On flowers, potatoes and chestnuts

Disclaimer

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It would be odd to cut the following story into pieces.

So it became a bit longer than our average writings.

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When I travel between Ghent and Antwerp, I usually sit close to where I put my foldable bike, carefully wedged in that cavity formed by two rows of seats. Today was no exception to this rule.

As a matter of fact, it could have been any given weekday; as soon as I sat down, I took my notebook and starting scribbling down a few research ideas.

On my head, a set of giant head phones, converting Amenra's repetitive drones into an inspiring sludge that seeped into my racing mind.

Opposite me, an older lady, donning a green park ranger's type of hat and matching boots, observing me through an old-fashioned pair of glasses, resting on the tip of her nose, hiding behind a foolish smirk.

Bleep.

She triggered my nutty people detection device.

For a moment I felt safe behind my calculations, buried underneath thick layers of sound.

'What are you doing?', she suddenly asked in an English accent that sounded as if it was still healing from a recent fracture.

I couldn't tell where she was from. Besides a forest lodge maybe.

I pretended neither seeing nor hearing her, but I realized soon enough that this approach wouldn't last.

'Excuse me,' she repeated, 'what are you doing? Are you writing a poem?'

I lifted my head phones and decided to play the business card.

'I'm working, madam. And this music inspires me. So if you excuse me, I would rather continue writing.'

'What are you working on?', she suddenly continued in West-Flemish, mistaking my polite retort for an invitation to start a conversation.

'A poem?'

'It's mathematics,' I tried, hoping that this would make her understand that I was doing serious things.

'Interesting,' she replied, and extended her arms.

'Can I have a look at that?'

I decided to give her some of my calculations. If luck was on my side, she'd immerse herself into my writings and get lost.

She stared at my handwriting, not unlike someone finishing a 10 000 piece jigsaw version of the Taj Mahal: completely puzzled out.

'This doesn't look like what I learned at school,' she concluded.

'Of course not,' I thought, 'this didn't even exist when you were at school. That's why they call it current research.'

I remained silent, aware of the fact that the people at the other side of the corridor started staring at me as if I were the oddball.

'What have we become?' she started to complain.

'Plenty of people on this train, and nobody feels like talking to me.'

Bleep.

'You have all become socially handicapped.'

I couldn't help looking up.

Her smile penetrated my bubble and made my realize that my attempts to look busy were as feeble as my excuse not to prove her wrong.

I unplugged my iPod and surrendered.

I appreciated her line of thought, and she had a point.

'Why do you need music for inspiration?', she asked, as if this was an unresolved issue.

'Why not just watch outside, for example? You're on a train!'

'It doesn't work that way,' I said. 'It's not like what I want to write down is hiding behind those daily things.'

'I bet it can be!' was her somehow inviting answer.

'Look, I will show you some of the things I am carrying to Antwerp, maybe it can trigger you to write something.'

And from her old-fashioned slightly faded hippie bag, she took a bunch of green flowers, a plastic bag containing potatoes and a brown paper bag full of chestnuts.

If she wasn't, she at least had them.

Nuts.

Bleep.

'Flowers, cooked potatoes and steamed chestnuts.'

As if that was the most natural thing to have on you.

'Erhm, and what are you going to do with that?', I addressed her now.

The stares from the other side of the corridor didn't bother me any longer.

'I am visiting friends in Antwerp whom I haven't seen for 25 years. This is a present.'

'Where do they live?', I asked, trying to imagine how I'd feel when someone were to give me these presents.

'No idea, I'll find them when I get there.'

Bleep.

She took three pictures from an old crumbled envelope.

'My biggest surprise for tonight,' she said, handing them to me.

'I found these at home, in a box in the attic,' she added.

One was a group picture, which was so blurry and out of focus that it felt as if these people should have been wearing swim suits.

'This is when the television crew visited at our village,' she explained.

It turned out 'Boeketje Vlaanderen' had once shot an episode in the place where she was born.

'This man,' pointing at a murky face in the background, 'was the groom. He's a good friend of mine.'

'And those people?', I wanted to know, showing her the other two pictures.

'Those are his parents.'

A short silence comfortably nested itself between us.

Meeting this old, somehow oddly looking lady who came all the way from Tielt to visit people she hadn't seen for 25 years - carrying a bag with what can only be described as the strangest collection of presents I'd heard from in a while - made me realize that the beauty of life lies in random collisions.

'Can I take a picture of you?', she suddenly asked me.

