Archive for March, 2007

When are we awake? When do we live? When and what are our defining moments? Will we all have at least one such moment before death, one moment that made our life worth living? Not worth it for ourselves, because we ensure this everyday, but for others. The thought of doing something good creates the same chemical reaction in our heads as actually doing it (feeling good=up, guilt=down), which creates a problem. In my language, we say that before mentioning the splinter in someone’s eye, we should remove the beam from our own first. Let’s see if there are any beams around here.

I like talking about doing good things (my brain likes that too), but what do I actually do? Consider the time I have. Consider the means I have. But what do I do! I support charities in Holland with a bit of money that I have left. I used to volunteer for an organization in NY when I still lived there, but maybe I was just doing that for me once again, because what else would I do with my time? I tried passionately to set up an organization in NY getting models off their lazy asses, but I suppose I never double-checked the location of my own. Yes, I had to come to Europe for work. Sure, without my work I couldn’t do this volunteering work. But is that really to blame or did I just prefer talking about it than actually doing it? Questions. No answers.

I remember clearly the last moment I had this feeling and took a moment to write, it was after watching ‘The Constant Gardener’ in my old apartment in Brooklyn. Anger! Rage! Guilt! And what did I do since then? You can guess the answer. Whatever the answer is, it is not enough. And I don’t think I will ever do enough. Because I am a sucker for my own pleasure and comfort. And the ironic thing is, that I find that very important.

The pleasure of Skittles and wine (taking turns, not at the same time, naturally). The pleasure of picking your nose. The pleasure of feeling someone love you. The pleasure of surrendering yourself to a song you love so much it makes you squeeze whatever you can find near you. The pleasure of loving someone so much that it causes a physical reaction. The pleasure of peeing after holding it in just a bit too long. The pleasure of escaping reality by getting drunk or high (pick your sin). The pleasure of sneezing while stepping outside for the first time that day. The pleasure of realization of pleasure. The pleasure of an orgasm. The pleasure of writing, knowing you like summing up things in your writing, and still doing it anyway. The pleasure of a million things that are too cliche to write down but you know exactly what I am talking about. If not, whatever you do, figure out the cliche ones first, before taking this seriously. Better yet, make your own checklist. No one should ever listen to me. Then why do I write some things publicly? Busted. The pleasure of knowing that other people read my nonsense.

Guilty pleasure. Count me in.

Pleasure and guilt. Pleasure in this sense simplified to enjoying life, and, most importantly, realizing it. Guilt simplified to that feeling of knowing that you just received too much from whoever you believe in, and knowing you really should be doing a bit more to help others, even if this means cutting into our own comfort. These words are right now for this moment defined as such, nothing more. Pleasure and guilt. It’s like having a left hand and a right hand. We walk everyday, and with every step we take, one hand swings forward, the other one swings back. When this is not in balance, we say you have a limp.

I feel Rock ‘n Roll. This is a positive way of saying that I feel like a big pile of shit, somehow squished into pants that are a bit too tight. I sit here with the standard anti-hangover pack: water, a sandwich and coffee. So far I have only dared the water. Since last night, I haven’t been back to my friends’ place yet. I am sure I smell horrible. I hardly slept. My head hurts. And it has been worth it.

Last night was absolutely incredible. Last night I wore a tuxedo. Last night my head was resting on a balcony in the Waldorf Astoria, while I was watching Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, The Ronettes, Patti Smith, Van Halen and R.E.M. being inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. And yes, these people were there to accept this honor, and they performed as well. I am not sure where to start, because a lot more than this happened. Ah yes, how did this evening start.

I e-mailed a friend, to report that I am in NYC and that we should have at least lunch this week. She replied with an e-mail that maybe if I wanted to, I could accompany her to this event. She managed to get the $3000,- tickets, two of them, for free. This only became certain about an hour before I had to be there, and it was a black tie event. This resulted in a poor man nearly choking on his meetlint in the tux shop, when I responded that I will be needing that tux in about eighteen and a half minutes. Yet somehow he managed, and then I enjoyed the ultimate feeling of being overdressed by riding the subway in a black tie. And pants too, not to worry.

How posh this event was! It started with drinks, and then a full dinner, before the ceremony started. At the check in, my friend was showing her ID while we got decorated with a colorful arrangement of I’ am cool enough for this’ wristbands, I looked to my left, and I have to look up to internally say hello to Tim Robbins (tall man), and then look down to pretend I didn’t recognize Susan Sarrandon. I knew then, this had to be a fun night. We sat at a table with people doing their very best to convince the rest of the table that they were the reason that the Rolling Stones are famous, that Aretha Franklin is a legend, that R.E.M. had that little hit. All I wondered was why then were they sitting on the highest balcony (your table position is of course crucial, the higher up you are, the less anyone will care about your being), pretending to wave back at the famous people. With the smell of baked air in the air I was trying to prepare myself for what was about to start, which was difficult, since I wasn’t sure what kind of event I was at. Not to mention that lack of oxygen my brain was receiving due to the deathtrap called a black tie. You know what, I could take you through this whole ceremony step by step, but I think I should just keep it at a summary. As my not important head rested on the balcony, Aretha Franklin was singing her heart out, while John McEnroe, Kid Rock and Michael Stipe were bobbing along to the soulful black rhythm. Keith Richards was slurringly telling funny anecdotes about something in the 60′s, while still having an unlit cigarette in hand (bad but not that bad anymore), Slash was looking like Slash, going mad on the guitar, while somehow still not showing one facial expression, R.E.M.’s Stipe was sharing a microphone with Pearl Jam’s Eddie Vedder, while singing to us about a man on the moon, Patti Smith showed us all that Rock ‘n Roll still exists, Ah Patti Smith…It turns out I met her before. She sang at a show in the Paris Fashion Week, while I was shutting up and working, and I remember wondering who this really friendly quirky lady with the mustache was. After seeing her truly play last night, I apologize to all Rock Gods for not knowing her.

An evening filled with disturbingly rich left wing Americans (and here and there a lost Brit), an almost non existing group, who all agreed that because they give multiple percent of their insane income to good things and have a charity with their name on it, they had the right and reason to push Bush, and i could not have agreed more. Let me pause for a moment to attempt a first bite of my sandwich. The poor bastard has been sitting patiently next to me for five paragraphs now.

It turns out I stopped writing for a day and a half, after having a rather tough day yesterday. No one had any mercy for it though, somehow.

In two hours it starts: Taxi-Bus-Plane-Bus-Plane-Plane-Pick Up-Hotel. I hope to reach the hotel in Arizonain 27 hours from now. Haha sounds like a case of the Mondays…The start of a new adventure. I welcome it, with open arms and a lack of sleep.