You see? Once you make up your mind to be happier, the happiness just reaches out and touches you from for all sides; life becomes a joyful grope-fest, so to speak, and all images, sounds, smells and textures inspire noting but delight and good meaning. (I nearly added ‘temperatures’ there but that would be ridiculous, considering how fucking cold it is.) In spite of being dismissive of this sentiment in the past – on record – I think I am finally reaching that stage where I am ready to try famous acupuncturist Dr Jimmy Lu’s advice to me (‘be happier’). Dr Lu also advised me to drink my own urine, but I think that is too radical an intervention for being a little curmudgeonly.
I must point out at this stage that it is not as easy to make up one’s mind as it sounds. George Dubya Bush would have an easier time of it, for example, than Noam Chomsky, and Judge Bernard Ngoepe will find it more difficult than, for example, JZ or Julius Malema. It must be clear where I am going with this. Considering that my mind is not only finely tuned and incredibly complex, but also very busy, making it up was almost as difficult as shutting down Guantanamo Bay. But seeing that it is MY mind, and well-known to me, I managed without too much hoo-ha or going through Congress.
And voila! The world is a dear and inspiring place, full of interesting-looking people that do not mind even one bit when you stare at them, rapt, for entire minutes. The diversity! The wit! The pictorial symbolism that is impossible to art direct, regardless of how much money the client shovels in the direction of the ad agency, and the Loerie Awards on the shelf where the director’s books should be.
Yesterday I saw a coffee-coloured giant in a red, silver-star-spangled velour tracksuit. His movements were confident, if slightly ungainly, as he ushered a tiny coffee-coloured girl-toddler through the traffic in the parking lot of the Killarney mall. They were beautiful. This morning I passed a faded blue Mercedes, driven by a tall octogenarian with a boldly stylised Jimmy hat angled on white mane. His wife’s perm barely cleared the window frame. They seemed to be in a hurry. I wondered for a moment if they were not asking too much of their ride’s aged German engineering, but I guess that sooner or later one must start feeling that time is seriously running out, so I reserved judgement. The day is crisp, the trees are brown, and I got quite a big job today that will take up most of the weekend. In celebration I replaced my hand mixer, and resolved to bake an apricot cake for Jan’s lunch on Sunday. And finally, just when I thought that life could get absolutely no better, Mandolin sent me an MP3 clip, accompanied by this story:
A girl was out with friends having drinks in King Street in Toronto. A guy called Dimitri started hitting on her and refused to be rebuffed, going on about how cute she was. She finally gave him her business card in an effort to get rid of him.The MP3 file below is of not one, but TWO voicemails this guy left. They are astonishing, especially the second voicemail. One understands why she didn’t call him back, and why, instead, she called in to the Z103.5 morning show and had them play the messages on the air.
(Technopeasant note: It is the first time that I have posted MP3 on this site, and I am a bit puzzled about how it opens when you click on the link (below the picture). I arrive on a seperate page on which I have to click the link again before the piece starts playing. This stuff drives me crazy, so I would not encourage you to go there if it was not worth it.)
(And althougth the picture is not of Dimitri, I think this is what he sees in the mirror.)
… and that is all for Friday.