Had she not just shown me these pictures of the friend she was visiting and his parents, I would have said no.

I didn't.

Call it vanity, but the prospect of a picture with my faded face on it somehow felt like it might one day spark another conversation.

Flash.

'Funny,' I blurted out, 'maybe you can come to Antwerp again within 25 years.'

She looked at me sideways.

'Yes,' I continued, 'when you'll find my picture in a box in the attic. Then you can take the train to Antwerp again, and come looking for me.'

She stared at me. In an almost pitiful way.

'You don't have to look for people,' she enounced.

'You just find them.'

I got off at the railway station in Berchem. Me, and my foldable bike.

Amenra was blasting through my head phones again and I thought about this old lady's words.

She was right.

The flower, the potatoes and the chestnuts had triggered me...

LinkedIn: the Uncyclopedia

One of the most useful websites out there - and I often wonder exactly where that is - must be Wikipedia. It's actually so useful that I am using it at this very moment to look up a bunch of information about Wikipedia itself. That's what they call a strange loop by the way, self-reference for the win! But despite the obvious advantages of having access to this free, web-based encyclopedia, there are obviously also a few disadvantages.

Being a teacher at university for example, I am too often confronted with students quoting Wikipedia as the only source they consulted, confusing what they've read on the web with sound arguments or scientific facts. I'm not saying I blame them for that, growing up in an age in which the word 'library' is associated to a folder on your laptop rather than a place where they hide all the books (the latter is not my joke by the way, big up yourself if you know who said this) must have its consequences, but I wish people would at least realize that Wikipedia does not necessarily tell you the truth...

So, just in case you're one of my (future) students reading this: you will be deducted points if you quote Wikipedia in either a paper or an exam answer. On the other hand, there are points to be gained by quoting passages from the Uncyclopedia. For those of you who have never heard of this website, I give you the Wikipedia entry on the Uncyclopedia. Or what is the other way round?

Wikipedia ("the 'free' encyclopedia") is a website that parodies Uncyclopedia. It was founded in 2001, when it began its noble goal of spreading the world's misinformation in the most inconspicuous way possible. For this reason, academic experts strongly urge students not to cite Wikipedia. Originally written exclusively in Klingon, the project currently spans all the known languages of history. The English version has over twelve million pages, most of them capitalization redirects.

Only one vehicle for article humor is employed at Wikipedia: actual information. However, much of the behind-the-scenes aspects of Uncyclopedia are also parodied, from the abundance of maintenance templates to the system for rating articles. Like Uncyclopedia, Wikipedia has guidelines regarding what is and is not acceptable content, and these guidelines have become exceedingly long and complex as a parody of Uncyclopedia's comparatively simple rules. The site has gained media attention due to its articles on places, people, and painfully obscure pop culture.

Have fun.

Awesomeness

• buying a bag of pistachio nuts which can all be opened without breaking your nail or biting your tongue
• being able to peel the skin of an apple in one twirling bit
• seeing fluffy rabbits in a city park
• sending a text message to someone containing everything you wanted to share, including the appropriate number of kisses, and noticing that you used the exact number of characters for one message
• getting a friend's keychain because he asks you to get something from upstairs while he will be waiting in the car, putting the keys in your pocket, arriving at the door having forgotten which of the many keys it was, and opening the door with the first key you're trying
• boiling a random amount of pasta and noticing that you had just enough
• waking up, turning the radio on and hearing your favourite tune
• feeling hungry and finding an unopened yet completely forgotten bag of chips in the cupboard
• buying a book and hearing the girl behind the counter say: "This is my favourite book, enjoy it!"
• getting a message from someone you haven't seen for a very long time, realizing that you dreamt about him/her the night before
• meeting people on the street who are singing out loud
• seeing your backpack as the first one hitting the airport conveyor belt.

Wear sunscreen

(for M, J, L, E & D)

Life is far from easy. We all know that. Some days are bad, some days are worse. I don’t know why, but lately it seems that wherever I look, there’s trouble and heartache. Especially heartache. If Life is a Ship, then there’s definitely a storm blowing. And all around me friends are getting hit by the deck harder than a drunken sailor…

As a friend I try to listen and I try to help. With a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, or some honest advice. But it’s not easy. After all, advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

You might recognize these words. They’re from a 1997 column by Mary Schmich in which she gave her version of a Guide to Life for Graduates. You probably know the musical adaptation by Baz Luhrmann better. It’s called Wear Sunscreen. (In fact, it's called Everybody's Free (to Wear Sunscreen), but no one says that)

I have always been a big fan of Schmich’s column (and Luhrmann's song). Sure, it’s a piece of comedy, but it’s also excellent advice – from ‘Wear sunscreen’ over ‘Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone’ to ‘Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours’. It’s really splendid advice and I frequently re-read it when going through a rough patch of life.

