Photo fight

Whenever I meet up with my best friend and former boyfriend Matthew, his current boyfriend Joey always comes along. In the beginning Matthew and I used to have nice conversations, but every time we did Joey seemed to get bored within a few minutes and would start to hug and kiss Matthew, effectively ending our discussion. Unless we are talking about hot men, awful comedies like "Little man", or my sex life, Joey complains that Matthew and I are being too intellectual. And so Matthew and I don't talk much anymore when Joey is around: the only real conversations that we have are over the phone when he's driving to work or back home -- the only alone time he has.

Joey always asks if I have met anyone since the last time we talked. Usually I have. He then begs me to tell him about it, saying that he also tells me everything about himself. That is not true, apart from saying that Matthew and he have sex on a daily basis, he doesn't tell me anything. In fact, he lies to me about almost everything (see A steamy weekend) trying to seem more proper and straight-laced than he really is.

Sometimes I'm just sick of his lies and tell him to stop lying and just tell me the truth or tell me it's none of my business. His reaction is always, "Ask Matthew," who then gets angry at Joey because at home Joey made him promise to not tell me anything.

When Joey begs me to tell him about my most recent date I usually tell him the first name, age, and ethnicity of the guy and a bit about meeting him. Joey doesn't seem to really listen: he looks another way or plays with his phone and every now and then, and at the strangest moments interrupts with an absentminded "And then?"; sometimes more than a minute after I finished the story.

Even though my stories never last more than a few minutes, with each one Joey will ask me four or five separate times about my date's age and ethnicity, despite my inevitable inclusion of that data in the body of the anecdote. He asks, I answer, he forgets, he asks; I can see it annoys Matthew too. Then Joey asks what we did in bed, and I tell him we didn't do anything special; I never give him details, however much he begs me to. Then we asks me for a photo of the guy, which I never show.

Ever since Joey came out to Hadeel (see What a bitch!) and two other colleagues of Matthew's half a year ago, Joey claims to feel sick every time Matthew and I want to meet. A month after the surprise party (see Surprise?) Matthew ignored Joey's feigned sickness and invited me over. They had been abroad for the weekend and so had I, so we all had some stories to tell.

Joey didn't care to say 'hello' when I entered. Then they showed me the photos of their trip. Joey wore big sunglasses or made faces is most of photos that featured him, except for one. We passes that photo and suddenly he wanted to go back to it and asked my opinion about it. "You look good in that photo." Joey giggled like a schoolgirl and whispered something to Matthew.

I wanted to prove a point, and so I asked him to forward the photo to me.

Joey: I'll send it later tonight.

Jackdaw: It's easier if you do it now, just right-click on it and...

Joey: No, I'll do after you've gone.

Jackdaw: You said that about a year ago about another photo and you never sent that one either. Why would you say you're going to send it, when you know you are not going to?

Joey: I am going to send it, but just not now.

Jackdaw: Why not?

Joey: Why do I have to send you a picture at all?

Jackdaw: You don't "have to", I just asked you to and you said 'yes'.

Joey: Of course I'm not gonna send it!

Jackdaw: So, say that in the first place instead of making an empty promise. What's the point of that? You could just have said 'no'.

Joey: I was afraid for this discussion. Why do you want a photo of me anyway? I'm not attracted to you (see A steamy weekend).

Jackdaw: Because in my digital phonebook I have a picture with every name, except yours.

Joey: I'll send you another one later, not this one!

Jackdaw: We've been through the "will send you" routine already. You know you are not gonna send me anything, so don't say you will. Same thing with your promises "I'll call you back" or "I'll pass the message to Matthew", you have never done so. Moreover, every personal question I ask you, you answer with a lie. I've tried it, I've tried very hard to treat you as a friend, but I just cannot bear your distrust and dishonesty anymore. If you'd think it over, you would see that no one near you has been as reliable and trustworthy to you as I have, even though I had the most reason to be hostile (see Love in the fast lane [2 or 2]). I don't deserve this treatment and I won't take this crap any longer. Good bye!

