Le mirabolanti avventure di Barbara Jacob

Former freelance web developer Barbara Jacob was on the verge of breakdown because of appalling customers behavior and the huge mortgage she had to repay for all her foreseeable life. So one day she escaped to London, where she isn't happier but at least she can keep the wolf from the door. Well, and now that we are here, what we will do with our life?

April 2009
<< <				> >>
		1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10	11	12
13	14	15	16	17	18	19
20	21	22	23	24	25	26
27	28	29	30

RSS 0.92: Posts, Comments
RSS 1.0: Posts, Comments
RSS 2.0: Posts, Comments
Atom: Posts, Comments

"You are going down. What happened to you? Are you sick?"

No, fucking moron, I am not sick - it's three months that I starve myself on salads in order to get thinner, and now yep, thinner I am.
Thinner, well groomed (well, for my standards at least), and that's all the acknowledgment I've got, from the aziendastrafica inc scatterbrained janitor. "Geez no, I am not sick and what you are saying is not very polite" I just answered, but it took all the best reassurances from Rich and the Handsome Portuguese in order to restore partially my ego for the day.

It's getting warmer, thanks srand($deity), but I still haven't adopted the summer leather jacket, except on the warmest days of the crazy London Spring.
The recession is in full swing and even aziendastrafica inc, in spite of its healthy balance, is cutting costs, jobs and benefits. No week fades away without a card to sign and/or a leaving drink. Last week we signed for all the contractors from sports department, and I couldn't help but notice that even the cards are now smaller, a A5 instead of the usual A4. Talk about cutting costs!

After nearly one year there, I am one of "the old". My popularity, which somewhat suffered after the drunken incident in last November, has recovered and is now at an all time high. I suspect that I, like the other "old", deserve some kind of homage just because I've survived and thrived for so long. But probably yep, I am exaggerating. I've said goodbye to so many friends: le Chat et le Renard, for instance, are among the most missed. I strongly suspect the Handsome Portuguese to be considering his options too. Alas, you haven't really got the time to get used to people here.

I keep in touch with The Ferret, albeit not enough as I'd want and, moreover, I feel like we haven't got much to say to each other. I am thinking about seeing him once again, if he wants too of course, just for the sheer pleasure of seeing a face I like, and to catch up for good about all that happened in these last months, even if he knows already most of my whereabouts thanks to the killer app FB and I suspect he won't dwell much about his owns. But let's wait and see.

Siuffi taught me a German work, Sehnsucht, that seemingly resumes well how I feel in this early Spring. After one year and a half in London, I've kinda settled down, the work is not difficult as it used to be, I have a modicum of economic security and a bit of social life, in short, most of the pressing issues that I faced after leaving small web agency four years ago and becoming thereafter a freelancer are sorted out. Now I am left face to face with my life and I am embarrassed on what to do with it. I don't seem to have any particular social or political inspiration; I look for love but only the romantic part of it, I am not especially looking for a long-term relationship albeit the idea of finding My Other Half is so present that it borders to obsession. But I am not really looking and I am rather discouraged: think about it - I didn't fall in love since I met Lord Greensleeves (1999!!!) and here we are, my heart crumbles in little pieces for a tormented, genial, angry twink that gives me, from an intellectual point of view, the very ride of my life - but nothing else. Even worse, what I really feel about it all, it's only it has been too short. Because little me would have gladly continued with that until exhaustion. The very important point about The Ferret, is that he was nearly perfect, the next-to-perfection thing to keep me hooked (giving, but not too much, detached, but never cold, challenging, but not cryptical...). Considering all the implications of our friendship, not only is highly unlikely that I will ever meet the Ferret 2 The Revenge, but I can only acknowledge that the very things that prevent me from getting bored in a prolonged interaction, are also the ones which prevent me to undertake a conventional relationship (which, at this point, I doubt I will ever have again). That means that my reasons for living are to be looked for elsewhere, I am afraid. In a more positive outlook, I could maybe try and build my own proprietary style of love. Maybe.

All the rest is pretty much stationary. I look forward to have something to look forward and I am trying to figure out the meaning of all this. I'll keep you posted.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 13/04/09 at 06:55:17 pm | randomly put in the category There's someone in my head but it's not me, Me | | 1 comment

The problem is: nothing much is happening anyway.

