The Blessing of Glasses

Being shortsighted, I need my glasses to make something out of the “reality” surrounding me. Without them, this “reality” becomes quite surreal, and I can’t tell one person from another if they are at more than 50 metres from me. I can’t find my exit from the highway and I probably wouldn’t be able to tell a rabbit from a squirrel, had it not been for squirrels climbing trees. If it’s running quickly and moving up along a tree trunk, it’s likely not a rabbit’s kin.

But when I take off my glasses the world doesn’t change. I might claim things instantly become very blurred, but they become like that just for me.

So I wonder how the world is for those who don’t need any vision help in the form of a pair of spectacles. Is it spectacular? Always sharp and very true? Does it leave no doubt? Is it nice this way?

Despite being simply a prosthesis, glasses might be of some more use. They helped me find a solution for the moments when the world becomes bad and people seem evil. I just take myself off and put it, the “me”, on the bedside table.  The blessing of glasses is that you can always remove them.

I don’t need to wear them to have clear dreams.

The Hole Story

It’s time for the whole truth about Rabbit Hole. Female audience needn’t read it - I’m sure you never questioned its meaning. I have something to explain to those who aren’t female and thus, by definition, think of one and the same thing without interruption. All the 196 pages, and the rest of the time (http://rabbithole42.blogspot.nl/2012/10/a-brainy-brand.html) At night, too - they either practice it, or just dream about practicing it. All those for whom the word “hole” evokes you know what, and a “rabbit” evokes a bunny. They are in need of an explanation.

The idea about Rabbit’s coming out arose at the table, densely populated with bottles, and less densely populated with male human beings.
- Your blog might be ok, but how on earth do you imagine to get more readership with such a name? A Rabbit Hole?  - said one of them.
- Yes, can you imagine a Monday morning conversation in the office: “Have you read the latest post in the Rabbit Hole?” “The hole, you say? No, I’ve been there, but I haven’t read anything. Have you? Wow, tell me about it. Practiced some Hole-a-Hutra? A new sport?” Ha ha ha. - added another, bursting in laughter.
- Now it's official. You’re not my target audience anyway. - I said - It’s a blog for those who like to read. READ. That’s something you need the big brain for. It’s a niche thing, you know. 
- A niche?! - he fell off his chair.
- Confirmed again. All the time about one thing.
- No, I don’t always think about it. Let’s see... Sometimes I think about my work. 
- And why is it you work?
- To earn money, primarily.
- And why do you need money? There we go. Same thing again. 
- No, but seriously. Someone who googles “rabbit hole” on the web, is looking for bunnies, not reading stuff. 

All right, I’ll explain.
The Rabbit Hole is a hole in which lives a Rabbit. 

If this isn’t enough: there have been many rabbits living in holes in the past as well as in the present, and it’s quite likely that this trend will continue well into the future. Not all of them were famous, but there are at least two prominent predecessors, which got into close contact with the Hole. 

1. Winnie-the-Pooh. 

Winnie  once got stuck in his friend’s Rabbit’s doorway (in other words, the hole) having consumed too much food. As a consequence, he had to be read to for the whole week by Christopher and not given any food, to lose weight and be able to get out of the narrow cavity (yes, narrow. Does this make you happy, too?). Being read to, as a side effect, helps losing weight. That’s a fact worth noticing.  

1. Alice in Wonderland. 

She got into the absurd through the said Hole. 
I quote after Wikipedia: “the Rabbit Hole, which symbolized the actual stairs in the back of the main hall in Christ Church” . I’m not sure if the staircase was particularly narrow, but that’s irrelevant. It’s a Church, my dear.

My Rabbit Hole isn’t that notorious, obviously. As I said - a niche. Looking quite dull on the outside - just another plain and average hole dug out in the ground. Except for the month of September, when it is beautifully decorated with heather. 

But inside, if you ever are invited, and if you dare - there’s a surprisingly spacious apartment. There’s my bedroom (the room where I sleep, read and wake up, alone), there’s my living room, filled with books, there’s a kitchen, a small bathroom, and there’s one more room. The one no ordinary  apartment is equipped with: a room for imagination. 

This is where all Rabbit’s imagination is stored. Not in the cloud, but under the ground. 

And 42? It’s the answer to life the universe and everything. Just google it. 

