Preachers need their blind, and so on

Several months ago I found out about the (existence of a) whole army of success coaches. (They all had one thing in common – poorly designed web sites. If you ever visited a web site of a success coach, you know what I am talking about).I was rather happy with my discovery. I felt less lonely knowing that I was not the only ambitious person on Earth, plus I actually learnt from them.But what I realized very soon was that in person they could annoy the hell out of me. I mean, it’s my job to walk around delivering unsolicited sermons to those who didn’t wisely hide! Who do you think you…Consequently…If they try to down-convince me to “wake up and be happy”, I give them a blank stare than then hiss, because convincing me to be happy is as effective as trying to stab an already dead man.Point made.But I would really like to know what various renowned success coaches feel when they are suddenly preached all over (mercilessly). I have an inkling, same as me. When they shove your own prayer down your throat…Side story.One day, a friend took me to one of those inspirational events (that all of my life I have despised wholeheartedly, but somehow I grew humble)….I walked into a big room, and there was this man on stage, preaching away. A-live. After a minute of watching and listening I wanted marry him right then and there, skipping the test fuck (which in general I don’t recommend, stage presence can be deceptive). He was that good.I was beyond mesmerized and excited, I was singing my inner songs inner out loud, I thought I finally found it. The man was me, a clone, a copy, an impossible match spreading my word.When I asked who that man was, I learnt that his name was Tony Robbins, that he was famous and, more importantly, married.Famous is good, but married…bummer.But it is what it is. I moved on.I have to say though, it’s funny how things balance. The blind need their preachers, but preachers need their blind. They feed on each other. I can not but smile when I imagine a room full of hungry gurus and nobody listening.

A sudden clear thought

I was reading a cool article on marketing today, and it suddenly dawned on me, the way that article went was exactly how I think (*fuck the grammar just this one time*). And yet the author did not impress me as a particularly sane person. As a matter of fact, I think he is nuts. In a good way.

AND THEN I GOT IT.

The world is ruled by crazies. Because normal people live their pre-written, taught lives and don’t go out of bounds.

It’s crazy people who do crazy things. When is the last time that you heard somebody say “I am going to take over the world” and thought that person was just perfectly normal?

And how in the hell can one take over the world without thinking about it first?

The good news is, I rule. :)

GuitaristsBitch.Com

I am going to do it. I am going to start a new zine for women who are dating or are married to guitar players (for now, it’s only guitarists, but don’t feel left out if your man plays the sax, just wait). I think it’s a very fruitful subject (and no, it does not have to be all serious).

How I arrived at it…it was a moment’s inspiration (I am sure, fed by a couple of years of being married to a guitar player among other things).

If you are interested in participating, please drop me a line here (and describe the capacity in which you want to participate).

Additionally: who knows Blogspot designs well? I think I am gonna host it there at least for starters, some of their designs do wonders (but I don’t know how to work them and have no time to figure it out). Thanks!

Pink rats and Nietzsche

As I was paying for my new goodies at a Borders Bookstore (and sharing with the cashier a not-so-structured stream of consciousness, loosely related to the subject of Borders coupons and my seeming inability to benefit from them), my hind-mind registered an expression of utter contempt on the cashier’s face.

I was buying:

1. A notebook with a girly motif on the cover
2. Two pink-ish plastic rats (very festive)
3. A book entitled “Where Do Nudists Keep Their Hankies?”

Evidently, conversing with a female customer displaying such poor taste was very painful for the pure (bicycle-riding, money-hating, and plain bored) Chicago hipster.

The look on that face made my day.

…On a side note,several years ago, when I was rummaging through the drawers of my old desk at the parents’ house, I found a forgotten journal of mine.

I opened it and could not but emit a scream of slightly perverted joy. The first page of the journal read:

“Mistakes Made by Nietzsche”.

Underneath, there was a bunch of nonsense neatly organized into a numbered list.

You can tell, I kept a habit of making numbered lists…

How do you like them apples!

I just had a phone conversation with my favorite musician of all times. If you followed my blogs or Live Journal even a for a little bit you know who he is. Hint. He wrote most of the music to “The Court of the Crimson King”. My next album might be with him (*faints*).

You better prepare to love me.

Every day in LA

I am blissing out in LA looking at palm trees and my half-eaten crepe, sipping tea and being the me of many, many years ago.

I can’t believe that I always lived in places with a freaken-freezing winter (and I still do). So foolish.

How can one even start feeling depressed while wearing a t-shirt in January? No, seriously. What else can a good woman wish for? (“An obedient band, state-of-the-art shows with amazing 3D actors and several Grammies” – my mind reminds me as I try to swim away in the hazy lazy pleasant caramel of the warm weather, a full stomach and other good things).

But yesterday I dipped into the depths of teen-agerish angst. A silly movie made me lonelier than Elvis Presley, and so my inner child went on a fit, crying and screaming:

“Nobody loves me!
Aaaaaaaaaaaa.
A-a-a-a-a-a-a!”, –

while my outer adult kept moving a pair of adult legs and carrying an almost-adult sour face. It felt so bad it was almost good. But I did not do anything about it. I did not jump down to the ground, I did not cry, I did not scream. Too bad. I should have.

But now it’s day time, I have adopted a superman stance, tucked in my whiny inner child, ordered a healthy tasty crepe…then this, then anti-this, then this again. And yet, things are perfect. God, I am blessed, and there so many thing that I am yet to…