I've joined a French conversation group, which usually ends up with a "let's talk English" after half an hour. There are many nice people who come along, and this give me back one of the thing I miss most about my previous life: spending time with a bunch of people, just chatting away for no reason.

In aziendastrafica inc business is pretty much as usual, except that many colleagues either leave or either are "discontinued": leChat didn't have his contract prolonged and leRenard is leaving too, Maciej is going elsewhere. The Ugly Balding Guy left without giving notice or saying goodbye, and I noticed his absence only when leChat told me, after a couple of weeks. If Richard or the Handsome Portuguese leaved, I would remain with positively no one to talk with - and I am considering the departure of the Naughty Frenchmen as a nearly fatal blow to my daytime entertainment. Still, as you can imagine, I miss the Ferret. Every day, and very much.

I diet and exercise, just to give myself a project - being bikini-proof this summer, even if probably I will go on holiday in Paris. It works, at least in the sense that I have a lot more energies, and I go out nearly every night. The problem with having always someone around is that you get used, and you need and crave it. Even if you don't particularly like them, a clash of two harmonies is most of the time more interesting that a melody in solo.

So, my little life goes on, and if I wasn't home because of an ugly cold, I would probably have passed on once more on updating the diary. Because, as you can see, I haven't much to report.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 17/03/09 at 07:51:44 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

I remember one night when he told me cheerfully "send me a friend request on Facebook!". I reacted annoyed, firstly because such a request is a no-no (since you know my name, I don't see why you shouldn't go and proceed by your own means), and secondly because until some months ago, my neglected account on Facebook was only a receptacle for people that I feel still affectionnate to but that I despair to see ever again; a sort of shrine for my past rescued from sadness and nostalgia mostly by the presence of the "friends-for-real" AndyCapp and Wiz and a few others. I didn't want to be parked in Facebook, to become the has-been icon of a tender encounter.

(have you ever noticed how Facebook's accounts tend to be clogged with exes? Ex-roommates, ex-coworkers...)

But of course he didn't know all that - my quite eccentric attitude - and possibly he thought "the crazy Italian doesn't want me on her Facebook list". Such an occurrence, believe me, at least here, is enough to break friendships and make foes. Luckily, we actually had worse problems so this one went nearly unnoticed. At some point I ended up sending him a friendship request, he accepted and this particular incident was closed hopefully forever.

I don't despise Facebook for its corporate nature, it's the same lack of faith that makes me order Coke at the greasy spoon. I know it's bad, it's conceptually, generally bad, but either this or make with a generally unpalatable coffee. Facebook is convenient like Coke. I've never ever given the address of this diary to anyone, because inside there is a part of my inner life and I like to pretend to myself that I am anonymous here (I am not... and most readers know me in real life anyway). Like the coffee, it's kinda an one-to-one affair (in my mind at least) and contains a modicum of unknown: I don't care much who reads as long as I can carry on with my pretension of anonymity.

Facebook is the down-to-earth side of the virtual life; I am there pasted on a page with name address and biographical data and this make it much closer to day-to-day life. My friendship list contains people I wouldn't dream of revealing my inner torments to, and still, I don't accept anyone I haven't seen at least once in meat-n-bones form.

Recently, I've changed my mind about the "parking" thing and now I go with the flow and keep there... well, everyone. Except for Lord Greensleeves who doesn't have an account (but I do have his best friend in my list), and my half-brother (no account either), a good part of the people from my past and all the people from my present are there. If you are on my friends list it won't be too difficult to match the nicknames of the personnages in my diary with their real names and pictures. And you could discover for example that AndyCapp is an handsome dark man with a "don't mess with me" air, that the Portuguese Colleague has a nice smile and is an Atheist, that The Boss has sad sweet eyes and is a Sagittaire, etc etc.

I contemplate my collection and think to myself that those people are my life, that I am defined by them as much as I define a tiny chunk of each of them. It is quite fun to see them all together in a website, and I don't feel less unique because I enjoy this freeze-dried version of virtual relationships. I may seem naive but since I was a kid I dreamed of having a big book in which I could read the life of all the people I knew. I guess it came true because such imaginary references are a piece of a collective mind, that we all more or less head in the same direction...