The Force

It was a few days ago that I felt it for the first time. I was on the ground, sweating on a yoga mat in a room with an exceptionally dry and hot climate. The people around me were trying to make it tropical with their sweat. Lying there, inhaling the smells of dubious quality, I felt it for the first time. 

Gravity.

Yes, it is quite peculiar indeed. To only feel gravity for the first time in your life at the age of thirty-seven. But I’ve never been particularly good or interested in physics. The idea of a chair pressing against my butt while I sit on it never sounded convincing to me. To me, force is action rather than passive resistance. A chair being thrown at me in a fit of anger - yes, however unwelcome, this is a true manifestation of force. But one which stood in the corner before I sat on it and will still stand there after I get up? One that stayed totally unmoved while I was on it? Does it show any force in action? 

Not to me, but I haven’t managed to convince anyone so far. Nevertheless I’ll try to convince you, for this last time. Believe me, my doubts are a product of careful consideration rather than scientific ignorance. How could an innocent and inanimate chair exert any force on my behind? 

But last Tuesday I experienced The Force empirically. Something was definitely pushing me. It wasn’t just me lying there, and naturally sticking to the floor rather than the ceiling. My body was being pushed by an external invisible force. This is, strangely, how it felt.

Only it wasn’t the floor that was pushing me. No, the floor was there, cold despite the 40 degrees in the room, hard and unmoved. Passively resisting my body being pressed against it by a flock of invisible arms of gravity. 

My thoughts wandered away into our planet’s atmosphere, which is basically all the gases being pushed in one direction by the same force that was pushing me. How extraordinary. It bothers to push me down on the floor, so that I don’t float away in the air just as much as it bothers to keep all the gases  enveloping Earth where they are. 

If you want freedom from that omnipresent force, there’s still outer space. To get there, you need to be very strong. Getting back   on Earth should be more relaxed though -  after all, gravity will lovingly take you into her arms, in the hope of not letting you go away any more. 

In that hope it will make sure you’re properly pushed down next time you do your exercise. So that you remember how difficult it is to get up, let alone get away for a weekend in outer space.  

Supermarket Philosophy Top

It’s not what you think it is.

And because you think  “it is what it is”,

It’s not even what it is.

Things are not what you think they are.

And because you think "things are just things",

things aren’t even things.

Life is not what you think life is.

And because you think  “life is life”,

It’s not even life.

So is it a Rabbit or a Duck?

 

The meaning of life depends on the direction you look at it: forward or backwards. This is where this scribble brought me to.

 

Is it hard to make a stand?

You hear a song sometimes, and there's just one line getting into your head. That's usually a line your brain insists on misinterpreting. It just stubbornly doesn't want to put it in the right context. The line grows, the words give rise to an image, and you start to laugh, as the new life you've given to those lines is so refreshingly bizarre.

This is what recently crossed my mind when listening to Sheryl Crow's: "It's hard to make a stand" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9Nb9YdYRcw). Sure it's hard, especially if it's a large stand with lots of display products. One at Hannover Messe, for instance. You really need to involve a professional company for that - don't try to build it yourself, or it will look terribly amateuristic and will not attract much audience.

I see this advertising spot in my head: you remember the hilarious series "the Neighbours" from Czechoslovakia? Those two guys helping each other with their small household repairs, but as they don't have much skill, their 'repairs' usually lead to ruin. Let them try and build a stand for a company, say, for Black and Dekker or Bosch or something of that sort.

They try to knock together some walls, a reception desk, some seating area, they arrange their hand tools on display, only to watch everything fall apart seconds later.
This is the moment Sheryl Crow comes with her 'it's hard to make a stand' and a voice-over: 'we know how to make it easy' voila!

I'm not sure if she would agree, after all she does say something about miscreation later on in the lyrics, and that this isn't really what she meant. But Sheryl Crow really is a very good singer and I think she's worth taking the effort. Who knows, with some convincing she might agree to endorse a stand-building company.

"My friend, o lawdy,
Went to take care of her own body,
And she got shot down in the road
She looked up before she went,
Said, "This isn't really what I meant"
And the daily news said,"Two with one stone"
And I say, "Hey there, Miscreation,
Bring a flower, time is wasting"

And now, suddenly, we're talking about death and flowers,which brings me to another song, "Killing me softly". This one usually makes me think of euthanasia (it doesn't make me consider euthanasia, it isn't that bad, it only brings the topic of euthanasia unwittingly to my mind). This is how lyrics get a life of their own.
Or death.

