Most of my friendships revolve around an external circumstance that defines and binds the friendship. Study buddies. Colleagues. People with whom I share hobbies. Some of these external circumstances are finite in time, and when they expire, the friendship changes character to that of an acquaintanceship.
This happened when I left primary school. And again after high school. Or when I stopped weaving stories as dungeon master for others to play. Or as I laid my sabre to rest.
The deep friendships that have endured the abandon of the external circumstance have all been of the kind that makes silence a comfortable, concious choice. The kind where you always have something to talk about. And when you break up for the evening, you feel like you've could have continued on forever.
It's the kind that more often than not leaves you wiser of yourself after each meeting. These are the friends that define you as a person.
Thanks Gisin for reminding me last night.
The wedding had it all. A beautiful ceremony held in a certified cultural treasure of the world. A young cousin getting drunk to much entertainment of his older cousins and the dismay of his protective sister. An abundance of honest speeches and dedicated songs.
But above all, it featured love. The love between my 30 year-old cousin and his stunningly wonderful, feminine, and classical bride. Nicholas and Natalia. Their eyes were sparkling with joy and dedication. Radiant.
I gathered: Life's most important purpose is sharing the journey with someone you love. Everything else is threading water, waiting for this to happen. Be searching, be open. Accept no obstacles.
Communicating with a deaf person face to face is a lot harder than you image. Mouth reading skills can't keep up with the usual pace of a hearing persons speech (so you'll constantly remember to talk slow and in simple words), and sign language is quite abstract for the uninitiated.
Amazingly, the hardship of communicating makes the act of getting even simple meanings across a hugely rewarding and fun exercise. Yes, you have to resort to pen and paper a lot. And the amount of actual information exchanged is limited. But the decreased bandwidth is a welcome challenge.
You must prioritize what you say. There's no safe heaven in running idle, saying strings of nothing. The time it takes to write just two lines by hand on a piece of paper significantly ups the ante on making the wait worth while.
And I just had to keep up for thirty minutes. Yet, however challenging, I enjoyed it immensely. So, La Mettique (yes, that deaf girl), rendezvous some time?
Episode II equaled the mismatch of 1999 as an utter disappointment. Yes, the effects were breathtaking at times. It surely is a CGI marvel to behold, and kudos to the designers for coming up with such a huge cast of races, robots, cities, ships, and scenery. But more importantly, it's so too much, so over the top, so flashy. So wrong.
If only a director or editor with less love of glitter and more passion for story had been calling the shots -- what a movie it could have been! George Lucas is neither. Waiting 16 years (1983 to 1999) to resume the Star Wars saga has obviously made him unable to think clearly. And his insistence on doing everything himself (Episode V and VI was written with help from Leigh Brackett and Lawrence Kasdan respectively) is surely no help.
Forget the hype. Episode II doesn't even cut it as mediocre. It's bad.
That aggressively skating, movie shooting, not-at-all-taller-than-me (sweet denial!) kid brother has been updating the project page for his upcoming Stolen Moments skate movie. Go check out the tweaked design, new still shots, and the very nicely edited short stumb "15 steps, 5 tries" on www.stolenmoments.dk. Good stuff!
Seven years. That's how long my trusty blue Bravoblade GLX Rollerblades have been bringing me back and forth, in and out, up and down the streets of Copenhagen. But through all those years, I don't think they've ever been submitted to such intense tough love as the last couple of weeks bearing sunshine has brought.
Practically every day they've been out to slice the asphalt. I'd love to claim it's all for the good of the exercise. Or enjoying the sun. Well, it's also that. But far more importantly, it's about showing off. A newly acquired taste, which goes exceptionally well with high sun, shorts, and a mean looking attitude.
I know, it sounds shallow. And it is. But the rush you get by flying off as the lights turn green, leaving twenty bicycle riders feeling like they aren't moving, is most enjoyable. This is possible because accelerating on a pair of skates beats that of a bicycle almost any day of the week.
Showing off isn't always a sure-fire hit, though. Multiple issues to be aware of. First, you need to make sure there's no hardcore no-way-in-hell-I'm-going-to-let-a-roller-win-this-field guys in the pack of bicycle riders. They can spoil a good blaze to glory quickly (with enough effort, bicycles are faster), which takes away much of the fun.
Second, you need to know when to fold. Accelerating like mad and going the distance is mutually exclusive, hence you need a plan on when to drop out of the race. Usually, all that is needed is a destination close enough from the starting point that'll serve as an acceptable pit stop. Like some shop. Or a pizza joint. It doesn't really matter what.
All that does matter, is that you pick one, because being overtaken by the field of riders you left two light stops back due to running out of juice in your legs is a major disappointment. Keeping an aura of invincibility at all times is part of the role you assume when choosing to show off.
Actually, I feel that urge coming on strongly just now. Oh, yearh. It's there alright. Off to strut my silly, shallow role of bad ass roller dude it is then.
A former co-worker and friend of mine went to sleep and never woke up some time back. He was skilled, kind, fragile, and suffering badly from arthritis. It seemed so unfair, as it usually does when people you care about are hurting.
I kept him constantly in mind for a few days after learning of his death. Trying to piece my memories together to remember exactly how and who he was. Eventually, the image of him was faded into storage.
Until today, where I stumbled over his old weblog on the list of Danish bloggers. It hasn't been updated since mid-September. (A few months before he was hospitalized.) And it never reached a post count of more than eight, but still it was enough to make his image appear vividly before me.
His controlled enthusiasm. His considered arguments. His ever content attitude.
It wasn't fair. It rarely is.
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