A Plea From My Civilised Heart

There’s something that irks me.

Very often, when landing on a webpage, before you have even a second to check the page out, you get a pop up. Sometimes small, and in the middle of the screen, and sometimes covering the whole screen. The pop up is asking you to do something, most often to like their site, to receive their newsletter, to rate their site, or of course, to make a purchase.

I haven’t even had a chance to look at the site yet!

It’s like stepping inside a shop and immediately having a salesperson suddenly lunge into your protective boundary, into that moat of emotion that we all keep around us to ward off the world.

It’s bloody rude is what it is.

I would like it to stop. Please.

Fitbit Madness

I threw caution to the wind recently and purchased a Fitbit, partly at the urging of a gorgeous friend, and partly because after gaining 7kg since my heartattack almost 6 months ago I needed something to help stem, or rather turn, the tide. I was a little hesitant, because hey , it’s sort of pricey, and secondly, I’m about as far from a technonerd as you can get. I love it. I absofuckinglutely love it. It’s not so much that it’s technologically superb, measuring steps, pulse, and a multitude of other things, as well as linking to an app that provides personal stats that make me feel like I’m a world class athlete. (who hasn’t wanted THAT kind of pampering!) It lets me compete against friends! What better motivation is there then competing against friends? Okay that may make me sound horrible, but if it gets me off my fat ass (fat stomach more correctly, my ass remains pretty damned fine), it’s all good. I have turned into a walking madman! Today, while surging through the crowds in downtown Stockholm, walking to a friends for dinner after work, I seriously hit the zone. I had already taken a long walk at lunch and hit my 10,000 step daily minimum. So these steps were all gravy. I walked right through the heart of Stockholm, from Globen via Slussen, through Gamla Stan, and up to the top of Drottninggatan, where my friends Steve and Som live. I walked at top speed, weaving in and out of packs of tourists, reading the path ahead of me, slowing as little as possible. Whenever I was forced to slow down by zombies, in my head I became Dustin Hoffman’s character in Midnight Cowboy, “I’m walking here! I’m fucking walking here!” My legs and feet, after first struggling, finally replied “Fuck yeah!” and rose grandly and elegantly to the occasion. This is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, me and my Fitbit, and my ass is going to be seriously in shape. Well, not my ass, as we’ve established it’s primo, but the rest of me is going to catch up!

A Great Day for the Irish

The post of a good friend, well written, and sentiment shared completely.

Swimming to the Sun

I am rarely proud of my country. I’ve nothing against Ireland, but it always seemed to me a weird thing to be, proud of something over which I had no control. I like Ireland, sure, but I’ve also had to grow up in it, deep in the countryside, where I experienced at first-hand the guilt and harshness and brutality and misogyny and block-headed thickness of the place.

But yesterday the people of Ireland were asked if any two adults could get fully and properly married, regardless of their gender, and they said: sure, why the fuck not? They said it loud and emphatically, bringing back a 62% vote in favour. A resounding YES, allowing any two people in love to tell the world.

I admit many tears as I watched the day unfold on twitter. The 50,000 plus who came home from living abroad just to cast their votes. The…

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DANGLING SHOES

Pristine pairs of shoes,
Hanging from wires and trees,
Couplets of separate meaning,
Swinging in the breeze,
One thinks of people struggling,
With life’s necessities,
And ponders over affluence,
First world luxuries.

View through Starbucks window in Stockholm

A Poet’s Heart – In Honor of World Poetry Day

So, you want to write poetry,
But where do you start?
Well, it helps if you have,
A poet’s cracked heart.
A heart that is damaged,
A heart with a hole.
(Not a literal one, mind,
Just metaphorical)
For in that dark hole,
The poetry resides.
And it eats up the pain,
That you try hard to hide.
And when it’s filled up,
With your pain and your doubt,
Then that’s when it’s time,
For the poetry to come out!

Exercise Common Sense

Common Sense needs exercise,
A turn in the fresh air.
Don’t drive your car,
Over a bridge,
Sat Nav said wasn’t there.
Common Sense has gotten weak,
And needs a good work out.
Please smell that food,
That’s past its date,
Before you throw it out.
It used to be our best defense,
Our natural built-in Common Sense.
Now it’s something we ignore,
And it’s not so common any more.

Out of the Blue

Out of the blue, you came.
I lay dormant in the dark,
Hidden deep inside myself.
Until you reached in and found me,
Released me, pulled me out.
And filled me up with your sunshine.

Less of More

Used to be a vegetarian,
That’s what I was before,
Although the things I ate were less,
I managed to eat more,
Now decades on I’ve changed,
Reverted to an omnivore,
I’m trying to learn to eat less,
Though the food choices are more,
More of less, or less of more,
The thing that strikes me now,
It matters somewhat what you eat,
But matters much more how!

Martina The Flight Attendant

I saw you for a fleeting moment on the airplane. I fell instantly in love with you. I wondered if you had a boyfriend. You must have. A beautiful woman always has somebody for company. I briefly imagined us together. Oh, how I would love you. Do all those things you see in romantic movies: Buy you flowers for no other reason than I love you; take you for long walks along Lake Geneva; have a picnic in the park.

I think about you, and I don’t know why. It’s not rational. But love is not rational. I wonder what you are doing at this moment, and where you are. Are you happy, or sad? What are you thinking? Did you notice me? Are you thinking about me, like I am about you? Probably not. Nobody ever notices me, especially beautiful women. You are what they call “out of my league.”

You were my flight attendant to Chicago, and my unrequited love. But if I had the money I would buy another business class ticket to Zurich just so that I could watch you work on your return journey.

Martina, I never even introduced myself, and I just got your name off your name tag. You see, I am shy, and unwise in the ways of love. But I want to thank you. I want to thank you for that brief happiness you brought into my life, by just existing.

Why?

Why does life have to be so difficult? Why can’t people get along? Why do we hate, and why do we kill? Why do we hurt those we love, and allow ourselves to be hurt? Why do we seek our own happiness while denying another’s? Why does the grass always seem greener on the other side? Why are mountains so hard to climb? Why do I feel despair when I should feel joy? Why?