With a little help from your friends

Azi despre ajutor. Ca este oarecum de actualitate. Exista mai multe categorii de oameni, clasificandu-i dupa ajutorul pe care il poti obtine de la ei sau nu. Oamenii care nu te ajuta- no matter what, oamenii care te ajuta- no matter what si mai sint oamenii care te ajuta, sau iti induc senzatia asta perpetuata prin promisiuni constante si continue, in ideea de a te face sa realizezi indispensabilitatea ajutorului lor. Odata cu promisiunile, nu ai cum sa nu percepi si o nota de indatorare. A ta catre cel care te ajuta in felul asta. Genul asta de oameni, odata materializat ajutorul respectiv, sint cei care tin mortis sa-ti aduca aminte si dupa ce te-au ajutat, ca nu care cumva sa uiti vreodata ce au facut pentru tine. Nu ca ai uita, dar este bine sa se asigure ca sint in carti. Mai neplacut este atunci cand chiar depinzi de persoanele astea, sau, daca nu depinzi sint cele care te-ar putea ajuta cel mai rapid. Si atunci, - nu neg faptul ca si la mine ar putea functiona o rotita gresit -, sint tentata sa (le) spun: " mai du-te dracu', cu ajutorul tau cu tot". As gresi insa, pentru ca, pana la urma ei sint cei care m-au ajutat cand ceilalti nu au facut-o.

Desi, perceptia fiecaruia asupra ajutorului neconditionat pe care este indreptatit sa-l primeasca, isi are radacini intr-un egocentrism pe care imi vine usor sa-l compar cu atitudinea oamenilor de care vorbeam mai sus, (cei care te ajuta si vor sa le fie recunoscute si apreciate faptele). Pentru ca, pana la urma toti cautam recunoastere, dimensiunile depinzand aici de egoismul si ambitiile personale. Dar in egoismul personal, nu putem accepta usor ideea ca si ceilalti sint cel putin la fel de egoisti ca si noi. Adica cum, si ei au dreptul sa fie!?

Iar atunci cand ma ajuta prietenii, aproape ca nici nu bag de seama, pentru ca ma gandesc ca sint datori sa ma ajute, prieteni fiindu-mi, dar nu ma gandesc ca nu sint datori sa-mi fie prieteni.

Va doresc sa fiti prieteni!

Teardrops of happiness

Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen - Baz Luhrmann

Wear sunscreen. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.
Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.
Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.
Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.
Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.

Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.
Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

The winner takes it all

Ceea ce urmeaza sa va povestesc a avut loc sub aceeasi fereastra despre care v-am mai povestit. Ei bine, de data aceasta nu fumam pe geam, ma uitam la un film..."It's all about love". Vizionarea filmului mi-a fost intrerupta de niste urlete cavernoase si amenintatoare. Dupa cum stiti si voi, natura omului fiind curioasa si dornica de a explora fie chiar si/numai cu privirea noi orizonturi de cunoastere, am purces in mare graba spre geam, unde ce mi-a fost dat sa vad!? O adunatura de barbati. Daca nu as fi intuit din prima clipa care este rostul lor acolo, as fi bagat mana in foc ca sint suporteri ai Rapidului (no offence) extaziati animalic pe principiul " sa curga sange", la vederea arbitrului din cauza caruia au pierdut vreo cupa. Dar nu, domniile lor sint muncitorii care, iertat fie-le zelul, imi trezesc mie toate simturile pe la ore mici, adica atunci cand incep lucrul pe santierul din fata blocului meu, unde deja se prefigureaza un inalt si falnic asezamant cu rol de bloc de locuinte, foarte fancy de altfel, daca va arata asa cum ne sugereaza panoul amplasat pe locul cu pricina.

Sa purcedem mai departe cu firul intamplarilor. Problema era urmatoarea: cei vreo douajsiceva de muncitori nu fusesera platiti de ceva vreme si iata cum, tocmai acum aparuse si dirigintele de santier sau vreo alta persoana indrituita spre a-i plati. Sau asa au crezut ei, pentru ca de buna-seama lucrurile nu stateau tocmai asa. Ori banii nu existau, ori existau dar nu suficienti, sau din alte cauze care-mi scapa, evident era faptul ca acestia nu vor fi platiti. De la intelegerea acestui fapt, pana la revolta spontana in mijlocul careia am aparut eu la geam, banuiesc ca a trecut foarte putin timp. Schimbul de replici, care era mai mult un monolog unanim era fascinant: "unde sint banii ma?, scoate banii 'tu-ti mortii ma-tii ca te tai, scot cutitul acum si-ti iau gatul, am trei copii acasa-ce le dau sa manance?...and so on. Cel mai vehement dintre toti si printre putinii pe care-l ajuta si fizicul in situatia data, era un tip cu figura de boxer. Asta prolifera injurii si amenintari cel mai eficient. Ba chiar gandindu-se probabil ca nu se descurca multumitor a sunat un prieten:" hai frate, sint la Foisor, vino repede cu cine poti, fa armata cu toti aurolacii de la gara si veniti incoace". Acum nu stiu daca respectivul se baza pe ajutorul asta sau nu, cert este ca trucul psihologic a functionat si adversarul a fost intimidat. Nu a mai fost nevoie decat de vreo alte trei trimiteri la origini vaginale, de un "am muncit pentru voi ca un caine de trei luni" si de o imbrancitura scurta din umar si iata cum banii si-au facut aparitia. Incet si numarati cu grija au ajuns in mainile muncite. Treisprezece milioane.

Ei, acum vine partea cea mai interesanta. Boxerul a mai lancezit prin zona, incercand de acum o usoara instigare a celorlalti care, nefiind la fel de dotati pentru rezolvarea situatiilor de criza, il intrebau timid pe erou: "si noi ce facem acum? tu ti-ai luat banii." iar raspunsul venea din prima linie de front, fara indurare: "sariti la el, omorati-l". Nu peste mult timp, omul vazandu-se cu banii in buzunar se delimiteaza incet de multime si pleaca. Raman ceilalti, insa fara mentor si purtator de cuvant urla neputinta din ei. Nu mai aveau grai, nu erau in stare sa-si ceara drepturile. La un moment dat se aud voci resemnate: " deci aia smecheri au luat banii si noi tot ca prostii am ramas".

Replica tine loc si de concluzie. Din viata scapa cine poate.