ve done but, @!#$, the
past is done . . . I really need to see your face
again,” Mayne softly explained after the beep.
The words still echoed in his mind as he wondered
if he could’ve possibly phrased things
differently. It was too late now, he thought,
already inside the building. This was one of the
rare occasions after a gig that Mayne was sober.
As he arrived by way of elevator at her floor, he
heard familiar music. The closer he got to her
door the louder the volume grew. Then his world
began to spin uncontrollably as a loud gunshot
echoed through the hallway. He ran toward her
apartment, lowered his shoulder, and with
reckless abandon crashed through the wooden door.
He’d found Elizabeth on the couch, bleeding
profusely, most of her head splattered on the
wall behind her. On the blood-sprayed coffee
table in front of her was the answering

machine, a ballpoint pen, and several crumpled
balls of writing paper. He stood destroyed
before her corpse. How could this have happened?
All he had ever done was lover her. Devastated,
he slowly walked over to the blaring stereo. A CD
single of “Without You” was programmed to repeat.
He wondered how many times she’d listened to the
same song and shut the power off. Then he noticed
that next to the answering machine was a note.

Number one with a bullet, the red-speckled note
read.

Shaking and convulsing, his tears falling freely,
Mayne began screaming at the top of his lungs. It
sounded like someone had unleashed a wild animal.
His shrieks threatened to break the windows. A
migraine pierced his throbbing temples and his
entire head was overloaded with pressure. Did she
kill herself because they had failed or because
he wouldn’t leave her be? Was it the song, one of
the few things he’d ever done autonomously, that
had driven her to this? Was this really
happening? Then another thought came out mind. He
removed the pistol from her hand and put it
against his temple.

He was going to join her.

CLICK.

It was empty. Elizabeth had known she would only
need one bullet.

Mayne snapped out of that nightmare and was
thrust into another memory. He recognized the
familiar room as the honeymoon suite in Las Vegas
and almost felt at ease. The bed was in disarray
and Elizabeth was smiling mischievously.

“What do you want to do?”

“Wha’?” Mayne responded, confused.

They’d already drunk several bottles of champagne
and made love twice.

“What do you want to do?” she replied softly,
daring Mayne to answer.

Mayne caught wind of her game and decided to play
along. If she was giving him an option as to what
they’d do next, he was definitely going to take
advantage of her generosity.

“You can either come up here and tell me that you
love me or go down on me.”

Elizabeth’s face registered joy. Words like love
were the hardest to get out of Mayne’s mouth.
Once again she smiled as she began her descent
toward his waistline. It didn’t take her very
long to bring him back to life. Several minutes
later, when she sensed that he was as excited as
he was going to get, Elizabeth looked up at her
man and with the sexiest expression she would
conjure, softy said, “I love you.”

Mayne came with a slight grunt. The powerful
surge had given him something to work at but
there was no pleasure in the orgasm. There never
was anymore. He tossed the photo album aside and
lay on the bed feeling dead, staring at the
ceiling. For a split second, he thought he heard
musical strands of “Without You” but it was only
his imagination. His tired body lay there for
what felt like a year before he sat up. At least
the drugs on the night table were real.
Everything he needed was on the table. Hidden
beneath the clock radio was a syringe and a
blackened spoon. There was a half-empty glass of
water and a lighter next to it. In the spoon he
mixed the proper amounts of heroin and water, and
then, using the lighter, heated the bottom of the
spoon until the mixture cleared up before placing
a tiny piece of cotton into the spoon. With
unsteady hands, he added some cocaine and his
speedball was complete. Being a high-profile
celebrity, he couldn’t afford to have his
withered arms tracked up too badly. He usually
shot into the back of his forearms or his feet.
He also injected into his neck but the way he
felt right now, he had no time to dillydally.
Like an expert acupuncturist, he fixed into a
bulging vein in his forearm.

“Cool,” he mumbled, carefully examining his arm,
as he felt the speedball coming on.