I left and went home where I called Matthew to say that when we got together in the future I didn't want Joey to join us. I briefly got Joey on the line but he said that I was the one who should apologise, because I was the one who walked away. However, he also added, "You are the only person in the world with whom I can really be myself." "I hope that's not true," I responded, "I hope that the asshole I got to know is not the real you."

Matthew tried to moderate the fight and told me that Joey's personality and mine just don't match well. He said that because of all the fake friends in my youth (see Long ago: Coke and cake), I'm very suspicious when friends lie to me or treat me badly, and that Joey is just very secretive for no reason, often presents faked emotions, and has the empathic capacity of a brick. Moreover, Matthew acknowledged that Joey behaved differently to me than to anyone else, and that it annoyed him too. Because of Matthew's intervention, Joey and I have made up, and I agreed with Matthew that Joey and I should meet up as soon as possible to talk things out. Even though we live in the same city and they have no social life, it has taken a month to progress to the agreement to have our meeting.

And about the photo: Matthew had told Joey that he looked hot in that picture. That's why Joey asked my opinion on that photo twice, and that's why he didn't want to send me a copy, afraid I would use it for masturbatory purposes. Just to be clear, it was a normal photo with a plain background and the only one of Joey where he didn't wear sunglasses or made funny faces. There was nothing particularly sexy about the photo.

What a bitch!

At Matthew's surprise party (see Surprise?) except for me, only the three colleagues who already knew Joey showed up: two Arab girls and a white guy. I had met one of the girls before when going out with Jake, and he didn't like her one bit (see An unnecessary insult). I didn't want to judge, because maybe she was a bit drunk, or maybe she was just bad at making first impressions. However, at the surprise party she made a smashing second impression. Hadeel is a very petite girl with long curly hair and nice face if she smiles, but she's a wolf in sheep's clothing.

When I was a secondary school teacher I once treated a class with cookies. After everyone had finished munching, a Muslem girl said, "Oops, I completely forgot it's Ramadan." I blamed myself for being insensitive enough to have offered cookies to the class during Ramadan, knowing that some of the pupils were Muslem. At Matthew's surprise party, Joey went around with a plate of snacks and Hadeel took one too. I knew it was Ramadan again so I said, "Are you sure?" Hadeel got a bit aggressive and told me in rude language that she was sick of people who think they can force her to observe Ramadan. I told the story about the pupil, but that only got her more upset. Luckily Matthew offered us some drinks and she asked for booze and forgot about the incident.

Halfway through the party an old friend of Matthew joined us. Sandy was a tall, blond and very pretty girl. She didn't know any of the others and so the two of us ended up on the balcony catching up. She told me she had met a gorgeous Italian in Italy, but that she didn't believe in a relationship at such a distance. She showed me a picture of him on her phone and I had to admit he was very hot.

We joined the others in the living room again. The three colleagues were forming a tight group with Joey and Matthew and Sandy seemed to be a bit left out. Surprise parties became the topic of conversation and Sandy tried to join in, mentioning that it was almost her thirtieth birthday, but that she didn't want to celebrate it locally and hoped to go away instead. She didn't yet know where to go. Hadeel put her hand in front of her mouth but she didn't disguise her laughter. She said, "I'm sorry but I would have guessed you were at least 32 or 33." Sandy didn't know how to respond, and the rest of the group seemed to think that this was a normal comment. I tried to save Sandy by letting her tell the story of her Italian hunk.

Jackdaw: Maybe you could go to Italy for your birthday.

Sandy: Oh, that would be great. He was really...

Hadeel: He?

Sandy told the story about her guy.

Hadeel: Italian men are only good for one thing.

Sandy: I'm really in love with him. He's so very nice and treats me like a pr...

Hadeel: Sex, that's all they're good for. Do you have a picture of him?

Sandy showed two pictures on her phone.

Hadeel: Nah, I don't like him. I don't like his hair. But I can understand that you would find him attractive.

Joey: He's got nice thick arms.

Sandy: His body was amazing. I've never... 'been' with a guy with such an amazing body.

Hadeel: Was he any good in bed?

Sandy blushed.

Sandy: Yeah, he was good.

Hadeel: Did he do things guys here don't do?

Sandy smiled a shy but confirming smile.

Hadeel: What did he do in bed?

Sandy: I'm not gonna say.