And that makes me think that, long before the Facebook incident, I handed over for him to read "Fragments of an hologram rose", the Gibson's short story, because the last paragraph suddenly, in his company, made perfect sense:

Thinking: We're each other's fragments, and was it always this way? That instant of a European trip, deserted in the gray sea of wiped tape - is she closer now, or more real, for his having been there?

But the problem there was: he didn't know what an hologram is. Which spoiled the story for him and distracted both of us from the main topic. I tried frantically to explain all I knew about holograms, but the part that, if broken, an hologram becomes two whole, smaller holograms, left him incredulous, which really didn't forebode well. Next time I try to reach for someone I must remember to avoid all kind of metaphor. It doesn't help. Like it wouldn't help to give someone the address of this diary: would someone know me better because he or she has read my inane ramblings? I am my inner life, but I am also - and maybe much more? - some biographical data and a picture on a standardized template. At least is a good place to start from.

But each fragment reveals the rose from a different angle, he remembered, but delta swept over him before he could ask himself what that might mean.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 03/02/09 at 12:13:46 am | randomly put in the category Citazioni, There's someone in my head but it's not me, Me | | 1 comment

When I was nineteen, I spent all August wandering in the south of France. I started alone, but at my second or third stop, in Nice if I remember correctly, I joined a strange cohort of solitary travellers that were touring on my same itinerary. It was a very peculiar group, as they had all met along the road and nobody know the others beforehand. I remember a Neapolitan girl, a couple of French gays, a Belgian guy that spoke only Flemish, two Spanish womanizers, an older man with long white hair; no language was understood by the whole group and any conversation had to be translated and re-translated. We couldn't have been more strangely assorted; nevertheless, the atmosphere was quite pleasant and I remained with them until Arles, when they went towards Spain and I left for Toulouse.
We had absoluting nothing in common, the only thing being that we were all backpackers in south France. I was quite popular in the group, but my role was the usual one of a loner with social skills. Even when I was involved, there was always a part of me that stood a step behind and watched from the outside. I was good at observing, like I've always been; I could have told with exactitude all about the nature and quality of the interactions that were going on: who fancied who, who couldn't stand who, who was happy, who had problems, and all the why's and the how's.

It was without any doubt more fun that being all alone; still, being into a community from getting up in the morning until bed time consumed all my energies. I remember, during our long stay in an hostel in Nice, retiring to my room late at night and spending one hour or more just watching out of the window the traffic of the nearby highway, and trying to numb myself into sleeping, after too much human contact. I felt empty and restless.

My life now is not too different, with the exceptions that I am not on holiday and it goes on and on.

I am not going to say that I am uncomfortable with large groups. When I worked in theatre, for example, the amount of interactions was about the same, with even a larger group; the difference being that I usually had the morning for myself and I rarely showed my sleepy face before 1PM. The most intensive experience of communal life I've had was probably during art school. It was pretty much 24/7 but it wasn't really a disparate bunch: I had my steady friends and indeed most of my daily contacts were with the same three or four individuals.

Now, every other day I arrive home late at night, after having being in company from the morning, and I feel empty and overwhelmed and still kind of lonely. What's missing from the picture? I don't know. I feel a bit stranger; ok, I am a stranger after all, but this is not the point... I felt even more stranger when I lived in my natal country and I tended to rely on a small circle of friends. Is that that I am getting old and keeping a bit the distances and also the others keep a bit the distances from me? Maybe, I am not sure. Maybe I ought to fall in love with someone and all this kind of thin-skinnedness would go away. Maybe.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 30/01/09 at 11:04:03 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | 5 comments

So last week I did the unthinkable: I phoned R. and apologized for my rather untidy behavior on that infamous night of Autumn. Strange it may seems, I was scared sick and at least three times I dialled half the number and I hung up. Finally I managed to dial the whole number and he didn't answer - for my utter agony. I repeated all my gruelling self-coaching and in the late afternoon I called again and he was there.

He wasn't annoyed nor hostile nor distracted: elegant in his very fashion, very present and somewhat sad, he accepted my apologies and didn't take any minimal revenge. He gave me some very weird news that I won't write here; suffice to say that well, things were different from what I expected.