He fell back down on the bed. Between the drugs
and his emotions, he was exhausted. It was a good
thing drugs numbed away most of the pressures. He
was rushing out as the drug hit him in powerful
waves. It took several moments before he realized
his left arm was touching something. He slowly
rolled over. The photo album was opened to the
last page. The last page contained Elizabeth’s
obituary and a sympathy card. Tears he’d held in
since that day began to flow down his cheeks. His
pale face flushed as he felt his strength
evaporating. He was drowning in sorrow but didn’t
believe in self-pity and that made him feel even
worse. He sat up hyperventilating with a
question echoing inside his head. Why did she
have to die? He had no answer and stood up too
quickly. Why was everything so fucked? He went
back into the living room. He needed whiskey.

Why?

He loved her so much.

Why?

He’d offered her half the royalties. Half. That
was a financial empire, but she’d refused.

Why?

He’d tried to make amends. He’d tried being good
according to society’s standards. He wanted to
understand everything that had happened to them.
He wanted her to love him but no matter how hard
he tried, he fucked it up.

Why?

He wanted to be normal again but that wasn’t
possible.

Why?

He wanted to feel closer to Elizabeth but she was
dead. That tormented his fragile soul but for a
split second of insane logic, Mayne concluded
that his body should not be spared either.

“Arrrrrrggghh!” he growled, attacking his living
room like a pissed-off brawler. Fists and feet
attacked defenseless walls and furniture. He
cocked his right fist back and a large hole went
through plaster. He snatched an Oriental lamp off
an end table and hurled it across the room. He
violently threw a marble ashtray into a plaque,
ruining both. Breathing heavily and drenched in
alcoholic sweat, he grabbed a platinum record and
smashed it, spraying glass shards everywhere. The
shattered glass on the floor twinkled like
sun-reflected sand. No matter how many hotel
rooms he trashed during his career, Mayne had
never harmed a guitar. That was strictly taboo
until today. He walked over to the row of
guitars, grabbed a ‘68 Stratocaster by its
stringed neck and swung, smashing the mahogany
body until it was little more than firewood.
With each self-destructive act, he felt slightly
better. He walked over to another platinum disc,
readied himself and put his right fist through
the glass. Blood spurted from the hand that was
heavily insured by Lloyds of London.

For the first time that day he smiled.

Mayne grabbed the Jim Beam bottle off the bar and
guzzled. The liquid painkiller warmed his heaving
chest and eased his bleeding hand, which looked
like it needed stitches. He walked over to his
Fischer stereo, and, using his good hand, turned
on the receiver. The digital readout was locked
on a classic rock station. It was the only safe
station on the dial, since it never played any of
his songs. Mayne Mann was too new, too current.
The station only played material from the 60s and
70s. He instantly recognized the song playing; it
was Humble Pie’s “I Don’t Need No Doctor.” It was
raw rock like this that had inspired him to
become a musician. Following the Pie were the
Allman Brothers. Mayne could relate to what it
felt like being tied to a whipping post.

During the commercials, he went into the kitchen
to grab another beer. Out of his stereo speakers
a record store chain announced its prices as the
lowest in Los Angeles. The background music
accompanying the record store commercial was
“Without You.”

His eyes stung but no tears fell as he realized
that no matter where he was, he couldn’t hide
from himself. Like a man on a mission, he walked
over to the stereo, grabbed the receiver, and
yanked with both hands. It took several strong
tugs before the digital lights went off. With
the receiver in hand, he stumbled backward,
ripping wires and knocking over one of the large
Bose speakers. Distraught and panting, he mad his
way to the giant sliding safety glass door that
led to the balcony. He casually dropped the
high-tech receiver and undid the latch that kept
the heavy door locked. Fresh air attacked his
senses. The cool breeze felt invigorating as he
stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the
edge. His jet-black Bentley sat gleaming in the
parking lot directly below. He picked the
receiver up, held it over the balcony, and aimed
it at the car. After several seconds of wondering
if his aim was accurate, he let go. Glass
spidered wildly when the receiver hit the car’s
windshield and broke through. He went to fetch
the beer he’d been distracted from and ripped the
refrigerator door open as hard as he could. It
crashed open, spilling several items onto the
floor. The door dangled by a hinge. Mayne grabbed
a beer, chugged half, and like a strong-armed
baseball pitcher threw it at his guitar
collection, barely missing his favorite: a
vintage ‘57 Sunburst Les Paul. He grabbed another
can from the crippled refrigerator as his eyes
returned to the guitars.

