My first TED

I’m not big on motivational speeches. Mostly because I lose concentration after a few minutes – I have the attention span of a … oooh butterfly!

So I have never bothered with TED even though everyone I know is so wowed by them. I imagine I’d gain more from reading a speech than sitting through one.

But today I bumped into one here and I have to say … cool !

I don’t agree with everything the lady says, but she’s certainly captivating – I stayed awake through every word.

Ms Gilbert feels that talent/muse/daemon is something that comes from outside ourselves, so we can’t get too cocky, depressed or modest about our work. After all, it isn’t our work.

I have felt that way about some things I’ve written. Most things actually. I don’t always feel like it comes from me – at least not actively. I often feel the words come from somewhere else and that I simply take dictation.

But I don’t think this makes the work any less mine.

A great footballer may not know what makes him great. He may wonder why he [of all the kids who played with a paper-and-plastic-street-ball] ended up in the Man U shirt. But he won’t refuse the paycheque.

I think fate, destiny, luck, genes, whatever, decide what talents you are born with, or what skills you develop. And once these talents choose you, then they are yours, and so you should glory in them. Once the poem decides to be spoken through you, you are allowed to own it. After all, it’s got your name on it.

Like it says in some quirky rock song, a girl may be dissed for her implants, but she should smile and say ‘I bought them, they’re mine now, so there.’ Perhaps not the most ethical of examples, but you see my point.

Ms Gilbert feels this is a huge responsibility to place on one tiny head. She feels it’s why many great artists commit suicide – and maybe it is. Me, I think it’s fun to stand on the podium and wear the medal, even if it’s only once. And when you can’t make the gold anymore, you find something else that you’re good at. You can always find it if you keep looking.

A question that came to me as I listened was this … are all creatives mad, or are all mad people creative? Is there something about artists that makes us mentally unstable, or are looney bins intrinsically full of geniuses? Interesting thought that.

I accept – as Ms Gilbert says – that pressure to perform can make many gifted people desperate enough to seek muse in booze. But I think what really makes artists off themselves is that we feel. The reason we can touch people and express emotions so keenly is that we experience them more. And such excruciating levels of intensity are enough to make anyone mad.

In less intense matters, I wonder if I’ll ever give a TED talk. It looks like fun.

Ole!

Random Sunday

A person that I am very fond of is getting married. She’s lovely, so cheerful and full of life; feisty and red-haired, with the prettiest blue eyes. It’s taken her a long time to find the love of her life  – she’s almost fifty!

Hearing the news, I couldn’t help giggling. I’m so, so happy for her. She’s been so busy with her career and her travels and her nephews and niece that she hardly ever had time for herself. She started work as a teenager, went back to school at 40, and is now a bride at fifty.

So much for being off the shelf!! She’s totally renewed my spirit.

I wish you all the happiness in the world Jen, you both deserve it!

I’m a romantic. A cynic one, but a romantic still. I’ve found my The One, but it scares me a lot because it feels like the clocks are all wrong. But I’m glad for my friend Jen, because it proves that there is such a thing as perfect timing, and I’m sure that for my Sailor and I, the perfect time will arrive.

♫♫♫♫♫

I was reading through some old posts today, and it made me sad. It reminded me of cows and chicken and online tweef. Sad really.

♫♫♫♫♫

I met an old friend yesterday. She’s one of the toughest people I know. She lives with a condition – it’s a miracle she’s still here! Yet she’s all energy and smiles, it’s truly amazing. She’s like this ever-growing bubble of happiness that just sucks you in. Great hair too! When I grow up, I want to be just like her.

The thing with my friend Phie is that she’s real. She always says exactly what she means, firmly, gently, warmly; it’s hard not to laugh with her. What you see is what you get, and it’s up to you whether you like her or not; she doesn’t care. Or if she does, she hides it very well.

I still struggle with that. I feel bad when I realise that I don’t like someone, and worse when I realise they don’t like me. I know these are perfectly human emotions, so I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I mean, I love garlic, but I’m not too fond of hoho. There’s no particular reason for it – it’s just taste. So why would it bother me that someone is my garlic while another is my hoho?

♫♫♫♫♫

I’ve discovered another thing that bothers me: older guys. I’ve been dealing with a lot of them lately – prospective clients – so I have to handle them with care. The thing with these guys is … well … they’ve got game! I don’t know if these skills get better with time, or if they’ve had a lot of practice, or if it’s maturity and wisdom, or if I’ve just never been darted before, but meetings with these over-forties always leave me confused. I walk out of the venue in a daze with this retarded look on my face thinking ‘What just happened?’

It’s possible that the reason I react is that I can’t dismiss their words or swat brush them off – in my eyes, it’s like talking to my [grand]dad. Or it could be that they are so subtle that they can sneak up on you unnoticed.  It could be that they’ve been around long enough to learn the tacks that work; I have no clue. All I know is half the time I’m asking myself if this is business meeting or a date, and the other half I’m wondering whether what they just said was really smart or really inappropriate…

♫♫♫♫♫

Another thing that’s on my mind is green eyes. I’ve always liked green eyes. Mostly because everyone is so taken with blue. I’ve never actually seen green eyes in person. I’ve seen them in hazel, in contacts, and on Ben Ten; they always look really pretty. So I have always wanted to see real green eyes.

