Tuesday, November 24, 2009

whatmarkism volume.22

If you spend all day in meetings, when do you work?

Thursday, October 29, 2009

A bolt of Blue

When one of the training wheels on my 5 year old boy’s little blue dirt-bike-style cycle feel off, I said to myself “Yup! it’s time for the universal father-son ritual. I take the other wheel off. Hold the seat firmly while he gets his little unsure butt on the seat. We take a couple of practice runs. I secretly let go off him and before he knows it, he’s riding a bike – without training wheels.
He remains eternally grateful.”

He was managing well enough with the single extra wheel so I didn’t think it was a huge hurry to get down to training day.

I opened the front door the other day and was startled by a streak of blue that whizzed past me.

Turns out the other wheel fell off too. And he just kept riding. The little bugger learned to ride on his own. And how! I didn’t know whether to be proud. Or to be angry. I guess I was both. Proud of him. Angry with myself.

Because once again I'd forgotten.

That life can’t wait.

Monday, August 24, 2009

The Unforgiven

For some reason I got thinking of Metallica's Unforgiven trilogy, and going through the lyrics i thought i saw distinct shifts in the tone of the lyrics - which is also true of the music.

I've pasted parts of the songs here. To me Part 1 is aggressive. Angry. Accusatory. Part 2 is more empathetic. Accommodating. Part 3 seems to be accepting. Like the fingers are no longer pointed outward.

This journey somehow seems to be summed up in a quote from an American Novelist, Leon Uris:

“The ability of a person to atone has always been the most remarkable of human features.” (courtesy Shopdead)

Or maybe I'm just crazy. ;-) Talk to me!


They dedicate their lives
To running all of his
He tries to please them all
This bitter man he is
Throughout his life the same
He's battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares
To die regretfully
That old man here is me

What I've felt
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never be
Never see
Won't see what might have been
What I've felt
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee UNFORGIVEN


Lay beside me, tell me what I've done
The door is closed, so are your eyes
But now I see the sun, now I see the sun
Yes now I see it!

What I've felt, what I've known
Turn the pages, turn the stone
Behind the door, should I open it for you?

What I've felt, what I've known
So sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there?,
'cause I'm the one who waits
for you
Or are you unforgiven too?

I take this key (never free)
And I bury it (never me) in you
Because you're unforgiven too


How could he know
This new dawn's light
Would change his life forever?

Set sail to sea
But pulled off course
By the light of golden treasure

Was he the one causing pain
With his careless dreaming?
Been afraid
Always afraid
Of the things he's feeling

He could just be gone
He would just sail on
He'll just sail on

How can I be lost,
If I've got nowhere to go?
Search for seas of gold
How come it's got so cold?

How can I be lost?
In remembrance I relive
And how can I blame you
When it's me I can't forgive?

Monday, August 3, 2009

whatmarkism volume.21

Life is short. Ask to see a brochure NOW!

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

"Sorry, Tommy"

Some years ago i heard that Tommy Hilfiger made a pretty nasty racist comment.

So i became a self-appointed anti-brand-ambassador of sorts. And ensured I never even considered buying his products. I was pretty vocal about my dislike for Tommy. after all, i thought, it's typical of a firang to say something like that.

Until the other day when my friend Hetch sent me a link that kinda opened my eyes (and ears) to the truth. There he was. Grey haired. Dignified. Pained by the hurt inflicted by the rumor.

Tommy was innocent. I was the guilty one. He had said nothing. I was the one who was judgmental.

What bothered me the most was how stupid i was to not get to the truth myself. I easily could have. But i just sat on my high horse and did something easier - I pointed a finger.

I was no better than the dogmatics. The fanatics. The critics. I was "Them".

Last night i went out and bought my first Tommy product.

A pair of shades. At full price. (I really hope they marked it up like crazy!)


Finally, I am seeing things through Tommy's eyes.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Love you, MJ

Like most people, I'm deeply saddened by MJ's death.
Another unwanted reminder that life gives us no guarantees.

I always hoped that he would bounce back. As a popstar. As a person. I'm secretly hoping that he had his quiet moments with his maker. And that God's amazing grace, drew him to a place of reconciliation. That's all it takes. A moment.

what follows is a song that has always haunted me.

as you read it. say a prayer. That Michael would moonwalk again ... all the way home.

Gone too soon - Michael Jackson.

Like a comet
Blazing 'cross the evening sky
Gone too soon

Like a rainbow
Fading in the twinkling of an eye
Gone too soon

Shiny and sparkly
And splendidly bright
Here one day
Gone one night

Like the loss of sunlight
On a cloudy afternoon
Gone too soon

Like a castle
Built upon a sandy beach
Gone too soon

Like a perfect flower
That is just beyond your reach
Gone too soon

Born to amuse
To inspire to delight
Here one day
Gone one night

Like a sunset
Dying with the rising of the moon
Gone too soon
Gone too soon

Monday, June 1, 2009

whatmarkism volume.20

A racist down under is just being an aushole.

Monday, April 20, 2009

whatmarkism volume.19

The genius of life is in
knowing which voices to listen to.

Friday, April 17, 2009

You vs. Me

"I'm not saying be me, but can you not be so you?"

I was actually privy to this conversation. :-)

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

whatmarkism volume.18

Stop wallowing. Start living.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

A Movie Idea!

Film opens in a massage parlor. Candles throwing soft shadows on the sparse walls.

For years he had worked his skillful hands. Alone. For what he did not know.

A gust of wind blows the chimes hanging at the front door. And that's when he sees her standing. Her red silken dress revealing more than she knew, as the street light silhouetted her incredible body.

"Are we closed?" She asked.

Moments later she was undressing. She lay on the table. And his fingers dug deep rejuvenating furrows down her smooth back.

Moments later they were wrapped around her feet. Slithering up her calf muscles. Caressing her thighs.

And then, risking everything that he had left his hometown for, he looks at the lush white towel covering her ample curves and braced himself for what could be the biggest mistake of his professional life.

In what felt like a mere nanosecond, her hand was at his face. It was her left hand. Her fingers curved in delicately.

"Marry me"

He smiles. Fishing for something in his pocket.

She smiles.

Her eyes filled with need, she takes a step towards him, and the candles are magically snuffed out by a second gust of wind.

In the darkness, a soft sigh is heard. Followed by another. And another deeper, stronger one.

Like a soft ripple of water, the movie title appears:

"Rub ne bana di Jodi"

whatmarkism volume.17

He was on a journey of self-discovery.

When somewhere along the way he caught himself wishing.

That he wouldn't fully find himself.