A better place to play.

Kes originaali teab?

"Ja kuigi ta teab, kellest ta hoolib.. kõnnib kui klaasikildudel. Nii päevast päeva Rahutu Tuhkatriinu varjab end teiste eest."

Disco sulle, mulle. Dingo mõtetest pole tõlkes midagi alles jäänud.

Remember when you couldn't wait to get your go with some popular toy in the kindergarten? Something that was just slightly less broken or less worn out than all the other Soviet branded articles of entertainment? The rocking horse that still had it's handles intact. The model Lada with it's wheels still turning. Ring any bells? Does for me. Life starts throwing you about on your very first days on the playground. And every so often you'll fall blatantly on your ass. You came in one morning and somebody else was on that horse. Or Sasha & Misha had already taken the Lada for a joyride. And you knew they could drag it out till the end of the day. You'd just have to hope for Mom & Dad to bring you in 10 minutes sooner tomorrow morning. Or maybe the brothers got lost on their way home and wouldn't make it. Harsh.

Regardless of the case - our first reaction to such intolerable treatment? The one and only "I am definitely NOT your friend anymore". Straight to the point, no messy communication.

But once the understanding of friendship VS material welfare kicks in, rules change.. who could have it in them to discard every person who's done us wrong. We become tolerant. Peace through the barrel of forgiveness.

The thing is. How many people have you become acquainted with over the years of your life? Well. You reckon they ALL like you?

Do you feel the same about every single one of them?

No you don't. You forgive and forget, forget to forgive, move on, say "bygones", fix things, deny, apologize, scream your head off. And so on. And so on. In terms of human relations, you're a 911 on wheels. Everyone f*cks up. No reason to get all sentimental about it. Get a weekend away instead. Give Monday a chance.

However. Some things get broken or undone which shouldn't be fixed. Like the toy car. It was one thing when those wheels stopped turning.. it was a whole different story when Sasha actually stepped on it. Twice.

Who is to say when random repair becomes constant maintenance?

If you ever had a pet then you know down to detail what I'm on about.

They're cute growing up. You were 12 years old and on a high that superseded a Scarface nose down in his mountain of sexy white particles. Puppy eyes and soft paws. Girls going "aww."

Sorry.

Girls going "AAAAWWWWWW.............." while trying hard to mimic those puppy eyes.

Until one night you couldn't be asked taking his sorry puppy eyes for a walk. And mind me. He had probably started eating more than you and may well have weighed a ton. You just couldn't see it. You'd been there throughout and he never grew up. Routine maintenance kicked in. When in the park, he started taking you for a walk. Girls still went "aww" but you just checked the time and dragged him away. For f*cks sake.. haven't you seen a dog before? Let me get back to my friends, I'm three drinks behind as it is.

A pet is for life. We all know that.

Same doesn't go for people though. People come and go. And it's perfectly normal, because in the end, we all lead our separate lives.

And I reckon the playground rules still apply. If they're keeping you from getting on that horse and breaking your toys, take a step back. Maybe this isn't your type of playground after all. Forgiveness is a scaringly selfless act - there will never be a guaranteed return on their part. Besides, you can't run like mad forever to be the first one there each morning.

Constant maintenance will eventually wear us down, it won't make things new. Just as sure as Xmas starts in August, no matter what the calendar tells us. Been to Harrods lately?

Learn to leave broken toys behind. There's a reason for them being that way.

Earth, wind and wire.. less.

Eile sain wireless modemi lõpuks. Only took them a month & a half to get my broadband in. Tegin installi ära - kaabliga toimis, ilma mitte. 4 tundi konfigureerimist, katsetamist. Cmd. Ipconfig/all. TCP/IP. Dell Network Assistant. DHCP. Router settings. Gateway this, IP that. I could almost feel my hair going ponytail on me. Nagu ikka, rohkem tekkis katsetamise käigus küsimusi, kui vastuseid järgi jõudis tulla. Arvutid. Loco. Kui mingi uus asi esimesel katsel toimima ei hakka - there's a good chance you're in the ****.

"Limited or no connectivity."

You little ****, **** of a *****.

Täna sain finally toimima asja. Piece of cake muidugi. Kuidas ma kohe selle peale ei tulnud. Jne.

Everything's doable. If you put your mind to it.

Stopwatch hearts.