Yesterday I saw some on TV. It was on Master Chef – Thomasina’s. She’s this interesting-looking girl – a freelance writer, and she’s kind of gothish sometimes. She calls herself Tommy.

Looking at her eyes, I was disappointed. I mean sure, they’re pretty, but they’re not the super-magic fairy-telling breath-taking colour I imagined. They were really just an indistinct shade that’s not quite blue and not quite brown. They’re supposed to be very rare.

So I suppose that means I’m over my infatuation with green eyes. Maybe I can switch to grey – those are still hot. Or the deep-brown-type hazel. Apparently, hazel comes in two shades. There’s the reddish-brown hazel and the greenish-grey hazel. I’m going with reddish-brown, because it borders on burgundy.  I still wonder the green eyes so amazed me though.

♫♫♫♫♫

I had this gigantic mirror made – 6 by 3 and a half – and placed it at the foot of my matress. Now princess and I spend ages each day just staring at it. We’ll find any excuse to view ourselves, and sometimes, we’ll find no excuse at all.

I often work in bed, cross-legged, with my laptop on my knees, and I often take mirror-breaks to grin at myself or pull a funny face. Princess sometimes perches on the matress to watch herself eat.

What I’m wondering is … are we vain? Was this sudden obssession with reflections  recessive, or would any human being react this way if exposed to a six-foot mirror?

Oh well. I suppose these are mysteries to be solved another day. For now, the dishes. I’ve become fairly accustomed to cooking and cleaning. It’s not nearly as bad as I thought, and I’m almost getting good at it. Especially when accompanied by X FM.

How far we’ve comeMatchbox Twenty

The Boondock Saints

Screenplay: Troy Duffy

Director: Troy Duffy

Producer: Brood Syndicate

Music: Jeff Danna

DOP: Adam Kane

Editor: Bill DeRonde

First Ass. Director: John Rainey

Starring: Will Defoe, Sean Patrick Flannery, Norman Reedus, David Della Rocco [and a white guy named Bob Marley]

Franchise films, 1999

I’m sure you’ve heard of Boondocks, the animated series that, well, spoofs a lot of stuff. I’m yet to watch it, but I hear the controversy is something to write home about. Quite worth a blog post too.

[The word boondocks apparently refers to a remote area that is considered unsophisticated. I’m thinking it’s the contextual opposite of the suburbs. It’s a negative term, and residents are sometimes called boonies – so says the Oxford dictionary and wiki.]

But this is a little different. It’s a film that was commended by the pretty boy that I adore – and I almost always watch what he tells me to. Mostly, his taste is spot on, except of course when he recommends horrors, which he loves. I agree to watch those too – for completely different reasons. **cheeky grin**

The Boondock Saints is an Irish movie. Well, sort of. It stars Irish brothers, with delicious [if not completely consistent] accents. And they are both just yummy, pure eye candy. They fight pretty well too, and sport that a-NNO-ying  jeans-and-a-blazer; they actually make it look good.

The movie starts out in a church, and is a bit hard to follow for the first ten minutes or so. But then it packs message, soul and humour in a way I found completely irresistable.  See, the brothers are vigilantes, and their … job … is taking out bad guys. That’s when they’re not working at the meat factory.

After their first … assignment, a strange gay FBI agent is brought in to capture them. He’s  suave, talented [as a cop] and quite amusing in the eccentric way. He has to be seen to be believed.

This is an artsy movie – what some people would call a film rather than a flick. The music score is haunting, and the philosophy behind it is deep, if not somewhat disturbing. It’s got enough blood and gore to tickle the boys, and the pretty Irish brothers will keep the girls glued. Especially since they take off their shirts a lot; the boys, not the glued girls.

The packaging is great too, especially when the shots jump between past, present and future. And the gay detective is really, really funny.

It’s got a few clichés like Russian gangsters, the feminist butcher girl and a trigger-happy snitch sidekick. But I felt these worked for great comic effect. I liked the ‘family value’ angle, the bond between the brothers; the kind of bond that could easily make a girlfriend jealous.

Speaking of which, there are no girls in this movie, in the sense that there’s no Megan-Fox-type role.  There’s a girl with a cat, and a hooker, and possibly some female cops and waitresses, but they’re mostly furniture girls.

[There’s an old TCM movie called Soylent Green about a futuristic New York, where when you rent an apartment, it comes with electronics and a ‘furniture girl’ who … ‘fulfills your requirements’. Also, soap is a luxury and the government provides some food rations made out of … well, it’s creepy.]

When I got The Boondock Saints, a guy at the library advised against it, saying it wasn’t very good. But I enjoyed the story and the art in it; the beautiful way it was crafted and put together. It was fun drooling at the pretty brothers, and I was giggling the entire time at the script’s subtle humour. It’s definitely a movie I’ll be watching again and again and again, so I’m glad I got a good copy. According to wiki, a sequel was released last year. the plot doesn’t look promising, but I’m sure I’ll check it out.

Verdict: ♫♫♫♫♫

[♫ = useless; ♫♫♫ = passable; ♫♫♫♫♫ = brilliant!]