Words Playing Games

You know what's funny? That words play games. They are like children, up to mischievous things all the time.

That means there can be no serious conversation, even between two serious men, all dressed in suits, covering a topic richly populated with numbers. As they use those obnoxious brats to communicate, you never know when they'll start their tricks.

- Today's index doesn't look too good.
- Mine does. - says the other tied-up and grey-suited exemplar of dead seriousness.
- What on earth are you talking about?
- My index finger, it looks good.
- I meant today's Dow Jones.
- The Long Johns index, it starts in december only. If there's sudden hike, that means the winter is going to be harsh.

Ha ha ha, those words at play! There's nothing better for a bad day than a few words playing cheerfully! Making me laugh, making others laugh, they create a sense of community. Or commutation: exchanging one thing for another.
For instance, dead-seriousness for dying of laughter and pundits for bandits and brats.
I love to hear them play.

A life worth living

I’ve seen a very distressing photo of a baby without limbs on facebook recently . I was invited to “like it”, which I didn’t. I simply “didn’t like it” but there was no such button.

Neither did I like some of the comments under the photo. Two of them were in Dutch. One said:

“This has no life expectancy!!! So miserable if it stays alive”

Another one translated as “That’s very egoistic of the parents, to allow it to get born. “

The comments in English were much more compassionate, in general.

All that brought so many questions, that I'll just continue the rest of this post multiplying the question marks.

What makes those two Dutch persons so sure a life without hands or legs is not worth living? Is it just a coincidence that they are Dutch, or does that have something to do with the Dutch attitude to euthanasia? Why is the baby called “it” in this context? Do only limbs give a human being the right to be called a he or a she, and lack of those – deny that right? What happens if one has them all, but they are all paralyzed? Nobody would dare call a person suffering from ALS not a person, but an “it”, a thing. Is the life of Stephen Hawkings not worth living?

Do these arms or legs have to be functioning, or is their sheer presence sufficient to be recognized as a “he” or “she”? And what happens if someone has lost all their limbs – does “that” qualify for a human being, or not?

Why would that be egoistic of the parents to bring to life a child a care for whom will cost them considerably more effort than for a healthy one?

When can one human being decide about the right to live of another one? Or of oneself?

I have a hunch why the two comments in Dutch were so cold, so inhumane: that is probably because the key to life in Holland is “genieten” – enjoy. If one stops or is stopped from enjoying life, the latter may just as well be ended. In case of a baby, who cannot communicate the level of his/her enjoyment of life, it is up to the parents to decide whether “its” life is worth living.

Before “it” is born, that’s the enjoyment of the life of the parent(s) that supersedes that of the enjoyment of the life of the child. If the parents will enjoy their life substantially less after “it” is born, it’s ok to end “its” life. I think parents of a severely handicapped child will not enjoy their life after the child is born, so the decision to deliver such a baby can be judged as anything but egoistic.
With enjoyment, you never know – to judge your level of enjoyment you need a point of reference, for example – the moment in your life when you enjoyed it the most.

In case of a handicapped child the point of reference is very different than in case of a grown-up healthy adult.

The Dutch, who claim to have created the Netherlands, assume the right to decide when a life is worth living and when it’s not. Not only do they decide it for themselves, but also for others.

But I think all life is worth living. We might just not understand the reasons why.

Just read this: “When Michelangelo was commissioned to sculpt a puppet clown, it was just enough to touch the wood several times with his knife, and the clown was ready. But when he was requested to sculpt a human being, he had to labour painstakingly long in stone. I want you to be human, and this hurts” (an interview with Ewa Minge in “Wysokie Obcasy Ekstra” Nov12 edition)

8 Almonds and 1 Rabbit

KLM attractive packaging of not particularly attractive snacks is a proof that, even in our digitalised world,  the words maintain their power. If you got just a plain bag with 8 salted almonds in it, and you’d have consumed them immediately (which you certainly would, starving on board a short distance flight after getting up too late to have breakfast at home), you would have thought you’ve just consumed 8 salted almonds. You’d probably feel like having some more, not because they were so tasty, but because you can’t hope to get anything else during  such a short flight.