Last calls, the bar is about to close. You can feel Monday giving you a cheeky smile from the other end of the counter. He's all set and ready to go.

We all know the checkpoints of time. Moments that start new activities, finish tasks, tick the boxes of duties filled. They make us linger or charge head first into action. It starts with not being late for work in the morning.. and goes all the way to buying that dream house to fit those kids and the Italian design furniture in. Goal after goal after goal. A schedule the length of an Olympic marathon, and the density of the compressed wishes of a hundred 5 year old's in a little tin can. No time for this.. no time for that. Hardly enough seconds to squeeze in a smile upon finally finishing that report on changes caused by the introduction of a new corporate catering policy.

Is this why we're all here? To make sure we make the deadlines?

Or is it about having that picnic on the beach. Enjoying an ocean full of seconds that float by while reflecting the smile on your face.

No shortage no duties out there. This world has been built on them, and we all get our fair share. Most of us end up grabbing more than that. It is seen as natural for people to try and achieve more than the average Joe or Jane from next door. Prove things to ourselves, to those around us. But seeing the abundance of opportunities given to us for doing all that, it becomes clear - adequate supply of time has been left out of the equation. We can only do so much. If those picnics pass us by.. well.

That's life.

I've been there plenty of times. Willing the hours and days to move that little extra bit faster. For that next checkpoint to be cleared, only to begin the process of getting through a new set of days and weeks. Why have I done it? Which special and meaningful moments have I lost like that? I haven't a clue. I know this for a fact - the first ten years of my life felt longer than those bringing me closer to the 20 year mark. And the last 4 years towards becoming 30.. well, they have flown by. And I can only admit being the sole perpetrator of this crime against time, because it's so childishly obvious. When was the last time I sat down on a rooftop to watch those bluebirds fly.. or when did I last run around throwing up handfuls of freshly cut grass in the air.. just for the FUN of it?

There were no goals. Just time for me and my life.

Memories of my childhood? The best. And there are so many of them.

The last goal I achieved? A deadline I met? Don't know. Don't care. I think it felt OK when I succeeded. But that's past tense, my mind is already set on new issues, present problems. Do I have enough time? What's next?

A preoccupation with "making it". A prejudice for stopping the clock to live in that moment.

Are we all in a race?

Those warm summer nights of the '80's will never come back. Those records will never be played again. My mom and her friends will not be telling me to stop running around and to go to bed. I won't be sitting on that window straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of my kindergarten in the darkness.

That's our deal with memories. They're always past tense. And they won't be coming back to us.

My stopwatch heart started beating when I turned 18. And the faster it's pace got, the more I achieved. The more checkpoints I cleared.

But it has never been about the quantity, has it? It's the quality of the moment, that can leave an everlasting imprint in the sand.

The last picnic I wanted to have, I didn't even organize. It was handed to me on a silver platter. And the only thing I remember about it, was myself waiting for it to end.. so I could move on and tick the box on my schedule saying this one's done.

Should it even count as a memory? I was there. I did it. Checkpoint cleared.

But I think not.

I'm missing out, that's what. This stopwatch heart is only good for getting through the checkpoints. For a memory to be timeless, you have to stop the clock, take it all in. Love every stupid second of it.

Because every second spent waiting for the next checkpoint to be cleared, is a memory lost. What if it isn't Alzheimer's at all that gets us in the end. What if we simply choose to race instead, and a list of things you've done in your life will never turn out to be a lifetime of memories.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

You check the time and linger on.. it's not over until you say it is. And old man Einstein said it's all relative.

You bet your ass it is. Bin that watch.

Take that moment.

Make it a memory.

Triin.

"Why do you build me up (build me up) Lion cub, baby,
just to let me down (let me down) and mess me around.."*

I think it was the late summer of 2002 when I first came across your iridescent existence. It's not that seldom for new people in our lives to sweep us off our feet with a mere comment or a witty reply. New people do that. Because if they didn't, we just wouldn't bother with them. Why double up on people you already know everything about.. we're not collectors by nature, we're explorers. And luckily for us, every so SELDOM you do get the odd person who does his or her thing in a way that leaves you starry eyed and screaming for more. As if to prove a point - you can try, but you cannot categorize me. I'm a one off.

I can honestly admit to falling for you immediately.