Years ago I also followed the one piece of advice from Schmich’s column that didn’t get into Luhrman’s song: the part where she encourages anyone over 26 to try and write their own Guide for Life. Here’s an updated version of it. If it doesn’t help, it probably won’t hurt either.

Think. Trust your instincts. Be honest, not naive. Work out. Read. Write. Don’t be afraid. Speak out in public. Try harder. Have faith. Help others. Take care of yourself. Don’t accept sweets from strangers. Respect nature. Use your head, but follow your heart. Nobody said it was going to be easy. Cry, and don’t you dare apologize for it. Get what you need, not what you want. Smoke once: quit forever. Hold your charm. Math is neither boring, nor useless. Talk to people. Listen too. Expect disappointments. Health is everything. Don’t make plans for the future: do stuff now. Alcohol is not a philosophy. Be patient. Let it go. Use good grammar. Mind the pedestrian. Read the small print. Never ignore anything. Believe in love, not in romance. Be a man about it. Your body has a soul too. Ask for help. Courage is not foolishness. Compassion is not weakness. Imagining people naked helps. Breathe. A broken heart does heal. Don’t overestimate logics. Steer clear of the drunk barber. Forgive. Be polite. Love dolphins. After all, what kind of a person doesn’t love dolphins? Be kind to children. Do the right thing. Remember. Be prepared. Keep focused. Dream. And above all, ask yourself: does it make me happy?

Of course, at the end of it, I have to repeat Mary Schmich’s one caveat.

If you succeed in doing this, please tell me how.

If trees could speak...

Whenever I need to think really hard about something, be it personal or professional, I always feel the urge to go sit under a tree. Must be some kind of Newtonian reflex. Weighing options, contemplating possibilities and trying to come up with some kind of solution, the idea of doing this under a robust tree - leaning against its solid stem, maybe even talking out loud - has something very appealing to me.

Yesterday, this sparked the following thought: if trees could speak, wouldn't they be fantastic story-tellers? I mean, many a secret of upmost historical impact must have been shared under a silent oak, many a revolution must have been started in a regular forest, many a love must have been declared under a blossoming fruit tree.

Trees must have a talent for telling stories!

And then again, there is definitely more to say about this: having a curious personality myself, not being afraid to get immersed into something completely different – I'd be the first one to participate in a workshop 'entertaining Irish mountain goats with homemade Polynesian percussion instruments' - the sentence “You must have a talent for this” is no stranger to me. Despite the fact that I do seem to be slightly better than average in most activities I'm willing to give a shot – reaching that particular level which sets you apart from complete novices might be some unrecognized talent of mine - I somehow think that people saying this haven't found their own talents (yet). Because I genuinely believe that we all have at least one thing that makes us special. Although I'm not saying it has to be useful...

Let us take Roy Sullivan for example, an American from Virginia (1912-1983) who worked as a U.S. Park Ranger. Between 1942 and 1977, this man was struck by lightning on seven different occasions and survived all of them. That is pretty amazing, don't you think? I sometimes wonder how he must have felt, a few days before his own birth, when he was queuing at the Talent Desk for Soon-To-Be Babies.

- Next!

- Good morning, my name will be Roy Sullivan, I am supposed to be born on February the 7'th, in Greene County, Virginia.

- Ah, yes, Mister Sullivan! Welcome. Pick a card from this box please.

(unfolds a paper and gives the lady behind the counter an incredulous look)

- Is there a problem sir?

- I don't get it, my card says 'human lightning rod'.

- Congratulations! You just pulled out one of few bonus cards: you'll be sent to earth with a combo-talent.

- (opening up) A combo-talent? Interesting.

- Yes, first of all, you'll be able to survive lightning impact.

- (slightly disappointed) Ah. Hm. Okay. And the other one?

- Well, erhm... you will have a talent for attracting lightning too.