But on board a KLM city hopper getting your 8 salted almonds is a different experience . It is a “Delicious treat” – this is what the bag says. And if it’s your first time, and you don’t know what’s in there, your imagination is set to work and the sachet starts to feel like the tantalising amuse you get at a good restaurant while waiting for your meal. “Delicious treat” - those words create expectations, and might be a source of slight disappointment if 8 salted almonds isn’t exactly your idea of a delicious treat. “Well, ok, maybe that’s because I’m simply not that much into salted almonds.” you say to yourself while you watch your neighbour devouring the 8 nuts with genuine pleasure.

Next time you have the bag in your hands it makes you laugh. That’s power of words, too. In this case the contrast between what it says on the packaging, and what’s inside.

But laughing is good. Much better than an edible delicious treat. "Laughing and smiling are a gate and a door, through which many good things can slip into you” (Christian Morgenstern, my own translation) . So you smile, and consume the same 8 salted almonds. Thank you, city hopper. You never know when inspiration strikes you.

I’m still starving, but of course it doesn’t say anything about the quality of the almonds. Everybody knows that a visit at a Michelin star restaurant is not supposed to appease your hunger but to elevate your spirit and tantalise your palate (and you can still have some hearty soup after you get back home).

The same goes for movies: my favourites are “A Beautiful Mind”, “American Beauty” and the stealing one (“Stealing Beauty”). All very beautiful indeed. I’m not sure if I would like “The Beauty and the Beast” though – that depends on the share of the latter in it.

“I can’t possibly know what I think before I say it” writes Pascal Mercier (“Night Train to Lisbon”). I like that. Mee too, I need to dress my thoughts in words before I realise what I actually think. But on some bad days, whatever I say only brings me down. I need someone else to assure me it’s much better than I think it is.

Obviously, it’s often difficult to find a credible person to tell you what you want to hear the moment you want to hear it. Chances are that they will either tell you today what you wanted to hear two days ago, or they will tell you today something you don’t want to hear at all. Alternatively, they might tell you exactly what you want to hear and when you want to hear it, but they do not sound credible at all.

Therefore, for all such difficult moments, I keep a paper placemat in my drawer, a souvenir from a Chinese restaurant I once visited.
That was an important event, not in terms of the quality of food, but on the psychological level. Namely, this was the day I discovered that I was a Rabbit. "luckiest of signs – talented and affectionate, yet shy. Seeking peace. " I can't help it, you see. I'm the luckiest! But I'm sure so will you be, if I send you the decription of your own sign. (There was also advice on whom I should marry, but I skipped it, as it came too late, and I married a Tiger in all ignorance, not aware that I should have married a Sheep or Pig. But  I came out all right, maybe because the Tiger’s hair is quite Sheep-like, in fact, I might perhaps be revealing a family secret here, so please keep it for yourself: he actually was called a Sheep in his school days).

There’s something for everyone on this placemat. Just tell me the year you were born, and I’ll share some good words with you: the words you want to hear, the moment you want to hear them, and very credible to top it off. After all, which horoscope could be more reliable than a Chinese one  found at a Chinese restaurant?

This brings me to a good idea for T-shirts: if you print your horoscope (or some other good words) on it, then what's inside (i.e. you) will instantly become someone special. Just like the 8 almonds inside the KLM city hopper sachet.

In praise of a one-night-stand

I like my own home-made metaphor which likens books to people. No arrogance, I just like the fact that they really are alike. I like this likeness, for phonetical reasons and others likewise. They need to be handled carefully, stroked, opened or put aside. Some are for sale, some are out of stock, some others  may be borrowed and returned, or never so. Some are illegible, some others seem too easy. Some are forgotten. There are books for each audience. Some carry a profound meaning, some others sound very superficial. Some were terribly misunderstood.

Despite all the obvious parallels between people and books, there’s one feature that works to the advantage of the latter: they don't know jealousy. How many times did I not put a book back on the shelf, just to pick up another one seconds later – there was no protest, no moaning, no reproach. They calmly accepted their lot, and still look eternally happy in their spacious wooden home. They are always there, on standby, any time of the day or night.

Talking about nights – in case of books a one-night stand does not make you a wicked one. For example, one might be completely smitten by Kundera and read all his works in alphabetical order, which still doesn’t stop him (her) from a one-book stand with Wolfram Eilenberger. And nobody gets jealous or offended. Even if your one-book stand does actually happen in one night. If you’re a fast reader, and the book is really good – why not? The only one with regrets will be you, the day after.

