Archive for September, 2007

… fucking vespa’s.

Posted in Confession on September 18, 2007 by moderngatsby

I need to make a confession before I share anything else. I did something last week that has left me seriously contemplating whether or not my driving license should be revoked or if it’s just one of those everyday mishaps that come our way every now and again. It also concerns a certain habit forming over-the-counter addiction that resulted in this fender-bending accident and my sudden craving for all things Tyler Brûlé.Obviously an open mind is necessary. And a sense of humour. Imagine my trying to kills some time before taking my Italian mother to the airport to catch an international flight later in the afternoon. With an hour to kill, and it being the first time that I’d left the townhouse all week, I decided to hit 24-Central and a certain Portuguese inspired barista. Three lattes, two newspapers, and one hour later I was ready to go get Mamma. Instead I got something else.Dressed in my ‘under the radar’ stressed jeans, polo shirt (the real deal baby) and sandals I clearly was the odd one out amongst a crowd of bankers, lawyers, and corporate junkies all in casual Friday dress-down suits. In and out in under 7,5mins excluding parking of course which had to be a miracle and as I started up the V12 engine of the Land Rover Discovery nothing would prepare me for what was to come.Thinking I was cooler than a Zurich Badi in July, I cranked up the music put the car into reverse and eased out of the parking bay. While I didn’t quite feel the bump, I did hear the notable and unmistakable sounds of collision. Panic! I checked the rear-view mirror: nothing. I checked the side-mirror: nothing. So I got out and walked towards the back of the car and what was turning out to be a white and chrome barnacle attached the back bumper.A fucking vintage Vespa! Somehow this had missed every mirror I had looked into while easing out and the bumper-sensors designed to avoid this kind of manoeuvring. And yes for the record I realise that the beeping noises were probably drowned out by the concert-loud music. But a fucking vintage Vespa? Attached like a barnacle on my rear-bumper? I started to laugh while confused the owner who had run over to inspect for damage.While no damage to my car, or his fucking vintage Vespa (although I suspect it may have bruised his ego!), I did offer to give him my business card just in case he wanted to make an issue of it. Thankfully he declined, I thought I’d leave him with a piece of unsolicited advice, for the future: park in the designated bike zones like everyone else (or get over the fear of looking like a fag and get a real bike!) Admittedly the last part I kept to myself.And so my emergence back into the real world started, literally, with a bang. I guess I never learnt the lesson last year when I bounced off the concrete speed barrier at 140Km’s per hour while pouring champagne for my passenger on our way back from a wedding and momentarily took my eyes from the road. Or that time that my younger brother and I decided to drive down to Cape Town and only packed one CD: ‘Pricilla, Queen of the Desert’. But that is another confession, for another time … 


… words.

Posted in Self-doubt, Self-Truth on September 18, 2007 by moderngatsby

Words. I used to be so good at them. Putting them together to create a story that somehow expressed who I was, where I had been, and the people that I had met. Words. Somehow they’ve changed from these cavalier building blocks of day-to-day simplicity to something dangerous and dark. Things that have evolutionary meanings to emotional strangers. Words. How they come back and bite you in the arse when you least expect it.These past few restless weeks of cocooning, a result of immense pressures stemming from work, my desperate need to find someone else so that I didn’t think of the past, and my wanting to be more than I really am. Fortunate, a cocoon protects you from the harsh realities of a world crumbling behind. Forcing you to let go of a childish past and embrace an adult future. Something that takes you from one zone to the next: comfort to battle.In the darkness of a spring Sunday afternoon cocoon, you get a lot of time to reflect on the future and the lessons from the past. I want these new words of honesty to make things right, but it’s the wrongs that make these words come to life. It’s in the living that we realise that maybe … maybe we’re so used to shifting blame to others. In shifting blame to careless words spoken in a carefree way when you know the consequences of them regardless.I wanted so much more for my life.I wanted so much more … and now it’s the time make it. This, being the 3rd incarnation of what started out as an aimless project, is going to be something more personal than ever before. No pretence. No fore-thought to what people might want to see, want to read, want they imagine that distorts what I want to write. So, getting back to basics in every aspect of my life is what I now crave. First impressions; – experiences; – desires; – for the first time I am going to be me.I might be down, but this is the first round, and you better believe I’m a fighter.