The guitars were like adopted children and he
loved each one in a different manner.

Certain guitars held certain memories but each
guitar had the ability to create magic. It was
that potential he respected and admired most
about these guitars until this afternoon. Now, no
matter how much he loved a certain guitar, or how
valuable it might be, all he wanted to do was
feel pain. Pain brought him closer to reality.
It brought him closer to Elizabeth. He gave the
world music, very good music, and asked for
little in return. A little space to create, some
kicks thrown in, and how about peace of mind?
Instead, he had more material goods than he could
ever use, more money than he could count, and
nothing worth fighting for. There was a time not
too long ago when he’d fought like hell for all
of this. Now that he owned a piece of the rock he
wished he could give it back. The view from the
top wasn’t as picturesque as he’d imagined. What
he did as his artistic expression, the record
company sold for capital. He’d quickly grown
disillusioned with the system but what else could
he do? Without the industry he couldn’t share his
music. No matter how hard anyone tried explaining
it to him, musical notes would never equal dollar
signs. He made music because since his early
childhood, he truly loved rock ‘n’ roll. It was
the people, his people, he wrote music for after
he finished writing for himself. So then, why
couldn’t he sleep at night?

He stared at the answer.

He was going to kill his guitars. If it wasn’t
for these guitars, he wouldn’t have the problems
he did. And he’s save the goddamn ‘57 Sunburst
for last. He guzzled the beer, raising it away
from his greedy mouth. Budweiser rained down the
side of his face. When the can was almost empty,
he crushed and spiked it like a football.
Enraged, he grabbed a Les Paul Black Beauty and
dealt it a quick but savage death against a wall.
He raised a rare Telecaster over his head and
clubbed the coffee table, breaking both. Then he
picked up another Les Paul and, swinging it like
a baseball bat, clobbered a lamp and several
other objects before the guitar’s neck snapped
off.

“@!#$’ cheap @!#$,” he grumbled.

He heard something that had a bit of rhythm to
it. Was there a drummer playing in his head? It
took several seconds for him to realize that one
of the neighbors was pounding on the wall.

“WHAT, A LITTLE TOO LOUD FOR YA?” Mayne shouted
at the direction the noise was coming from. It
didn’t stop.

“YER PISSING ME OFF, @!#$!”

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

"@!#$, I'm giving ya fair fucking
warning," he said.

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

Mayne walked into the bedroom and over to the
night table. He grabbed his cocaine and poured a
decent-sized mound on the back of his hand that
wasn’t bleeding and snorted. Afterward he licked
residue off his fist, numbing his teeth and gums.
There was a pack of Marlboros on the table. He
grabbed one and lit it. He took a deep drag and
listened to his surroundings. The neighbor was
still pounding. The ashtray was an overflowing
mountain of dead butts so Mayne placed the
cigarette on the edge of the night table. He had
tried to avoid a confrontation, but the shithead
next door wouldn’t let it lie. He went to his
wall safe, grabbed the Smith & Wesson .357
Magnum, and charged out of the bedroom. “OKAY,
HOMEFUCK, WANNA PLAY GAMES?”

Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock-Knock.

KABAMMM, KABAMMM, KABAMMM.