As for the other attributes – I really can’t see any major difference. Both people and books become what you make of them. They are much more you than they are themselves.

 

 

Sinterklaas or the power of propaganda

I knew it would come one day. A seven-year-old friend of my son’s planted a seed of suspicion. Sinterklaas (the bishop coming to Holland from Spain by boat loaded with presents – the true Santa Claus, as opposed to the one coming from Lapland) would not exist, according to rumour spread by the friend’s elder brother.

-          But you have seen him, haven’t you? – I probed whether it was time to tell him the whole truth.
-          Yes,  I have. But D. says that it’s a man like any other. Only in disguise.
-          Come on, would they make so much fuss in the whole country, if the whole story was rubbish?
-          Exactly – answered my son, relieved. – Of course it’s a man. Sinterklaas is a man. – he continued – And they wouldn’t have Sinterklaas-news on TV every evening, would they? If Sinterklaas didn’t exist, they would be called Sinterklaas-Rubbish, not news.
-          Exactly, that's absolutely correct. – I said, touched by his faith in the quality of information on TV.
-          But he wouldn’t take a naughty kid with him to Spain? – my son inquired further, as this is what Dutch parents threaten their kids with: if a child really misbehaves, he or she will be transported to Spain in Sinterklaas’s bag (going to Spain never sounded like punishment to me, but it certainly does to Dutch kids. The power of propaganda at its best.) – It just doesn’t make sense. The kid would maybe behave better for a couple of days, but then it would get back to normal. I think children simply should stay as they are. Good or bad. It doesn’t make sense to try and change them, does it?
-          That’s a very clever remark. – I said and thought that this was incredible insight for a seven-year-old. Even if this was just an attempt to avoid being sent to Spain.

It was a day otherwise full of surprising remarks. When by coincidence he learned about the death of a famous Dutch writer, J. Bernlef, his comment was:

-          Soon there will be no writers left, if they keep dying.

Exactly. They should just stop that. Death should be forbidden for writers.

Especially for such talents that utter somewhere in the middle of their book, a fragment that I cannot exactly remember, but it went more or less like this:

“It is as it is. If it wasn’t as it is, that would mean that things have taken an extraordinary course of action.” (Harry Mulisch “The Discovery of Heaven”)

Sinterklaas might take some of the evil ones to Spain with him in an attempt to turn them into someone that they are not. But that would be quite extraordinary. In fact, so extraordinary that it just cannot possibly happen. My mischievous little boy may sleep calmly. I know he is at his best the way he is. I won’t denounce him to the bearded bishop.

 

 

 

Right Brain Nirvana

There’s a kind of people that I call “digital”. They think in 1-0 sets. True or false. Right or wrong. And if they cannot decide directly whether it’s a 1 or 0, they will analyse it using appropriate tools and come up with a conclusion.

Sometimes I envy them, as it’s much easier for them to make decisions. While me, not trusting analyses,  I don’t have a fool-proof tool to make them. The decisions. Which doesn’t mean I’m always hesitant. No, sometimes I’m as sure as one can be, only I can’t put a digital finger on the exact reasons why. Just a gut feeling. A very strong one (there’s nothing weak about my guts).

I recently read about a very tempting book by Daniel Pink on that topic. His proposition appealed to me as truly irresistible. It’s irresistible as it says that right is right and it’s right to be so! The right brain is just as, or even more,  important than the left one. I’m right! I’m right!  

I’m my right brain, that’s what I wanted to say by this seemingly arrogant exclamation. It is the one that makes me. The rest is just details.

Contrarily to what people who are in love with technology will say, the analogue will rule the future. The analogue as the opposite of the digital. For me, the analogue stands for: the right brain, the intuitive, the big picture, the creative (it doesn’t really directly stand for that for the general public, but there are analogies:  I’ve just learned from my private engineer that analogue means mechanical, or using changing physical quantities such as voltage to store data. Oh, yes, the changing physical quantities. They travel through my brain when it delivers the feeling to my guts, resulting in a gut feeling. Analogue is therefore my private little protest against the digital. And by the way, a metaphor is analogous, too: it’s translating one domain using the terms of another one).

Old fashioned analogue is the future. Not in technology, but in people.