Hadeel: Why not, we're all adults here. What did he do?

Sandy: That's... private.

Hadeel: Oh, come on! Don't you have the guts to tell us? What position was his favourite?

Sandy walked to the balcony, but Hadeel followed her, loudly continuing her rude inquisition.

Hadeel: DID HE RIM YA?

I felt sorry for Sandy, and I didn't understand why Joey and Matthew hadn't intervened. Partly it was also my fault, because I had brought Italy up in the conversation -- with the best intentions, but still -- and so I confronted Hadeel with smile.

Jackdaw: So tell us, Hadeel, what do Italian guys do that guys here don't do?

Hadeel: Uhm...

Jackdaw: Were you talking from you own experience with Italians?

Hadeel looked away.

Jackdaw: Why don't you tell us? We're all adults. Don't you have the guts to tell us?

Hadeel: I FEAR NOTHING! I'VE GOT MORE BALLS THAN YOU, LITTLE BOY!

I could have said many clever things, but Hadeel didn't strike me as a person who stops short of smashing victory. So, I just walked away, preventing a fight. At least Sandy was saved.

Hadeel now suddenly got very friendly with Joey. They whispered and laughed a lot, and Joey started acting differently toward me in Hadeel's presence. I went to the kitchen every now and then to help him, but when Hadeel was also there he suddenly bitched to me, "I don't need your help." Hadeel then went to Matthew and told him, so I could hear, that he had made a much better choice for a boyfriend now. I ignored her childish behaviour and chatted with Sandy and the straight guy.

Suddenly I noticed that Hadeel was staring at me with very big eyes and without any further expression. I returned the gaze with a friendly smile and asked, "What's with the big eyes?" as if to expect a funny response -- I expected a rude one though. She didn't respond but kept staring at me for ten more seconds until she and Joey burst into laughter, whispered something to one another, looked at me again, and burst into laughter once more.

At about eight o'clock everyone left except Hadeel and me -- I stayed to help Matthew and Joey with the cleaning up. Suddenly Hadeel jumped up and said, "I think I'm gonna leave you two alone for a romantic evening together." That was an interesting thing to say. It was as if I wasn't there. Then Hadeel gave farewell kisses and hugs to Matthew and Joey as if she was moving to the other side of the globe. I walked to her and kissed her on the cheek while she made a funny face to Joey.

Then she said, "I think Jack didn't understand my hint about leaving you two alone for a romantic evening. I seems that Jack likes to intrude." I didn't care to respond to that; neither did my friends. I helped Matthew and Joey clean up and then I left. Downstairs I noticed that something had been stolen off my motorbike. I couldn't help thinking Hadeel had made her final statement of the night.

Surprise?

Everywhere my ex-boyfriend Matthew goes, his boyfriend Joey accompanies him, except for when they're at work. This creates a problem when Matthew wants to visit his friends, because on the one hand Joey wants to be with him, but one the other hand Joey wants to stay closeted. Joey's solution is to just pretend to be colleagues, but Matthew doesn't want to lie anymore (see The skilled liar). Besides, who would believe that? Matthew's solution has been to just not see his friends anymore until Joey feels he's ready to come out. I'm the only exception, because I found out about them on my own (see Marc's discovery and Love in the fast lane [2 of 2]).

Matthew knows very well that Joey will not want to change his situation. He's both too lazy and too cowardly to do so. I once mentioned to Joey that if he were to die, Matthew wouldn't get an invitation to the funeral because his family doesn't even know that Matthew exists. It made Joey cry, and for a moment he decided to come out. Ten minutes later, he again realised how scary it is to come out and decided to never do it.

About half a year ago Matthew told three of his colleagues, two girls and a guy, about his home situation. Some time later they actually met Joey, they all got along very well and went out together a couple of times. Joey was not afraid to be spotted in that group: with two girls and a straight guy in it, no one would think he was gay, right?

Several weeks ago Matthew turned 37 and Joey told me he wanted to organise a surprise party. I was excited: this meant that Joey would out himself to all of Matthew's friends at one stroke. This would make their lives so much easier, not to mention their relationship. Joey needed my help, because he didn't know any of Matthew's friends and I did. I gave him about twenty names and phone numbers and he said he would call them.