R. didn't ask to see me and I didn't dare to - moreover, I was pretty satisfied just by knowing he wasn't (anymore?) mad at me, and that sense of soothing acceptation I seem always to receive from my contacts with him gave me quite a good kick. The day after I felt so relieved and delivered from my ghosts of mourning and guilt-tripping, that I was all aglow and buzzing with ideas and projects.

I took some time to think about all this, about how and why this left-handed kid has touched me so deeply, that even now that the relationship is well closed and gone, its memory lingers, and all too often I find myself thinking with a smile "R. would have said that". I reckon that the explanation could be pretty simple: a very good chemistry, and although R. didn't refrain from criticizing me every now and then, I felt generally accepted, cherished and cared for - enough to make a big difference in that sour life of mine, where intimate relationship seems always to contain an unhealthy dose of antagonism. Albeit complex, prone to boredom and quite narcissist, R. lacks pretense: he likes Coke, candy and football, he can use words like "truism" and "anticlimax" but never puts a show of his culture; he wants attention and to be listened to and valued - he has his fans but I've also heard that he is considered difficult to get along with. For me, he couldn't be simpler, and his intelligence makes him one of the most rewarding and charming people I've ever met.

Broadly speaking, his very quirks validated mines. Our friendship failed mostly because his pace was significantly slower than mine. I am a paranoid and I have problems with trusting people, so I am usually the slowest one to open up. When I've decided I can give up most of my defences, usually the other one has given up his/hers already. This time it was the other way round, and I've found myself in that unexplored place, when I had already surrendered my façade and he clung desperately to his - making in the process all my alarm bells go madly off, and precipitating the tragically ridicolous end. Moreover, maybe it's my lack of imagination, but I've never been able to figure out what place he could have taken in my life if he had remained. A lover, a friend, an acquaintance? I would have joyously accepted whatever he wanted, but in theory no one of these clichés could have applied, for various reasons, and a true free-form relationship requires a depth of character that I don't frankly see neither in me or in him.

Still, the very fact of meeting someone who was able to reach for me has changed my perspective. And even if now I don't even manage to imagine how someone else could give me even half the pleasure that the company of R. brought to me, I guess my perspective will change again and again, and the new me's could blend into the world in new and unusual ways. Isn't surprising how I have implicitely accepted to be again into the big chaos of feelings, after so many years of disdainful detachment?
Definitely I haven't see it all. More is yet to come.

And who knows, we will maybe meet again one day.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 25/01/09 at 10:15:11 pm | randomly put in the category There's someone in my head but it's not me, Me | | Leave a comment

Around Christmas I've taken some piccies here and there. Nothing special, as usual, just for fun.

Lights in Southwark

The unicyclist

Big city, big lights

The merrier (Selfridges)

My Secret Santa

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 25/01/09 at 12:46:31 am | randomly put in the category Me, Images | | Leave a comment

I feel silly.
I dream of unlikely, fat, smiling monsters that could come from Bonvi's drawing board. I try to make friends with people who are different from the ones I usually mingle with. I don't feel particularly happy but I definitely want to do good and I am relatively at peace with myself.

I need some new project, I need someone to tell how silly I feel.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 22/01/09 at 09:23:34 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

It took to me nearly three months of elaboration in background and one day of self-coaching, but finally I overcame my irrational fears and my shame of admitting I had been so wrong: I called him and I apologized.

I don't usually believe in apologies and I don't think they automagically heal wounds and restore relationships (with me they seldom work, for example, and in the specific case, our friendship was killed so well so soon that I doubt my apologies will weight much), but yep, I do feel quite relieved and I feel I've done the right thing.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 18/01/09 at 10:38:37 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

Since childhood and for most of my life I've had a recurring nightmare.
The settings and the details changed each time, but the gist was always the same: I had to call someone - a friend or teacher, then a friend or boyfriend - and as soon as a phone was found, a series of cruel, random incidents prevented me for calling. What happening was sometimes obvious - I couldn't remember the number, for example - but most often incredibly convoluted and ridicolous:

- my hair were extremely long and getting into my eyes, so I couldn't see the phone well and couldn't dial
- the phone had a piano keyboard instead of a normal dialling disc or buttons, and I had to count the numbers starting from the middle ut, but I didn't manage to dial
- the phone was an ocarina, and again proved impossible to use
- the phone was ok, but as soon as I started dialling it morphed into an huge vase with flowers. Another time it morphed into a 35 mm film projector.