He unloaded three shots toward the already
hole-ridden wall. The pounding stopped instantly.
Again he smiled. He aimed the pistol at one of
his platinum discs on another wall and blasted
the shiny sphere. He aimed at his TV and blew it
to kingdom come. One bullet left. He held the
silver-plated pistol in awe. He could easily join
Elizabeth; all it would take was one quick
squeeze of the trigger. The idea appealed to him.
Maybe he’d get it right in his next life. Slowly,
eyes closed, he raised the pistol. The trigger
teased his scarlet index finger. The barrel felt
good against his temple. Readying himself, he
reopened his eyes. In front of him, mocking him,
were two more Les Paul guitars. There once was a
point in his life when these musical embodiments
were holy. The dedication and years of practicing
were a labor of love. Guitars were his passion,
his expression, and his ticket out of obscurity.
But all of that changed with one song. Now these
guitars were reminders that Mayne could never
regain his innocence.

“Can’t I @!#$’ die with some dignity?” he
wondered as rage consumed him.

He couldn’t even commit suicide without music
somehow interfering. His shaking arm lowered and
took aim at one of the guitars. There was heavy
recoil as wooden fragments flew everywhere. He
put a massive hole in the guitar, and then walked
over to examine his accuracy. It was definitely
dead, but that wasn’t enough. He picked up the
remains and threw them against the safety-glass
door. He walked over to the balcony’s edge.
Below, a small crowd had gathered around his
ruined luxury car.

“Anybody want an autograph?” he asked, tossing
out the fragmented guitar.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. I got another
present!” he yelled, and ran into the bedroom.

His heavy footsteps jarred the cigarette he’d
forgotten off the night table. It smoldered on
the thick rug. Mayne dug inside the wall safe,
grabbed a handful of hundred-dollar bills, and
ran back to the balcony before his audience could
scurry away.

“Don’t say I never gave you anything,” he
announced, letting the money fly.

Several wary spectators stepped backward but as
soon as it was obvious that the confetti was
currency, they rushed forward. Mayne waved to the
small crowd and went back inside.

One guitar remained.

He stared at the ‘57, marveling at the beautiful
colors. It was appropriately called a Sunburst.
Reds, oranges, and yellows swirled in the wooden
body. This one had gold trim as well as golden
pickups. The Sunburst was his preference of all
guitars. He had another two dozen in storage but
this guitar was the first thing he bought after
Suicide Shift was signed to a recording contract.
It was how he’d rewarded himself for having “made
it.” This was also the guitar he’d written the
music to “Without You” on. He approached it with
caution and respect and gently picked it up. He
sat down on the floor Indian style. Deep down, he
was glad he hadn’t destroyed this ax. His
picking hand hurt badly, but he wanted to play.
Blood dripped off his hand and dripped down the
guitar’s body. Enthralled, Mayne watched it run.
No matter how intoxicated he was, his fingers
never betrayed him, and this particular guitar
always responded to his call. He began picking
something that sounded like Hendrix. He paused
abruptly. Something about that last guitar run
shook him up and he couldn’t continue. In a vague
way, it reminded him of a part in “Without You.”
After taking a deep breath, Mayne partially
regained his composure. Multimillionaires like
Mayne Mann aren’t supposed to cry. They’re beyond
tears or at least that’s what society wants to
believe. Mayne Mann was just Stephen Maynard
Mandraich, a talented kid who could run his
nimble fingers along a piece of stringed wood. He
began to strum one of his favorite riffs, Thin
Lizzy’s “Don’t Believe a Word.” Even though the
guitar wasn’t amplified, he could hear it as if
it was. He let the last note ring out as he
stopped and reflected. He used to love the feel
of this instrument in his hands. He used to love
making the strings come to life. He used to love
just holding this guitar. Then his mind viciously
reminded him that he’d also loved the way
Elizabeth felt. He quickly rose off the floor and
tossed the guitar aside. It landed with a loud
DWWWAANNNGGGG.

He stared blankly at the guitar and thought of
her. Both had given him so much pleasure, but
he’d never been able to properly express his
gratitude. He never told her the truth about how
she made him feel, about how much he loved her,
and when he did, the song reaffirmed that he
should’ve kept his mouth shut. At least she’d
still be alive. But the song was pure and he
wanted to play it for her. Even if her physical
body wasn’t present, he could still sing to her
in heaven. He wanted to jam but was afraid to
touch the guitar.

