Woolly Tom

This morning I had a good skypesession with Marcel, who has read another chapter of my book. I often joke we see each other more now than when both in Holland, chatting each morning (me) and evening (him). It’s different of course. But sometimes technology is of great help. It’s good to discuss my work, there are always some things that can be sharped and I do tend to take side roads sometimes. What was it that a colleague once said? ‘Good stuff, but you are a bit woolly’. Don’t think that’s an expression in English.

Polar bears are very woolly, that’s why they love winter so much, even on the north pole. I saw Alaska, Spirit Of The Wild. A movie about the place I’m about to travel to (well, a fragment of it). It played at the end of Canada Place, at the back of the pier. Alongside it was the biggest cruise ship I’ve ever seen. My god, I could have been a flock of human dust, lost on one of the gigantic floors of that monster.. Good for me I’ve chosen another route.

Read a review on the net that someone found ‘Alaska’ the best movie ever. That’s a bit too much honor for a quite nice, 45 minute TV documentary stretched out on a movie screen and over-voice-overed by Charlton Heston. But there were breathtaking views of the Alaskan mountains and the already mentioned polar bears, who can only hunt in ultra-cold winter time, otherwise they cannot reach the seal-burgers they need for survival. Don’t think I will see some polar bears, but grizzlies and brown bears seem to be very common around Juneau. Hmm, let’s wait and see if I will encounter one. I’d rather have some distance between us, bear-lover or not.

In the Dutch Ocean's

While walking down my street, I saw that a plane full of Dutchmen were offloaded here. Or so I thought, seeing orange all around me. Strange, how one reacts to that without at first consciously noticing it. Orange T-shirts mean Dutchmen. Or not? Turns out, there is a local football club that has orange as its club color. Obviously, they are called the BC Lions. Must be a Dutch connection somewhere? Let the Lion not in his underwear stand, boys! Anyway, I felt a connection. Though I hate most collectives, in a foreign country, they remind me of home. And here, applied in a subtle dose, orange stems me mild and reflective.

To see more collectives, I was on my way to see Ocean’s Thirteen. That’s an entertaining movie. It’s like a night out with the boys. Much ado about nothing, but fun anyway. There is no real clue, it was over without a real nerve wrecking climax, there was no real story line to hold on to (except the main theme: rid the man of his money), but lots of gadgets and male bonding. Tastefully done, one would say, balls included. And a smirk here and there. Of course, Brad Pitt looked cool as always, in his suits and shirts. He keeps out-looking George Clooney in his scenes. But still, together they are these guys that make a night out just plain fun by a joke here and a action plan there.

Julia Roberts was nowhere to be seen, this time. The whole movie is about loyalty. Men only, to defend their group honor. There is no other theme than only the helping out of a comrade that has been wronged. Solidarity and sentimentality. Even Oprah has a part in the movie, playing herself. That’s the timeframe: group think, sentimentality, order and justice. It was Ocean’s Eleven, but without the opportunism of that timeframe. It’s the same movie made for winter. Like a lot of winter movies: you don’t miss much if you miss it, but makes you feel like you had a good night out with a group of old friends.

Dream and reality: no match

One of the small real life drama-days when advertising dreams clash on harsh reality. After rewriting a chapter of my book in the morning I saw the sky clearing and suddenly one of those iconic advertising images started creeping up in the back of my mind. You know the ones, there’s always one of those modern clothed successful but open minded city people sitting somewhere outside with his laptop, looking über- cool, sipping a drink while checking mail? Beats the library. That’s getting boring. Quick decision making: pack it up and move it, man! Let’s go outside.

Of course my laptop will be sadly omitted from this scene since the new battery has not yet arrived. Ah well. I wouldn’t be able to see my screen anyway, in the sun. But still. I had a nice fantasy-picture in my mind. I printed a stack of notes and headed for a Blenz with a nice terrace. Iced Cappuchino. Check. A free table. Check. Papers. Check. Pen. Check. So far the fantasy works. Get moving!