The book I’m talking about is “A Whole Mind: Why Right Brainers Will Rule the Future”. The book is “about the two forces that are making our left-brain capabilities increasingly obsolete in business. The first is outsourcing. The fact that someone abroad can do a job equally well but for less money than you can means  that these days companies are not looking so much for left-brain workers. (…) But what they can’t outsource is your creativity, your empathy with customers, your playfulness, your big-picture thinking and all the other habits this book is about.  (…) The second force is computers ”  (quoted after S. Hashemi “Switched On”). Aha! The digital machine will make the digital man obsolete. I need to learn more about it, to warn some fellow-digitals that they need to go analogue. Daniel Pink is about to be added to my shopping basket.

Just as, one day, another incredible book ended up there “My Stroke of Insight” by Jill Bolte Taylor, Ph.D. A brain scientist herself, Ms. Bolte experienced a left-brain stroke in her thirties. The hemisphere where language and logic centres are located, went off. What she was left with was the right brain, and, while she was struggling to recall the proper course of action in such a case (calling an ambulance wasn’t something that directly came to her ailing mind) she experienced feelings of “tranquillity, safety, blessedness, euphoria, and omniscience.” She describes this experience further like this: “deep within the absence of earthly temporality, the boundaries of my earthly body dissolved and I melted into the universe.” She put the phone in front of her trying in vain to recall a number to dial – the neurons coding numbers were now swimming in a pool of blood. The digits were gone. What she was offered instead was nirvana.

Fortunately, she both survived the stroke and fully recovered from it, after a surgery and eight years of revalidation. I was delighted to read about her journey and realise that somewhere in the right side of our brains there resides a possibility of experiencing a oneness with the universe. In Jill Bolte Taylor’s words: “Wow, what a strange and amazing thing I am. What a bizarre living being I am. Life! I am life! “

I dream of a true digit-free relationship, with no touch screens between us. There’s no 1 or 0, and nothing is for sure but one thing: that we are life.

A Brainy Brand

I’ve been thinking a lot about branding recently, for important professional reasons. Well, it can happen to everyone: to think about your job in your spare time. What worries me a little is that it happens more and more often to me lately. It may imply that I’m starting to like what I do between 8 and 5. This is a very dangerous phenomenon: being satisfied with one’s job brings a looming danger of self-satisfaction. Self-satisfaction, in turn, is disastrous to creativity. Irritation is, not only phonetically, close to inspiration (take pearl creation or ovulation as an example – both processes are very creative and both involve friction).

According to one definition, a brand is something unique, intangible, single minded, experiential, meaningful, consistently delivered, authentic (in line with what the audience thinks and feels about the brand), sustainable and scalable (i.e. applicable for brand extensions, too).

I’m not sure about my private brand, as I act by intuition and not a cleverly engineered plan. But I just thought I know one perfectly marketed brand: MEN.

Unique. Intangible. Single-minded. Experiential. Meaningful. Consistently delivered. Authentic. Sustainable. Scalable – applicable in case a MAN extends his activities.

 What constitutes the essence of this particular brand? It’s all described in a lengthy volume entitled „What Every Man Thinks About Apart From Sex” by professor Sheridan Simove. http://www.amazon.co.uk/What-Every-Thinks-About-Apart/dp/1849531986/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1350588555&sr=8-1

Despite the fact that the book contains as many as 196 pages, every man will be able to read and grasp it in its entirety. It’s all about them, MEN, after all. There’s nothing as interesting for a human being (you see, I don’t discard the brand at all) as the being himself. Except for sex maybe…

The description sounds really encouraging: “In this groundbreaking book, Professor Sheridan Simove reveals the true depth of a man's mind. After years of painstaking research, he has precisely identified what men actually think about apart from sex. Professor Simove beautifully reveals a man's mind as an open book and the results unlock an age old secret...”

The book, except for the title page and the description, is completely blank. 196 white pages.

I became instantly speechless (though not finger-less, fortunately, so I keep typing):

Unique. Nobody else but MEN think constantly about sex.

Intangible. Indeed, there’s no way of capturing thoughts. Even an MRI scan isn’t capable of revealing the exact contents of someone’s mind.

Single-minded. Sex and nothing else.

Experiential. I pity those who have not yet experienced this truly unique brand.

Consistently delivered. Sure – the whole book is blank.

Authentic. Would the audience believe in the message? Of course. What I would have trouble with is believing a man, who claims to be thinking about something else all the time. Something like the colour of nail polish. Or the sum of all the angles in a triangle.