Then Mayne saw an alternative. He scooped up the
almost-dead whiskey bottle and finished what
little was left. It slipped silently from his
hand. Very drunk, very drugged out, he staggered
over to the piano. The smoldering cigarette on
the bedroom rug had burned its way over to the
goose-down comforter. The cover caught and flames
quickly spread throughout the bedroom. Discarded
clothing acted as kindling and soon the bedroom
was on fire.

Until several hazy hours ago, Mayne’s life, no
matter how miserable, had been something most
people could only dream about. It was all an
illusion, and he was one of rock ‘n’ roll’s
elite, a hero. Now, he’d been reduced to his
basic self and nothing really mattered. He felt
the thorns wrapped around his heart and for the
first time in far too long, felt human again.
He’d smothered his spirituality in drug abuse.
He’d stunted his health and personal growth with
vice. He’d blinded himself because he was afraid
to see that his purpose, his gift in life, was to
be true to himself. And the only time he was able
to find that inner truth was when he played his
music. He softly tapped the ivory keys, making
melodies come to life through his fingers. No
matter how badly his hand hurt, he persisted in
making music. He was determined to play for
Elizabeth and all the other angels. With every
fluid run, every harmony, every musical accent,
his inner pain subsided a little. With each
passing musical note, he became one with the
music.

Sweating profusely, Mayne felt something stirring
behind him. He tried ignoring it for as long as
possible. Finally, he turned and saw large flames
billowing out of his bedroom. At first he thought
it was a hallucination but the fire was
scorchingly real and heading his way. His
favorite guitar was already engulfed and dying.
He wanted to save it but couldn’t. He refused to
let his jamming be interrupted. Elizabeth was
listening. Every time his fingers pressed the
Steinway’s keys, crimson stained the ivory and
smeared. He ignored the small red spots, sliding
his long fingers through them. Scarred-up veins
bulged from his forearms a sweat ran down his
face. All he’d ever wanted to do with his life
was play his music and now he was. For the
moment, he felt free from his demons. He built up
the courage and began singing “Without You” in
his natural gruff voice. The thick carpeting
quickly became a wall-to-wall inferno as a giant
wave of fire rose up and spread around the piano.
He couldn’t have cared less. As flames swallowed
the apartment, Mayne never screamed and never
missed a note.

The End

-------------------

Party of Uncertains

2007-12-08T13:27:00.000+01:00

A friend of mine is pondering over the idea of founding a party for those of us uncertains, cold feets, dountfuls. I'm really encouraging him to make the fordt move (or not), and all mí friends are really into it (or not). So, in time we gonna make it to the scene (or not), and will be a definitive force to be reckoned with on the hungarian political palette (or not). One thing is for sure (and thet is sure for good) we don't know what to do, we don't have the faintest idea how to handle the governing of a whole country. On paper (that means: in theory) some of us is certified to trifle with economic and legislative policies, but that is not enough for a political career, not to mention running a country. OK, we have our reservations that our current political elite is handling these kind of responsibilities adequately, but we know ourselves and don't even try to believe we would be different (which means: recognised by the majority of the society as effective managers of national and international affairs). So, for me this idea remains a good joke among friends - but I'm spreading the word.