While I lured Matthew away from home, Joey prepared some food and decorated the apartment. When we came back, only three friends of Matthew had turned up. These were the same three colleagues Joey already knew. Joey had called those three weeks before the party but waited until a couple days before the event to notify the rest of the list. I imagine that Joey didn't really want to meet Matthew's other friends after all. On the phone he had told them, "I know the party is already in two days, so if you cannot make it, it won't be a problem at all. I can imagine you have made other plans already, but I'll give him your regards." Fair enough, but it resulted in a pathetically small surprise party.

Jack-o'-lantern

In the supermarket today they had suddenly started selling pumpkins in the fruit and vegetable department; they never stocked those before. I started wondering if pumpkin soup had suddenly gained popularity or maybe some top model had revealed that her beauty secret was bathing in pumpkin pulp.

Suddenly I was distracted by a very hot Arab who entered the vegetable section, and I turned to the middle fruit racks so I could keep ogling him without making him uncomfortable. He looked my way and I shyly pretended to have a sudden interest in the nearest fruit tray. Unfortunately, it was the kind of tropical fruit that I think people only buy to tell others they eat that stuff, even though the taste and looks are repulsive. If in the third world people are dying of hunger and still choose to export these fruits, why would you believe the taste is bearable?

Then the guy opened his mouth and it turned out that he was mentally challenged. Does that euphemism show enough respect? Why do I care, I was only thinking it; it was not as if I were going to say it aloud: "Fuck, he's mentally challenged, now I don't want him anymore." No, it was all only going on in my head. It wouldn't have been respectful anyway to shout that through the supermarket, I think. Besides, I didn't have to: he was already doing it for me.

The thing with the mentally challenged is that they all have big dicks, that is, the male ones. Not that I have a thing for cock length, but it is a piece of trivia that came to me from three independent sources over time. One of the sources was a girl who made her living washing them, so she would know, right? Again, I don't even like 'em big, but this piece of trivia has always bugged me, because I don't believe it but I cannot disprove it.

I had actually never seen a mentally handicapped Arab -- nor a black one for that matter. I've always thought that mental retardation was more of an Aryan and Yellow issue, like homosexuality. Go to any theme park, zoo, or even the historical centre of my city and groups of happy white retards are everywhere, especially on weekdays. I always feel happy for them that they're enjoying life, and gladly pay my share of taxes for it. However, I never saw anyone black or Arabic in such groups, apart from the caretakers -- or maybe they weren't caretakers after all. Are they killed at birth? Do they receive worse health care in these cultures? Are their parents locking them up at home out of shame? Suddenly, I felt very relieved my Arab stud was out and about in the supermarket.

Then I visited a garden centre. I was clearly not in my right mind to visit one on a Saturday when all the city folks seem to have the same idea, but let's not talk about my mental health now. The pumpkins were on sale, and although the cute Arab dominated the supermarket experience in my memory, I still recalled the sudden appearance of pumpkins there. I connected the two, and concluded that it couldn't be a coincidence. However, my top model theory was not the solution, because garden centres don't care about top models: the cardboard figures they display are usually ugly lesbians in overalls or men with grey beards, and I don't mean the small ones with wheelbarrows or fishing rods. Those are ceramic, not cardboard; you have to keep paying attention.

I looked around for an example of a cardboard lesbian, but they had all been replaced by cartoon witches on broomsticks. Admittedly, that went far better with the plastic skulls and fake cobwebs. For a moment it felt like, and then I realised it actually it was, Halloween. Halloween freaks me out. It's a totally American tradition only intruded into Europe by commerce in order to get more money out of us, just like Valentine's day.

I went home as soon as I could and stayed there until the day was over. When I turned on the television I discovered that the broadcasting companies had also been corrupted: horror films on every channel. I turned off the television and arranged blind date, which turned out to be yet another, though unintended, horror show.

Jackanapes

I grew up in a little village in the countryside where I was bullied a lot (see Long ago: The name of the game). I didn't like the village much, but I loved the house we lived in -- a romantic, white house with a garden all around and a ditch along our driveway that led to a large park (see Jackknife). My parents decided to move closer to the only city in the region, but they sort of wished they could just pick up the house and plop it down in the rural village at the edge of the small city. Since that wish didn't come true, they bought a house on a corner lot in the latter village.