No, I would believe the one with triangles, after a second thought.

Sustainable. It lasts till the last breath.

Scalable. Applicable to brand-extentions. Obviously – if a man develops a sudden taste for teenage girls, his brand essence remains unchanged. The teenager may weaken him physically, but the brand remains strong as ever.
The same applies to male offspring of a MAN, once they get older. Conclusion – it works perfectly for any extension or diversification you may think of.

Oh, what a beautifully consistent brand message! MEN truly are a brand to remain loyal too. Till the last breath.

And me, what am I to do with my bearings? Build the brand on …. balls?

PS. I bet if this post has good statistics it means Rabbit Hole is being visited by plenty of men. That’s encouraging, because it proves they have the large brain, too. You need that one for reading. It’s located in the higher regions of their body and serves to regulate body temperature and give directions to their members. Among others.

Rolling up the tarmac

Holland is a very well organized country. Really well organized. There are rules and norms for everything.  Everything has been touched by a human hand in this 30^th most densely populated country in the world.

The Dutch even have a saying “God created the World, and the Dutch created the Netherlands."  It’s quite a legitimate statement: almost twenty percent of the country (there we go! The first percentage in my blog! For someone with an aversion for numbers, that’s quite an achievement. Let’s celebrate!) is located under the sea level, majority of which is land regained from the sea. Ok, it would be more precise perhaps to say “God created the World, and the Dutch created almost 20 percent of the Netherlands”  but I’m sure everyone agrees this is not a very catchy phrase. Let’s not argue about the details: if it was God who created the World, that probably was a certain percentage, too. He didn’t create tarmac, for instance, did he? There we go.

The Dutch, in turn, who perhaps did not create tarmac themselves, did build great roads in their little sweet home-made country. Streets. Highways. Bike paths. Jogging paths. Horse paths. Pavements. Whether by car, by bike or on foot, I enjoy them incessantly, and probably will continue to do so till cows come home (I don’t actually have cows, nor invite them home or particularly enjoy them, as they are huge and we have no communication media in common, which means I’m afraid of them whenever I meet them on my jogging path, but nevertheless the expression “till cows come home”, meaning “forever” is particularly suited for the Netherlands. Who’s been here in the countryside will understand why.)

Anyway. That brings me away from the topic, just as cows bring me away from my jogging path on the heather fields (being afraid of the creatures, I need to make last-minute route adjustments). Let’s go back to the Dutch roads. One road in particular. I was cycling there one evening, my yoga mat in the cycle bag, and suddenly I can see an incarnation of “That’s it” in front of me. The road stops suddenly. The road is over. What stretches in front of me instead is sand, mud and stones. I did continue cycling though. It was a very special feeling, I imagined it was a street in the Middle Ages, and I was a visitor from the future on my bike.

 

It is at that moment that this thought appeared: the Dutch are surely proud of the level of infrastructure in their country, which however doesn’t stop them from being curious to see whether civilisation reached any deeper levels than what’s on the surface. They remove the tarmac to see whether the sand and the soil underneath already transformed themselves into something more civilised. More organized. More structured.

They didn’t. What a relief! There’s still a beach underneath.

Icon

“If you try to be an icon then the icon becomes you

If you try to be a model it will catwalk over you
If you try to walk in straight shoes the these shoes will bend you too
If you try to be a kid again then the kid will kidnap you”
(Daan “Icon” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xhZp9z_vX5E)

I’ve always wanted to write something inspired by that song, but I couldn’t think of anything that would be of any added value to those delicious lyrics. They simply speak for themselves, and do it so playfully: “if you try to be a model it will catwalk over you”. Mmm…

I believe Susan Sontag when she says that any interpretation is a by-product of a disappointment with the text itself. The critic would actually prefer the book to be somewhat (or completely) different and he or she writes a long essay interpreting what the author might have meant. As if he simply didn’t mean what he said. The lyrics of the song above didn’t disappoint me, and therefore I’m not going to bore you with interpretations. Let them be.

Had it not been for the last Friday morning in the office, I would have probably resisted the temptation to quote the “Icon” at all. That morning however I tried to print an excel document on my usual printer, but after pressing the “print” button I heard no reassuring murmur (“I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”) of the machine. I walked up to the printer, assuming it needed more paper. But that wasn’t the reason of this sudden lack of cooperation. The display said “CHOSEN PERSONALITY NOT AVAILABLE”. I blinked my eyes. The text was still there. I asked a witness. He confirmed. Chosen personality wasn’t available indeed.