I'm of course concerned, how our country fares in the 21st century, but more concerned about how this EU thing will deliver its promises, and if it could be an effective player on the international playground. I think our political elite will one day be ready to function as similar groups in western-european countries do. I don't think corruption will go away, but it will diminish significantly and the personal, and party-wise responsibilities will be taken more seriously. I know we can do this, we are better than what we can see now, so I'm hoping for a change fro the better. No, I'm not naiive, but I think political parties and politicians are not cancerous cells, so they can reach a state, where their some parts shady backgrounds would cause them more harm than good. That point is not far away. I think the hungarian society now got the chance to think responsibly, with this second term of the socialists the people realised that no one holds their hands, they can only rely on themselves. It is a painful lesson, but once learned it will only make you (and in this case society) stronger, gives you integrity and focus (I was in a similar situation a few years back, when some of my dreams, hopes were fading away quickly, but I chose not to slip into a melancholic mood and curse the world, rather the option to stand up and start doing things my way, not relying on false ideals, not trying to be consistent with other's picture of me). And when you got all that, you won't choose lofty-dreamy goals and reality-defying promises, short-term, quick-win situations. So, I hope Hungary will grow up again as it did it many times before in different historical periods, and in that case our current parties will do their job as they were supposed to do since the transition to democracy. Patience is needed, of course, and that is in short supply in Hungary nowadays, but I think fruitless frustration would consume only those who are not willing to grow up, others will choose different paths. And those paths could be beneficial for all of us.Anyways, I didn't want to rant about political issues, 'cause I'm not really into it. But if someone asks me, why I'm not getting nervous, why is that I'm not frustrated and angry if so many in our country are apparently angry, frustrated and nervous, then I'd tell him the same as you could read above, which could be summed up like this: change is not an easy thing, actually at the beginning its really hard, but as you are going forward it becomes easier and progression, evolving is rewarding (partly, because it's not easy).

A real grown up, of course understands and appreciates humour, and for that reason I'm willing to participate in the Party of Uncertains' activities. I think, founding this uncertain political(or not) party we could point out how absurd is our current situation, and how uncertainity is not a shameful state of mind (or is it?).

Going forward

2007-12-03T09:37:00.000+01:00

OK, those squeezing thoughts described in the previous post were gone by monday morning. I think, all what was worrying me was the perceived loss of freedom. It was an extraordinary time, these last 5 weeks or so. I worked as much as I wanted to, I went to places and to events I wanted to. Life was in my hands, and that was outstanding!
Lesson learned: I'm not loosing it again, I'm gonna keep it in my hands, from now on.

Doubts

2007-12-02T19:20:00.000+01:00

Last week I came to a conclusion regarding my new workplace. I thought I was making a good decision, but then suddenly at one night a new notion emerged. This one edged itself in my mind tells me that it may not be the task I'm waiting for. I don't know. The company is not small, the field I'll be working on is exciting, but something still bugs me. I don't know what exactly, but I have a strange feeling about this. Hmm, may it be that I'm afraid, or nervous, is it possible that my sixth sense gave me a just warning - although a little bit late warning, 'cause I already said I'm up for the task. If this still proves to be well founded, and not just a fleeting, nervous reaction to the end of my freedom, then how could I end it not making the impression of an idiot?

Standup comedy

2007-11-30T19:04:00.001+01:00

I always had a soft spot for standup comedians. In Hungary the late and great Géza Hofi was the alpha and omega of this genre, and his best follower András Nagybandó. They were very different in their approach, Hofi was more like one voice from the worker's plane, while Nagybandó was also was a 'simple guy from the country', but he was more sophisticated. I really liked them both. When the socialist era (in western terms: the communism - although it wasn't precisely that) ended at last, I went to high school and somehow these, until then, crucial standup comedians, humourists were out of my focus for quite a few years. The rediscovery of standup comedy came in the late '90s, when I began to listen english-speaking standup comedians. Some of them bacame personal favourites. Woody Allen, Steve Martin, Robin Williams (he reminded me to Hofi in his style) and Rowan Atkinson. These guys are very different, Atkinson is sophisticated english humour at it best, Williams is fast paced, simple, very suggestive and easily acceptable, Martin has a special mean and absurd humour (I really like it), and Allen is just Woody Allen. So, after long years of hiatus comedians were reintroduced in my life again, and although I'm not listening their stuff regularly, I really enjoy those occasions when I got into the mood to put one of their records into the CD spinner. Why am I writing about this? A few years earlier a package from Amazon arrived with Woody Allen's latest book Mere Anarchy, and that reminded me how important humour is in our life. That's it, no punchline.