Growing up is a constant process of self development. I started with falling over even before I could speak. God only knows what made me try and stand up in the first place - the suppressed ego of a child who couldn't cope with the thought of having to look up to everyone.. or my eager need to practice the social skill of "blending in" - after all, no one else was crawling on the floor, were they? Having mastered the vertical position, the bike phase quickly followed. No thing quite like falling over sideways, is there? And at a speed, no less. But progress came, and came through cuts and bruises. Some leaving marks that are visible to this day. I guess I continued on a logical path of being a youngster, by climbing the walls and the trees, running around on building sites, jumping off ledges and using my first floor window instead of our front door. I fell less often, but when I did, it sure as hell hurt a lot more.

And one day I ran around until the Sun had long set behind the horizon, and I did it without getting my face and my hands as pitch black as the night outside. My clothes had suffered no tearing, my socks looked as if they might just make it through another day.

From that day forward, I never really fell the same way again. I either stumbled, and it felt like my heart had skipped a beat. Or I fell all the way, with my heart actually losing it's rhythm.. not to mention a few beats walking away while holding hands with my sleep and peace of mind.

That's how I fell for you. And who could blame me? I'm only a man. But I had learned a good deal about falling, and got back up on my feet.

A friendship followed.

I think you agree, when I say this has been one of those on and off friendships. We've had our sleepless nights submerged in conversation.. and we've had our times of silence, some lasting for days, others a whole summer. Still.. we never faded to the point of losing sight. There was always something left to say, a thought to be shared. In one way or another, our paths have always crossed.

I did recognize you in an instant on that bus to school. You crazy thing.

And I did hook up with your bad ass girlfriend.

What's next?

I love it when we talk. I love the way you go all stubborn on me when I push some subjects. I'm addicted to your ability to make me laugh my heart out. And I hate it when you're right and I'm wrong, and we both know that is usually the case. You smartass.

I never did admit it to you, but despite us agreeing on the fact that trust is a toy better left untampered with.. I do trust you. You're one of those rare people in my life, who can stop the time and listen. Who can be totally sincere. Who will not mess you about just to make you feel good about yourself. But who still manages to get her points across in a manner that is caring. You have always had so much more going on behind those beautiful eyes, than you will ever let anyone know.

"I'll be over at ten", you told me time and again,
but you're late, I wait around and then -
I run to the door, I can't take any more,
It's not you, you let me down again"*

Attention. We all crave for it, some of us can't function without it. You for example have always been playful about it. I know you enjoy surrounding yourself with beautiful people, and rightfully so. Beats having mirrors set up instead. What's worth mentioning though, is the fact how you handle it. I have yet to meet a beautiful girl who shies away from positive attention for any other reason than hoping to look tough by being fastuous or arrogant. But you don't even blink. You carry your conversations with or without flirting, you don't judge a male friend by how much praise they deal your way.

A true friend cannot be bought with praise. Nor lost in the light of truth.

I can never sum up in words, how much guidance you've given me over the past few years without even knowing it. And one of these days you'll probably still end up kicking my sorry ass all over the place for doing something incredibly stupid.

I love you for being the way that you are. So don't go changing.

*Modified lyrics from Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations.

Sweets for my sweet, a wicked smile for my honey.

X says:
sa oled üldse viimasel ajal kuidagi armsaks muutunud.
X says:
where's the bad boy gone?

See my dilemma? Girls like boys to be sweet. But not without being a little bad first ;) We need to get that balance right EVERY day and on some days I'd honestly rather go camping.

Still. Who'm I kidding. I f***** love it!

Täis inglased on proper nuts, muide. Take 2 tonight! Kes enne nelja magama saab..

Crikey!

The cultural difference. Hits you time and time again.

I'm not even sure, which I heard first - the jokes, or the fact that the Crocodile Hunter was dead. It only takes a moment over here - text messages and videoclips are all over the cellular network before BBC has even had a chance to air the news. And make no mistake - everything's a laugh. Seriousness gets labeled as sickness. Stop stressing, lad!

Mr. Steve Irwin.. Got me thinking though. There's no refuting the fact this man was unique. Someone who went and lived his dreams. Lived them to the fullest, 24/7. And that's saying something, since there are less than FEW of us, who ever really do that. Sure, we may think about it.. every so often even act upon those thoughts and make things happen. But really.. LIVE our dreams?