Ah yes, let’s move on to reality. Squinting against the sun because no sunglasses? Check. A wobbly table? Check. A group of Korean students having a competition on who can laugh loudest and longest in the most shrill high pitched voice? Check. Cigarette smoke all around you? Check. A little chilly breeze making the air just a little uncomfortable, and lifting papers, sending two sheets flying and me running after them? Check. Trying to keep up even the slightest bit of coolness, sipping from your coffee holding some papers down, moving a ashtray on some others while trying to write some notes into the main text? Not possible. Another shattered fantasy..

What is possible, though is having a good, loud laugh on yourself (though not by a long stretch outsounding the winning Korean girl), admitting you’re NOT cool, just cold, packing your stuff and moving inside, to warm up your insides with a Yerba Mate Tea. Make that a large one.

Orrin & Evelyn Klapp

Orrin Klapp, the author of the book that was the inspiration to start on my book, has died, a few years ago. Well, that figures, he would be far into his nineties by now. Strange that there was no information to be found on his life and death on the internet. But after a few emails to universities, I got a very friendly mail from Bohdan Kolody, Professor of Sociology at the SDSU, the university in San Diego. All praise to him. He took the trouble to ask around and found the address of Evelyn Klapp, Orrin's widow.

I sent her a letter, just to let her know I was writing a book based on thoughts of her late husband and asking if she has a little more information about professor Klapp's life. She is around 90 also, so they must have led a healthy lifestyle, together..

Bite the apple

Off to the Apple store, preparing myself for the worst. Have spoken to a lot of companies in my professional life, and they all mention they invested millions in service programs, the last ten years. I know they really try, but I can’t shake the feeling that the main improvement is that service employees are saying ‘can't help you’ in a more friendly way these days. Today, it went better than I feared. Of course in a perfect world he would take a fresh battery and try it on my computer, at least verifying the problem. He doesn’t. Looking at my battery will take one week. I look horrified, he looks friendly but blank. I can’t miss my computer for a whole week! I ask if there is a faster way. Just switch batteries? He mentions a two-day repair at 80 dollar minimum. I say that even two days is a problem, because I’m writing a book on it, every day. He doesn’t answer to that. Then, after some silence, he says I might try and call Apple myself. He gives me the number and I say ‘thank you’. Why have a store if you have a number?
Apple wants to remain a young company, so you get radio-friendly grunge music and lounge remixes of old jazz songs while waiting. ‘Hello, this is James, may I have your first name?’ ‘Hello Tom, how are you today?’ ‘Not so good, my battery is dead’. I give him the production code of my laptop, what James ‘needs me to do now’ is to enroll my service number, which I don’t really get (may be it’s a language problem). It must be in a red box, he explains. I only have a grey box. I look everywhere in the apartment. Something in me says I should not hang up and look for it later: I need an answer now. It’s the box I have payed 200 dollars for, James proposes. I haven’t paid for such a box. James falls silent, that’s obviously out of his protocol. I say ‘Isn’t this under warranty?’ Yes, of course, there is a 90-day warranty, but he just wanted to help me enroll my prolonged service warranty, most people buy that. I sigh and say I just want a new battery. And then I see I have bought my computer on march 14. Exactly 90 days ago. Now I am glad I did not hang up to call back tomorrow. James can send a new battery. I am relieved. We encounter a new problem. The delivery address is not the same as the billing address on my credit card. I’m getting desperate. This was to be a non-paid service. Yes of course, Tom, but this is a security procedure: I must send the broken battery back, otherwise they’ll charge me. I promise from the bottom of my heart I will send it back, and then the magic happens and the clouds break open. James relents and the battery will be sent within 5 days. Service in the new century, it is the battle of the nerves, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. Thank you James.

Eve and the Apple?