The impossibility to communicate was regularly accompanied with confusion and pain, and more than once I ended up waking in sweats.

I remember well how this nightmare left me one night, never to come again.

I was by then twenty-eight, swept away by passion for mr. Greensleeves, and at the beginning of our long, tormented relationship, I dreamt that I had to call him, that I was in a public phone boot and tried to dial his number, to no avail. As I was struggling in despair, I discovered that the phone was only an empty box, with no inner workings.

Suddenly I remembered that I had bought a cell phone (in the real life, I had just acquired my first one, a bulky Philips with a lovely ringtone), and I used it to text him. In the dream, he answered immediately and I was overcome with a new sense of power. When, once awake, I remembered that, I knew that the nightmare that had been with me for more than twenty years was now over. It never ever came again.

That fact remembers me of an ancient Jewish joke: a bloke goes to his rabbi complaining that each night dozens of demons dance under his bed. The rabbi thinks long and hard and then finds a solution: he advised the guy to saw away the legs of the bed. There is no place anymore for the demons to throw a party and the guy finally sleeps soundly. Sometimes a very little thing is enough to scare old ghosts away.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 12/01/09 at 10:15:59 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

Walking in Knightsbridge, in the afternoon, squashed by nostalgia, unable to say if I'm sad or cheerful, seeing my own memories in front of my eyes, awash with the violent light and the nonsensical, random beauty of the world.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 11/01/09 at 08:17:54 pm | randomly put in the category There's someone in my head but it's not me, Me | | Leave a comment

This morning I woke up thinking of R.. Then I looked at the muted tv set that had remained on all night, and there was Danny Wallace blabbing away. This time I recognized him, unlike that day R. and I bumped into him near the Pret a Manger in Southwark Road.

For a while I've found myself pining for an answer to the usual old questions. But it's always the same feeling of confusion that prevails, so I try and steered my mind away.

Outside is very cold, freezing. Had breakfast into a weird, naked greasy spoon named Orangeflex (my usual port of call, the Grafter Café, was closed for major cleaning) and met there the following people:

- a guy who is into traditional Chinese
- a classical string trio
- a producer of Irish rock bands

That was highly entertaining, and the grub and coffee were pretty good. Happy to have discovered the Orangeflex and its polished steel tabletops.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 04/01/09 at 06:58:36 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

It has been a charming year.

Career-wise and house-wise, at least.

I live in a wonderful flat in northern London, and I work in the crazy aziendastrafica inc. Life is sweet on these fronts.

Health: ok but I look older. Mucho stress and struggles have taken their toll.

Personal life: for some reason that remembers me of the mantra invalid, can't reproduce, won't fix. When an issue gets assigned to you and for some reason you decide to do nothing about it, you bounce it back to the sender with one of the stamps: invalid, not often used, means that the issue raiser was out of his/her mind (no, not really, but just that it's not an issue), can't reproduce, used in the 99% of the invalid bugs, and finally won't fix - maybe is a small issue on a piece of code that is already earmarked for the great compiler in the sky.

I would use these words as a title for my personal life in 2008. A bit like saying much ado about nothing. Or not? There were some really happy times. It ended up with a big disappointment. It was quickly forgotten (not).

Ok, it would be unfair to mark it all as a dismissed bug. Still, I really hope 2009 will be richer in passion and with less of a dark overtone. I write all this but I am not very sure about what I really want.

Happy new Year to everyone, and especially to whom hold me in their arms, last year.

See ya in 2009.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 30/12/08 at 10:14:20 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

Back to work, but late as I spent half the morning on the loo (oh, fucking flu...) and managed to emerge just in time to be caught on the Great Jubilee Clogging, due to a signal failure at Canada Water (basically, that means a blown out light bulb, innit? Well, the Jubilee is still experiencing delays some eight hours after. Even I, I am quicker than that when I have to replace a light bulb).