The machine just kept repeating the message, no matter how often you pressed the “print” button or reset it. It just wasn’t available. I only had no clue which personality I had chosen by mistake. I don’t even know  where that option is on my PC.

Well, you know, my dear printer, that’s very kind of you to give me this kind of advice. The problem is, I really don’t know who I am, let alone my personality. But as I have to appear to know that, like most normal people do, I just chose something at random. Apparently, that’s a very popular  personality type, something many others choose, too. Sooo many others, that the type is out of stock.

That might be a gap in the market, and you, working in a marketing department, should know that. If this particular personality type is so much in demand, why don’t you re-print it in thousands? You’re the printer, that’s your cup of tea. And don’t tell me tea’s finished, too. I’m sure there’s some more on my desk, so help yourself and re-print my personality type for Monday morning at the latest.

It’s a very bad start of the week, to learn you’re out.

Big Bang or the Gang

I like to make up stories, but this one truly is true. It is about charity and altruism, and it’s also a little  bit about business, in my rabbit-sort of way. A little different.

 A baby boy, born in Russia, needed a life-saving surgery, which the Russian doctors weren’t able to carry out.  His parents were, as most parents would be, desperate. But there was a chance for him, the chance came with an 80 thousand euro price label. It was a specialised surgical procedure offered by a German hospital.

How do you collect eighty thousand euros within two months? There are two basic options: you don’t do anything, hoping for a miracle,  or you actually start doing something because miracles is nothing you can count on. And that’s what the parents of the little boy did: they involved their friends and acquaintances, they used social media and TV to get attention for their cause. One of their facebook-allies was a friend of mine.

She created a support group, and kept informing the members of the progress of the donations. She made sure all the proofs of the boy’s existence were published on the net. She involved virtually everyone she knew. When I last spoke to her, she shared some reactions people had initially:

-          You know what, I’m not taking part in such actions. I’m just not doing it. How on earth do you want to collect 80K in 2 months? Sorry, for me it just doesn’t make sense.
-          What if they don’t raise all the money before the deadline? I don’t want my money to be wasted.
-          I don’t need to donate, because you did already, didn’t you?
-          Come on, do you really believe in that story? 80K euro needed on a bank account in Russia??? How can you be so naïve?
-          This is only one boy saved. But there are many more, so when will you stop?
-          I might donate some money, because I trust you. But how do you want strangers to wire money over to Russia of all places on earth?

Obviously, that wasn’t too encouraging. Utopia, you’d say.

What’s surprising though, is that money kept streaming in. One anonymous person even made a transfer of ten thousand euros. Two days before the deadline, there were only twenty-five thousand euro missing. That’s a lot, I know. But that also means that there were enough kind-hearted and naïve people to raise 65K euros to save the life of an unknown kid.

And that fills me with hope for the mankind. And makes me prefer naive people to realists. Sorry.

I’m reading a management book right now (I know someone who’d be very happy to hear that). It contains a quote by W.N. Murray from the Scottish Himalayan Expedition:

“Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too.

All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.  A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favour all manner of unforeseen events, meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come this way.”

(quote after Sahar Hashemi “Switched On”)

Just one day before the deadline the boy's parents were contacted by a charity organisation, who offered to cover the remaining amount needed for the surgery. Providence!

All acts of inititiative (and creation). I like that. That brings me to the most spectacular creation I’ve ever heard of:

In the beginning there was nothing, and out of this nothing, probably through some Big Bang or a revolt of a Big Gang, Something got created. If there existed some creatures able to understand speech before the Bang (or the Gang), and you told them the following (if you existed, of course, but we all know you didn’t, which nevertheless shouldn’t stop you from imagining such conversation now, as now you do exist):

-          You know what I see happening in the future? There’ll be this Something appearing out of Nothing, and this will kick-off a grand series of events which will at some point lead to intelligent beings collecting an enormous amount of money to save a little intelligent being’s life. Can you believe it?

Their answer would probably be:
-          Come on, what kind of management guru told you that? This is complete utopia. It can’t possibly happen.

Well, it did. So please don’t tell me I shouldn’t believe in Utopias. Had it not been for an Utopia, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, in your office, at your desk.