Do you?

It IS a nice thought. Like one of those Chinese proverbs, that make us pause and think, before digging into the next bowl of egg fried rice. But should we really live our dreams this way? Or does it pay to get in touch with some of the negative aspects of life every now and then. With the so called reality. To keep our feet on the ground.

Because.

Steve was putting his life on the line every day. That's what living his dream was all about. Not being scared, not missing out. Throwing those dice a time too many.. even he knew what was to be expected. One might think he sacrificed his life to live his dreams. But I would say different. It wasn't as if the man was clinging on to his life with a passion.

And we cannot honestly sacrifice things we aren't passionately holding on to.

The sacrifice in this story was that of his family. Letting him live his dream.

What may be a dream to us, may not neccessarily be so to others. And is this really the thing to aspire to.. Living a dream on the expense of those around us?

I'm not sure.

As ABBA once so adequately put, "the Gods may throw a dice.. their minds as cold as ice."

No certainties in this life. And only so much room for mistakes.

Shoes in hand, to make it sound - it's time to go.

You can almost feel it, thirty-something minutes ticking away. All dressed up, still unsure whether or not to change those jeans and find a better shirt. Checking out of the window, making sure you've got the phone and house keys. 25 minutes to go. Where's the wallet again? Can't wait. It's gonna be a kick-ass party. Minutes have all of a sudden become longer than hours.

And in the end, they'll be late as always.

I think most of us are that way. Something happening within the working week.. and more so over the weekend. Expecting to have more fun than the last time, ready to upgrade the impressions we've made, meet someone new and even more interesting. Only the morning will tell, if and to what extent our expectations actually materialized. Hung over in an empty bed? Wishing you were hung over in an empty bed?

Once you let go and let them open that second bottle of whiskey, the world suddenly lights up. Friends and happy faces all around.. the music trying it's absolute best to keep up with the level of our voices. We find ourselves talking to people we've never known before, laughing while coming across similarities, feeling great when accepting offers of new and never ending friendships. Promising to meet up the next weekend and party even harder. Checking if our drinks are comfortably within reach. If the bottle is still there.

No such thing as morning.

Until you feel it. Something clicked, and you've just become aware of the time. Did you just realize there was nothing more to add to the conversation? Were you filling somebody's glass and the bottle felt half full? Was it the wrong kind of song from the stereo?

How do we always know when it's over?

I guess it has to be the moment when things we wanted to happen, have.. or the instant we let go and give in. We tried, but it didn't happen. Wasn't all we expected it to be.. didn't make us feel the way we had hoped. Regardless of the case, here we are - beginning to miss out on conversations, ever so slowly discovering paintings on the wall and movies under the TV table we never noticed were there. Should we leave now.. or give it another minute? Or two?

Getting a cab on a Friday morning can be an outstanding pain. No matter the number of cab companies in your phone book, it's never enough. Do I wish to wait until you call me back? No thanks, been there, waited for that, didn't really happen in the nearest of futures. So it's time to put one foot in front of the other and take that first step. Thoughts crawling back into your mind, pushing out all that's mellow and replacing it with all things sober. Did I drink too much? Too little? What was the name of that girl again?

Couldn't we leave 15 minutes before it "clicked"? Keep ourselves from winding down.. Still in time to catch that last available cab. I bet it would feel different.

They're ten minutes late, and she's still looking in the mirror, fixing her hair. He can already sense that in a few hours time he'll be filling her glass once more and assessing the party. Will it be everything he was hoping for?

Or will she slowly pick up her shoes..

Click.

Jaguar "Gorgeous Script"

Gorgeous deserves your immediate attention.
Gorgeous makes effort look effortless.
Gorgeous stays up late and still looks gorgeous.
Gorgeous has no love for logic.
Gorgeous loves fast.
Everyone cares what Gorgeous says.
Gorgeous gets in everywhere.
Gorgeous can’t be ordinary even if it tries.
Gorgeous was born that way.
Gorgeous trumps everything.
Gorgeous is worth it.

We're still talking about a car, right?

Right?

Undercutting a symphony.

