Saturday, July 27th, 2002, (9:44 am)
A week or so ago I conducted an experiment. I decided to write down everything I did in a kind of log that I planned to port to the web after seven days. It was a little writing experiment that I thought would be cool if for no other reason than it would capture a week in my life. Seven days of Simon if you will.
At the time it seemed like a great idea. What with Big Brother and a whole host of other so called ‘reality TV’ shows that are knocking about, as well as the many thousands of day to day web logs out there on the net, I thought that giving everyone a glimpse into my week would perhaps cash in on that slightly overexploited but still evident voyeurism that is clearly out there.
However, after sitting here reviewing my notes written on a pad surreptitiously ‘borrowed’ from the stationary cupboard of a place I worked at eons ago, I have come to the conclusion that I am not nearly as interesting as I previously thought! Indeed the seven days I chose to catalog turned out to be among the most interesting of ‘normal’ weeks I have had this summer. A fact that makes my conclusion all the more sobering.
The log notes seemed to basically consist of variations on the same kind of theme. I get up late, I go to bed late. I chat to the hairdressers in the salon downstairs, I drive my car places, I eat, I watch TV, I talk on the phone. I visit friends, they visit me, I write emails, I read emails, I read the MacAssist Mac user forum, I watch recordings of 24 and Six Feet Under while I eat a grapefruit for breakfast. And in all of this I work at sporadic intervals between working out at the gym, visits to various shops and sitting in my garden trying to catch a few of the rare glimpses on sunlight that will look back upon and call summer.
It’s hardly gripping stuff to be honest. I did actually write a… [Click here to continue reading this article at ‘Meanwhile’]
Tuesday, July 2nd, 2002, (9:20 pm)
JUST GOOD FRIENDS
The other day I was having a phone conversation with a friend of mine in California. In the midst of that long distance call, with the noise of screaming kids enjoying themselves in the background, she said something about a guy who she once knew. She mentioned the fact that she believed that as a married man he was wrong to have so many female friends that he spent time with.
Her sentence was not a point in itself, it was part of a wider conversation about what had happened to some of our mutual friends since they left college way back in the early nineties. The guy that she mentioned was married to someone we both knew but had not kept in touch with.
We talked for a while longer and made vague plans for an upcoming visit of mine to California. She would say things like
“Do you remember the tower district?” to which I’d say something vague while I tried to recall that part of the town. “It’s where the Java Cafe used to be?”
“Oh yeah, that was a cool place. Mocha Mondays when a mocha was a buck, I remember!” Fragmented memories now clicking into place.
“Yeah, well Java Cafe isn’t there any more. It’s changed so much since you were here Simon.” She said.
“We’ll I guess it would in ten years huh”. I replied while still piecing together old memories of evenings when we would all head out to that part of town and spend all night sitting in the Java Cafe drinking flavored coffee and listen to Josh speak in what he though was an excellent English accent.
Eventually the screaming kids in the background reached fever pitch volume. An unnecessary explanation was offered.
“Some friends of ours are getting married near by and people from out of town have come, so we offered to have the kids.”
“Oh okay.” Like I said, an explanation wasn’t required but I’m getting used to allowing parents to validate their good parenting to me in situations like this. These days I have grown accustomed to the sound of children in the background of my telephone conversations.
“I’d better go Simon. I need to make these guys dinner.”
Dinner time in California equates to a completely unreasonable hour of the morning here in the U.K. We say our goodbyes and I make my way to bed.
The next day that sentence about the married guy with female friends finds its way into my idle thoughts. The rest of the conversation has long since evaporated but… [Click here to continue reading this article at ‘Meanwhile’]