Wrapped up my journey on the bus after some 1h '30 of stop and go on the frigging train. The bus left me just in front of the Krispy Kreme stall that aziendastrafica inc, with its policy of compensating lateness in donuts, maintains single-handedly in business. How convenient to grab my mandatory two dozens, and they even accept credit cards.

Arrived and I realized I should have stayed in bed as the boss had suggested. WD1 was a choir of coughing and sneezing: "so, you too....?". Apparently we all fell very sick as soon as Christmas Eve arrived.

Isn't that a bit sad? Like our bodies were so resigned to the daily dose of commuting-computing-commuting that they couldn't actually stand anything different and collapsed as soon as confronted with free time.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 29/12/08 at 08:05:31 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

Well, last week at work was a bit of a whirlwind.
First the move, then the WD's party which was very fun and strangely intimate, then (ah, did I mention that I gained somewhat access to a BBC party? I met two very nice girls, one from Wales and one from Iran and spent all night drinking with them - ok, maybe you would have expected something more exciting than this, but that's it...), then managed to survive until the _very_ glamorous dinner party aziendastrafica inc threw for its faithful employees.

party

But I was marred by a very nasty tummy bug and severely tired. Worked until Christmas Eve, when I realised I wasn't well at all - was in charge of the deploys and made a stupid error, with no consequences, but still, it was just luck... Fixed the NNNNth bug on the HPLP thing (geez, this thing is the bug factory, it's beautifully conceived but still, there are such careless flaws inside that reading the code actually help to de-romanticize the rollercoaster of the quite-romantic summer...) and went home just in time to faint and then grumpily swear, cough, sneeze and swear again for five days, as I was struck by the nastiest flu in years. At the time of writing, I feel better but still pretty much like shit.

2008 is running out, as usual I haven't got the slightest idea of what to do on New Year Eve, I'd like to do something fun but goddamn I forgot to ask the 31 off work - considering the poor state I am into I won't be much fit for partying.

It has been a charming year, but I'm not going to write much about its end now, as it ain't over until it's over. A lot of things can happen in three days

(a side note to someone that kindly wrote your diary used to be interesting - I know, I know, I am deeply aware that after the disappearance of The Ferret and my reabsorption into a normal, mentally healthy, productive life this diary is just a mere list of things I do and people I see - must I explain to my English readers the famous Italian adage faccio cose, vedo gente, sometimes naughtly permuted into vedo cose, faccio gente? - I know it now lacks passion and nerves but this is pretty much the season's produce, I can't invent things that are not there. Hopefully for my readers 2009 will bring to me a new, fresh truckload of struggling, confusion and heartbreak, and the diary will be interesting again. Stay tuned.)

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 28/12/08 at 07:28:22 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | 3 comments

If there are many ways to do something, and often there are, and some of them are straightforward and some of them are extravagant, guess which side will look the brains of aziendastrafica inc? To embrace the change with joy, after all, is part of the official recommendations - if it's a bit twisted, the joy comes more easily.

So, when a few weeks ago, the remaining small chunk of the 5th floor was evicted (it used to belong to a small railway company and was usually empty anyway) and annexed, for the purpose of bringing together all the scattered WD teams, I should have guessed that WD1 too was moving.

And so we are all shuffling, even those who were already comfy in the huge, crowded and noisy 5th floor (where the party goes on and on!). Every single WD has been repositioned (the citation is voluntary) in a seemingly random fashion. I will move of 4 rows towards the kitchen, will have Rebecca at my left instead of Richard, will have Nelson in front but separated by our modesty board (will build a small fleet of paper planes to get his attention). We are going to be split into two different islands, which is quite disappointing - I wonder why I should share the island with three guys from middleware - we have nothing in common!

Other changes are even more bizarre: Nick will move 6 feets but will move nevertheless. Yann is going to the new space, I will miss him - we are going to be separated from our WD2 twins.

Well, I've asked the big boss why - but he doesn't know and anyway, even if we were in Italy all would have questioned and tried to bargain no move or a different move, we are in the UK indeed and nobody bats an eyelid, not even the Supreme Boss of The Fifth Floor (subtitle: where the party is).