It's the rainy end of yet another monday evening. Still Summer if you're man enough to scrutinize the calendar, and pretty much Autumn, if you're following the curious paths of raindrops racing down your window. The holiday-look in your wardrobe is hastily becoming as ridiculous as the first umbrella your mother bought you. And, let's face it - as useless.. unless you turned the precious gift upside-down to see it float away on that puddle in the backyard.

Although many of us may share a similar memory from the past, or listen to the rain lashing down this very moment, fact of the matter is, there are over 6 billion people living on this planet. And as I can recall being told time and time again, each and every one of them is different from the rest.

We differ by our looks, attitude, character.. our abilities and disabilities, the color of our skin.. our height, weight. We get our influences from the cultural background, social circumstances, from our family and friends, everyday experiences. Stands to reason, that no two people will ever turn out the same.

So why is it, that day in and day out, we look around us and wish to be different? Different from ourself.

It's not always, that we see things from this perspective. Singing in the shower may add a hightened sense of enjoyment to the whole process of bodily cleansing. But the moment we sit down in the livingroom to do a duet with Bono on the Mtv, we start to feel as if we do not qualify. Whereas picking up singing lessons would be considered self-improvement, few of us ever even contemplate the subject. Wishing to be more like somebody else can sadly and quite often leave us feeling unhappy with the way we are. Which is nothing short of ridiculous.

The pretty yellow ducklings on our umbrella were marching on with the same enthusiasm regardless of whether they were facing the sky and blocking the rain, or nose down in the mud and drifting towards the far end of the puddle. It's a question of integrity. We will always be who we are. Good at some things, not so good at others. Throughout our life we can fine tune the instruments of our personality and character. Learn new things, abandon bad habits. There will always be one Bono. Just as there will always be one you.. and one me.. and one of him and her.

We can't play a tune the way someone else is doing it. It will always sound like us playing. Not worse nor better. Just different. And in the end of the day, it will always be us playing our own music that sounds the best and most authentic.

Wishing to be a better singer is a goal worth pursuing. Wishing to be more like Bono.. well, that seat is already taken.

Relax and swing away.

So this is a first. And I can already feel it being a whole new ballgame. Am I writing all this for me.. you.. them? Will ANYONE ever read this :D And what about privacy VS openness?

Went to the driving range today. Stepped through the office in the morning and got a few calls asking me if we'd be up for going down there. Well.. it being Sunday and all - golf was definitely a YES.
It's interesting how time instantly adapts that "relative" touch while you're hitting away. 50 balls heading out to the green field.. some low, some high, some all over the place. You'd think 50 would take some time, but once you get to placing the last golf ball on the tee, it seems like it's only been a moment. And it never has. That moment lasted a half hour.. more if you're out there with your friends.. a bit less when you went alone.

It's all about concentration. And concentration is a funny old thing.

You can sip a whole cup of tea in your favourite cafe on the corner. And be oblivious to the people around you.. all that coming & going, constant chatter, cups being filled and orders being taken. Somebody would ask you for the time, and you wouldn't have a clue. Time? I honestly think it's January.
That's concentrating hard on the inside. Lost in thought.. whereas you're nowhere near lost, but instead mapping your way through those thoughts as if you had a compass and the A to Z'd. You ain't lost, baby. You're all THERE.. just not THEN.

Snowing in July.

Or. You go for coffee instead. Something cute, something mocca. And you pay attention. A piece of a conversation from the table behind you.. waiting for that glance or a smile from what seems to be the Girl From Ipanema herself. Girls entering.. gorgeous women making their entrance. And now you're all about THEN. Boring people staying too long.. opportunity and beauty practicing the speed of light. It's the beginning of September.

Concentration is not really an art, since we all do it, and we all go about it the same way. Switch off THERE, and the world will enter. Switch off THEN, and the Girl From Ipanema just did her samba and you never even knew.

It's when you're bringing that empty cup to your lips for the ninth time without a hint of taste to be met that you finally wake up. And hit the ball. And watch it touch the clouds before landing 250 yards away from you.

A funny old thing.

When caught up on issues of essence, we lose track of time and the world around us. We're sporting the fabric of standstill.

When constantly being "connected" and breathing in the world 24/7, we sometimes miss the things that in the end will matter most or simply provide us with a meaning.

Neither one will do, if you want to make that swing count. You will have to be both there AND then. Eyes on the ball, thoughts on the game.

Samba dancing all the way to Ipanema.. to get that refill of yours.