We still had a relatively large back garden that my parents transformed to a wonderful place with a symmetric shed (see Long ago: "And yet it moves"), a pond, two terraces, and a high hedge that shielded it from the outside world and guaranteed full privacy. In the summer the three of us spent a lot of time in that garden. I particularly enjoyed observing the frogs, fishes, dragonflies, and other creatures near the pond at dusk.

About three hundred feet from our house was a large grass field were kids were always playing ball games and where the older kids gathered in the evening to chat. During the second summer, for no apparent reason the ball games moved from the grassy field to the road at the other side of our hedge. Sometimes the ball ended over the hedge, into our back garden. One of the kids would then ring our doorbell to ask us to get his ball, which of course we did.

With increasing frequency someone had to make the circuit from front door to back garden to front door, often twenty times or more every Saturday afternoon. Since the road was narrower than our hedge was high, the ball had to be forcefully kicked almost straight up for it to end up in our garden. This couldn't be by accident.

At some point my father told a kid at the door that he was too busy to search for the ball, and that he would look for it later. The kids didn't accept that, forced a gap in the hedge, and searched for the ball themselves in our back garden, trampling the flowers and looking into our living room in the process. It took four years for the wound to the hedge to repair. This was the start of the war.

Once, when my dad returned the ball, he left the door open to listen in and learned that the game the kids played was called 'kick the ball over the hedge'. Within three minutes the doorbell rang again and while my dad returned the ball, he said that next time the ball ended up in our garden, he would keep it. The ten-year old yelled at him that he had no right to claim the kid's property. Through the still open front door, Dad heard the kid complain to his father, who responded, "He has no right to do that. Let me kick the ball over that hedge and we'll see what happens."

When my father told the kids that they should stay off the hedge, because they were ruining it, some of them made a habit of climbing in it and peeping through it into our living room, breaking many branches in the process. They taunted that my dad had nothing to say about the street side of the hedge. At some point my dad got so sick of it that he went to the parents of the worst of the pack. That boy's father answered the door, but responded, "Oh, you should talk to my wife about him, I never wanted him in the first place." When the kid's mother heard my dad's complaint she said, "Well, then that tree shouldn't have chosen to become a tree." She meant hedge. The two kids were standing in the doorway, laughing in my dad's face.

After this it got worse. The new game was to kick the ball as hard as possible at our metal garage door, which made a lot of noise inside the house. Once, an hour before we left to the airport for a holiday in Portugal, one of the kids aimed wrong and sent the ball smashing through the front door window, down the hall, and right into our living room for the goal. The parents said we shouldn't fuss, the boys were just playing.

I never knew what better way my dad might have tried to handle this, but the way he did certainly wasn't the right one.

My Jackeen

There's a guy in Dublin that I've known for eighteen months now. I care about him a lot and he's become a very close friend, but I'm worried about him.

First of all, I think he came out wrong. Just before I met him he had told his mother he was bisexual. As might be expected, she didn't take it too seriously and thought he'd grow over it. He knew he was gay wanted to be taken seriously, and so he wanted to come out again, but this time properly and more clearly as a homo.

Around this time I got to know him, and I helped him think about how to retell his parents. However, after he told his mother he was gay, he thought his job was done. I pushed him to come out to his sister too, and her response was very nice and positive. However, his brother, who lives in the same house, doesn't know that he's gay up to the current day. I think that is weird and wrong.

He wants his brother to face his drinking problem, but how can he expect his brother to open up to him while he's hiding a secret himself? I think he could cleverly use coming out to his brother to start a very open brotherly conversation, probably the first adult one ever between them, about his drinking and the problems behind it. My Jackeen doesn't dare put himself in such a vulnerable position, and hides behind his idea that as the youngest brother he will never be taken seriously. As long as he thinks that, he probably won't be. At some point I hope he will realise that if you want somebody to put his guard down, you should first do so yourself.