So, I've done what I've been severely ordered by email: labelled my box ("this is Barbara's PC"), packed my stuff (a Christmas tree, a black hoodie, two block notes and four post-it blocks, plus an undetermined quantities of obsolete wireframes that I keep to prove that I am occasionally busy doing important things - all that labelled "this is Barbara's stuff") and tomorrow at dawn I will be leaving island n.6, where so much has happened, that is so dense of memories and which, disquietingly, will remain empty, as now we have too much room.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 17/12/08 at 08:39:27 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

This year I wanted to write a proper letter. We know each other since ten years (only? seems since my entire life) and I always remember his birthday - in recent years helped by the fact that the day is also the expiry date of my email domain .

But I didn't. I have enough mental intimacy with him, I could narrate nearly everything of my present life, I could tell him that I cherish the memories of all the time spent with him, that he will always be dear to my heart. That there is one particular thing that I miss of him - his way with words, the fact that he always meant what he said.

Is maybe for that reason that I haven't written much? My email can be translated into "Happy birthday, and many kisses". He has replied "Thank you, and I reciprocate the kisses".

Such paucity of words, between the two of us, used to be a meaningful, and strangely satisfying exchange. Now that I think about it, it still is.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 12/12/08 at 08:09:19 pm | randomly put in the category Me, Aki Kaurismaki would do it better | | Leave a comment

I'd really like to know something more about the algorithm that ITunes uses to choose the songs for the random playlists. How is it possible that, being able to choose among 4213 files for a grand total of 13,7 days of potential continuous listening, in all my playlists you can find:

- Como cierva sedienta, a juvenile work of Arvo Part which is a total bore
- A radio ad about a private pension fund (wonder why is in the files in the first place, but still...)
- Some random outtake of Syd Barrett, and never one of his released songs
- An absurdely high percentage of Pascal Comelade and Ludovico Einaudi
- Since a while, one of the three songs I have in Emiliano-Romagnolo
- Something from Syd Matters
- The Bluebird of happiness, great song from disbanded group Victory At Sea, but one I've listened to at least 78 times

Either is NOT random, either their randomness can be appreciated only on a really big scale - if I'd produce some zillion of playlists, I will probably find many of them without the aforementioned items. Or otherwise ITunes has some very clever algorithm and actually thinks that I'd really like to listen to the Bluebird of happiness for the 79th time.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 07/12/08 at 11:27:40 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

[....]

Another life
Another time
We're Siamese twins writhing intertwined
Face to face
no telling lies
The masks, they slide to reveal a new disguise.

[....]

They say follow your heart
follow it through
But how can you
when you're split in two?

[....]

(Face to face, Siouxsie And The Banshees)

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 07/12/08 at 09:10:13 pm | randomly put in the category Songs, There's someone in my head but it's not me, Me | | Leave a comment

I cannot read my diary, I never ever do. The last time I tried, I bumped into a picture of my black cat and felt totally defeated, and felt like someone was poking at me with a red hot iron.

Some days ago I flickered through my recent pictures in order to select some to print out and send to my father. I stared a long time to a very bad snap I have of The Ferret. I didn't feel defeated but yes, I suddenly felt the desire of talking to him, of listening to his tirades, of hugging him maybe.

I look twenty-eight, thirty in the worst days, and I have the emotional maturity and readiness to commit of a thirteen years old, but there is a place in my mind where I am old and worn out: the wounds, albeit by no means fatal, don't heal anymore. Losing someone I love, even of a marginal and unobsessive love, is becoming increasingly difficult to tolerate. It used to be so easy to just let things go: it's no more. I'm unsentimental, casual in my endeavours, but feelings... ah, they are no longer becoming, once surpassed, laughing stock for my private use.

I'm sorry if I seem sad to you - I am not. It's only a reflection that I am writing here, a newfound knowledge about the strange beast I've become. I wonder if it's going to be of any use, for keeping close cats or people it's sometimes a very difficult pursuit.

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 06/12/08 at 11:16:02 pm | randomly put in the category Me | | Leave a comment

I enjoyed the laughter of the poets
as they greeted me.
But I won't be seen here for long.
You won't be, either.

(from The Book of Longing, Leonard Cohen)

Proudly broadcasted by barbara_jacob starting from 06/12/08 at 10:54:32 pm | randomly put in the category Citazioni, Aki Kaurismaki would do it better | | Leave a comment