That the Board for New Talent Proposals gets away with 'being able to chase lightning away' makes perfect sense to me. Someone with this talent would definitely be able to find a well-paid job as permanent resident on top of a tropical skyscraper. I suppose I'd even accept the proposal to saddle someone up with the talent 'being able to deflect lightning so that it always crashes into your nearest neighbour'. I mean, put this guy next to the other one on the tropical rooftop, add a decent sound-system and a cocktail bar and you have all ingredients for a memorable party with a flashy laser effect. But a talent for 'attracting lightning'? Come on guys, was this the first thing you came up with on a Monday morning, or the last thing on a Friday evening? That's not a talent, that's a burden.

I bet trees in Virginia are talented story-tellers. Horror stories, that is. About this fearsome park ranger that could have you killed in a second, merely by sheltering under your canopy.

There’s a word for it

If you know anything, anything at all, about me, you’ll know that I like words. Which is quite the understatement. Oh how I veritably venerate verbiage, lavishly love language and wantonly worship words! I’ll tell you a secret: whenever I meet a new word I particularly like, I repeat it over and over to myself, sometimes even giggling rather foolishly. Oh how I want to eat the Latin ruminare (what cows do with their food)! How I rage and rumble and ravage when I taste the Flemish rulokte (‘wild’) on my tongue! Or how I get misty-eyed when I read the French larmoyant (‘to cry for’). To me, many words feel like what they mean. Conversely, some words feel like the opposite of what they mean, like linoleum, which should have been the name of a pleasant Mediterranean seaport, as one of my word heroes L.P. Wilkinson once observed, not the rather unpleasant floor covering. And so every word tells a story to me. Which has been a blessing, because it's probably the sole reason I'm not living in a cardboard box today!

But why am I telling you the presumably bleeding obvious? Well, some time ago a few of you told me you were happy that I introduced you to the word meteo sensitive (i.e. your temper follows the weather). To be exact, my friend W. mentioned it to me first a while ago, so I shouldn’t claim credit. However, this reminded me of a few other words that you might not know but find funny or deem interesting. Fred himself used one in his very first blog: retrotort, and so I thought I’d teach you some more just in case you have to spice up a boring dinner party (Caution: Fred and Fred will not be held accountable should anyone use these in a frantic attempt to keep the conversation going on a date. The results could be unforeseeably disastrous.)

(1) Backronym

We all know an acronym, right? It’s a word that’s actually not a word but a compilation of the first letters of a phrase, like radar which was coined in the 1940s from ra(dio) d(etection) a(nd) r(anging). Well, a backronym is the opposite of that. A word which people think is an acronym, or make into one, but really isn’t. A good example is SOS. I always thought SOS was short for Save Our Souls. Turns out that’s not how it originated. The army just wanted a simple Morse code for a distress signal, so they chose …---…, which spells S O S by chance, not because it’s short for something. Alternatively, a backronym can also be used to (somewhat corny) comic effect. Like when you’re fed up with your old Ford-car and tell a friend Ford actually stands for Fix Or Repair Daily.

(2) Complisult

Another good one is a complisult, which is a compliment and an insult mixed together, like in the sentence “That’s such a nice dress. It does wonders for your figure” or “You’re smarter than I thought!”. At first it looks like a compliment, but in fact when you think about it, it’s more like an insult. Sometimes you can leave the insult part elliptically, like in the famous “Do you think she’s pretty? - She has a wonderful personality.”.

If you’d like to know more unusual but fun words that fit into this category of There’s a word for it, you can check out the homonymous (there’s another one!) book for sale on Amazon! And if you’re still not convinced why you should like words, have a look at what Stephen Fry has to say about it, typecast in the craftiest of kinetic typographies:

Word.

Pod-heads (2)

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Why is it, that guessing exactly when a certain event took place in the past is so hard to do? I'm pretty sure that a majority of the people didn't realize, until this week - unless Planet Media's news rays couldn't penetrate the thick layer of clouds around your head - that 9/11 happened already 10 years ago. I heard some people say it felt like it happened only yesterday, whereas others dated it back more than a decade ago.

Does this mean that people tend to forget the answers to what will ultimately become obvious pub quiz questions, or merely that Time itself behaves in strange ways - resolutely trying to prevent its very Soul from being captured by mundane concepts such as seconds, days and years?

I don't know the answer to the questions above - I can't even remember when I started thinking about them - but I do know that there are things defying both the (lack of) power of our brain and the somehow unpredictable grip of time on our lives.

Timeless things.

Like music.

I guess we all have our own list of classics, don't we? The kind of tracks we can keep listening to, never getting bored with them. Our best friends in the record collection, with whom we share moments, good and bad. Songs that make us close our eyes and realize that sometimes it doesn't matter that we don't know when things happened.

Only that they happened...