My Jackeen also drinks a lot himself. I fear he does so to blur reality. In the eyes of a drunk the world can seem to become a better place, but in the eyes of everyone else the drunk is throwing away his life. I wish he'd work on changing his environment to a better one instead of just trying to blur his perception of it. Besides, booze is bad for loosing weight, which he also really wants.

A few months ago he switched to a different bachelor's program in college. I think he should have finished the one he started with, because he's certainly smart enough. It's just that he didn't work hard enough for it, and was too afraid to ask questions. Now he has switched to a much easier major. He doesn't seem to realise that the easier it is, the less you learn. The best guy in class usually profits the least.

He told me that he hates Trinity College. I think he tells himself to hate it because he didn't meet its criteria for admission. It's self-deception and I think he does that because he's afraid to lose self-respect. However, in a way he loses self-respect because of this self-deception.

A few days ago we discussed some male models, and he said he didn't like any of them and that, even if he had the chance, he wouldn't have sex with any of them. His explanation was that he didn't like good-looking guys with hot bodies. I asked him whether that was out of self-protection, to which he responded, "You know you're not going to get an honest answer to that question, right?" I told him this put this remark that he liked my looks in a very different perspective, but he didn't really respond to that.

He claims that every guy with good looks is arrogant, and that that was why he didn't like looking at them. I happen to know a few counterexamples, and even met one only last Sunday. I think that by writing off guys who he thinks are out of his league, he is aiming too low. My theory: he has sex with guys who are much older than him -- including me -- not because he prefers them, but because he thinks he doesn't deserve any better. I think it's also cowardice.

There's one attractive guy he knows his own age who has even told him that he loved him. But my Jackeen is afraid to reach out because the guy is still in the closet and is a jock, and will therefore probably never want a normal relationship.

I wish he'd be more of a man and have the courage take some action, because by aiming low in life, especially at his age, he's ruining his future. I just want my young buddy to become a big man; that matters to me a lot.

You don't know Jack

Inspired by a post by Vlad, I have joined a flash blog mob, or maybe it should be called 'flash blob'. I hope that, after commenting below, you will publish a similar post if you've got a blog of your own.

Below you see a list of eight statements about me: six are true and two are false. Can you identify the false ones?

1. I scored off the top of the scale on my national mathematics exam, but the grade was lowered to the highest on the scale for administrative reasons. When the same happened to a girl a year later, it was reported on the national news as unprecedented.

2. I got into the empty seat of the captain, grabbed the yoke and rolled the plane to the right until its course had changed by about thirty degrees. The passengers on the plane, more than a hundred, were never told that a kid, not even old enough to drive a car, was at the controls.

3. I'm kind of a celebrity in my country. Even though I've appeared on television twice, people don't recognise my face, but everyone knows my voice and my radio name. The biggest turnoff ever was, when during anonymous sex once, I said, "Almost there," and the guy responded, "Did you know you sound just like..."

4. I was born with only one testicle, along with such world class dictators as Napoleon, Hitler and Franco

5. I subscribed to two different newspapers for several years: one for the news, and one just for the horoscope. I based all my big decisions on that particular horoscope. On the days I first met each of my two former boyfriends, the horoscope paper was not delivered.

6. I keep a detailed record of my sex partners, specifying name, sex, ethnicity, eye and hair colour, circumcision status, profession, sex location and activities, and the number of encounters. For the latter specification I only distinguish between 'once', 'twice' or 'more' because my biology teacher once joked that in biology the only counts that count are 'mono-', 'bi-' and 'poly-'.

7. I'd rather attend a guided tour in a sewer than see a musical in a theatre. I actively avoid anything remotely connected to them. What annoys me most is when the actors burst out in an overly enunciated duet with pretentious lyrics in the middle of a fight or a love scene.

8. I once created a large collection of puzzles for a handful of my pupils, and posted it on a special website for them. Within two months, it had become one of the most popular puzzle challenges on the internet, with over a million visitors from 65 different countries.

I know there are several committed readers who never comment because they feel they should read my whole blog history before asking something that might have already been answered, or because they think they have nothing clever to say. Apart from the fact that I think both are bad reasons in general for not commenting, particularly here I would love to read what you think, based on the incomplete information that you have about me.