Well, you know how it is. A nice morning, you leave for the library, get your medium cappuchino, take a seat at your favorite library booth, turn on your computer and.. hey, what’s that? Turn on your c...Try again there, turn on your.. NONONONO! The computer doesn’t start! Now don’t panic. Try. Retry Trytrytrytrytry-cry..? Well, I stayed calm, drank my coffee and tried to remember when I made the last backup, thinking I’ve never been very lucky with Apples during my career. Turned out the last back up was the day before yesterday. Damage control. Go home. Try again. Now with power connected. And that works. Relief. So only the battery is dead, though it is fully charged. Printed heaps of stuff I wrote, just to make sure and headed back. Nice start of the day.


Disco or church, spot the differences?


So all the notes on DJ culture are saved. And I understand much better why I always wanted to DJ. People who know me, I’ve always said I’m a reverent or priest really, only without the religious beliefs. And what does the book say? “Without a doubt, disco heralded the arrival of a new figure: the DJ as high priest. As one DJ said: The disco scene is a classic case of spilled religion, of seeking to obtain the spiritual exaltation of the sacred world by intensifying the pleasures of the secular.” Now that sounds nice, doesn’t it? The DJ is a filter, he takes music, rearranges it and weaves a new story with it, feeding that back to his public. Well that’s what I like to do to. Taking information, finding a story line in it and feeding that back to the world. For the moment, I won’t just yet proclaim my book will be the next bible, though. Let’s try and remain modest until the moment I have my own talk show.

dip-trip-hip-kip

Een kleine dip, dit weekend. Lichamelijk een klein beetje zompig en ook de eerste tekenen van missen, buiten een paar mensen om natuurlijk. Voelde me twee dagen wat landerig, weinig motivatie, hoewel het boek over DJ cultuur me boeit, krijg ik weinig op papier. Merk dat ik na bijna vier maanden behoefte aan discussie krijg: verlevendiging van mijn stukken tekst. Ideeën tegen mensen aanhouden en in debat gaan. Er hebben natuurlijk een paar mensen op lappen tekst gereageerd, maar dat is toch anders. En ik wil sneller dan die boeken me laten lezen. Af en toe irriteer ik me aan lange stukken tekst: get on with it! Gaat nergens over, natuurlijk: alsof de schrijver weet welke informatie ik zoek.. Ongeduld, omdat ik steeds beter weet wat ik wel en niet kan gebruiken, maar toch die boeken door moet zoeken om de quotes en gedachten te vinden.
Vraag me af of deze bui soms komt doordat ik een eindpunt heb bepaald: nu ik weet wanneer ik terugvlieg, krijg ik meer haast. En daarnaast beginnen ook de leuke dingen van Amsterdam weer mijn geest binnen te dringen. Menselijk aanpassingsvermogen, altijd weer boeiend.
Het weer werkt ook niet mee: druilerig, al een paar dagen. Vanmiddag was het even droog, dus ben ik een stukje gaan lopen, moest toch boodschappen halen. Een uurtje aan het water gezeten (jammer genoeg was het gras te nat). En toen de zon doorbrak en een klein pareltje uit de iPod mijn oren versierde met de revolutionaire productietechnieken van Norman Whitfield, die zijn stereo-effecten en wah-wah guitaartjes eerst uitprobeerde met The Undisputed Truth (een van de mooiste onontdekte soulgroepen van de jaren 70), voordat hij ze aan The Temptations gaf, was de inspiratie meteen weer terug. Sommige muziek is zoveel mooier door je koptelefoon.. Geheel in stijl van het boek over de ontwikkeling van de DJ (iedere leek met een beetje gevoel voor muziek kan zijn eigen remix maken), zat ik even later te bedenken hoe een tranceversie van Halo Of Flies van Alice Cooper zou klinken. Geen idee hoe dat nummer op mijn iPod komt, maar vanmiddag kwam het verrassend getimed naar boven borrelen. Lekker even buiten spelen, letterlijk en figuurlijk. Nieuwe carriere als DJ O.U.T. (Older Uncle Tom)? Misschien moetik daar serieus over gaan nadenken, dan mogen goede vrienden uiteindelijk toch nog zachtjes de term mid-life-crisis gaan fluisteren. Ha, dat doet een mens goed. Vanavond kip.