Jack Frost

It was pitch dark when I woke up this morning; it has been like that for the last few weeks. I took a shower, shaved, prepared some sandwiches, and put on my winter coat. For a week now it's been too cold outside to wear my summer coat. I'm on the train to work now, but a thick fog prevents me from enjoying the scenery. It's quite depressing.

Autumn used to be my favourite season. The beautiful colours of the trees, piles of fall foliage to kick around, lonely leaves picked up by a whirling wind, the warm cosiness of home, playing board games, snuggling on sofa with the boyfriend while the wind whistles outside. It's very different when there's no boyfriend to snuggle with though.

Winter will even be worse. My boss already wants to know who in our team will take any time off during the two weeks of the year. I honestly haven't got a clue whether or not I will want to. December used to be my favourite month, with my birthday, and some others in the family, Christmas, New Year's Eve. I didn't celebrate my birthday last year and I don't think I will this year. My family had reduced, the only birthday left is my mothers, and that one is not too much fun (see Being bored and boring). I don't have plans for Christmas or New Year's Eve yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if I were alone then. On the other hand, I could just as well be in the Middle East. My life is full of surprises.

Most of my friends are already planning to go skiing in January. It never appealed to me though. I'm extremely bad as sports and I love speed, which is not a good combination if you want to stay in one piece. It's probably a good thing I never tried: I would be face down in the snow most of the time, until the breaking of my legs would end my ski trip prematurely. On top of that, it's very expensive.

Blackjack

Although my immediate family on my father's side is very small, it's got a great history. Everyone in the world who shares my last name is part of one family that has been traced back about ten centuries. This has been possible because my ancestors have been quite influential and link to some important historic figures.

This summer we had a family conclave where I didn't know a single soul: the only thing we shared was our last name. People flew in from all over the world to attend this weekend with very distant relatives, and I met some great people there. Over the weekend we learned a bit more of our common family history and had a lot of fun together. At the end of the weekend I felt we shared much more than just our last name. I have several invitations to visit distant cities and have invited several people over to my place. There is no doubt that I will see some of them before the next family meeting.

There were some relatives that I got along with very well, and with whom I spent most of the weekend. As a result I appear in many pictures with them. At some point someone pointed out, "Jack, you are the only white guy in the photos." Then I realised that the people I chose to hang out with were indeed all black. Of course, I must have noticed their skin colour on a subconscious level, but I didn't actually realise it. It's indeed funny to see this white guy with blond hair among all these dark-skinned people in the photos. Nonetheless, we do have a common ancestor ten generations ago.

For dinner, some of the African family members dressed up in these beautiful colourful African clothes. The black people seemed to have more fun and took themselves less seriously. For a moment skin colour did matter to me: for a moment I wished I were black.

Jack of all trades

When I lived with Matthew sometimes when he was in another room and I needed his help or opinion on something I would yell out his name. If there was even one door closed between us he wouldn't hear me. There was nothing wrong with his ears and so I concluded that the sound proofing in our new apartment was just splendid.

Last weekend when I was waiting for Joe to finish showering I went to the far end of the apartment, closed three of the four doors between us, and played a bit on the piano and on my guitar. When I returned to the bathroom, Joe commented on my playing. So the sound proofing was not as good as I had thought and Matthew had just been constantly ignoring me.

Joe told me he didn't know anyone in person who played music as well as I, and jested that he had the feeling he was living with the Partridge Family. However true that might be, I'm sure I'm not that hot on the keyboard. I can't even read notes. Still, some people I know who have had ten years of piano lessons think I play better than they do. I only hear my mistakes. In fact, if people ask me if I play the piano, I'm never sure if the true answer is 'yes'. What annoys me the most is that after getting into a serious relationship twelve years age, I stopped extending my piano skills.

This is actually the case with many other skills as well. It seems I have stopped developing them and my knowledge twelve years ago. It's only because I developed myself so extremely fast before then (see Long ago: Talents emerging) that I reached a level that was very impressive for my age, on which I can still securely rely even a dozen years later. Joe said he was amazed that I possessed to many different skills and knowledge at such a high level. I hear that more often and I know it's intended to be a compliment. However, it makes me think of how I have hardly learned anything new in the last ten years; it makes me feel a bit sad about wasting my life.