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 Finally a Column
Well! After giving it much thought I've decided to write a column myself. If Renata, Jasna, Kornela, Miloš, Sandi Blagonić, Pavle Kalinić and many others can, why shouldn't I? Why am I writing a column? Believe me, not of my own volition, but under pressure. Whose pressure? One might ask oneself who could force me to do anything - I'm my own man, an adult, I don't write to survive as many do and end up writing all kinds of things, and they even get paid for doing it, while it would probably be much better if they were paid not to write. Well, my God, who forces us to do anything? Women, of course! They are more up to date than us men. You ask yourself then why I'm not writing some love letters, romance novels or poetry instead of a column. Well, I know that love letters and poetry are just not for me, but a column... that's something I'm willing to try. If you don't try you just don't know if you can. Well, I'm going to try, although I haven't done something like this since homework assignments as a teenager. And I only did them then because I had to. If Big Brother's eye was here with me, sitting in front of my computer at this late hour, it would certainly be asking itself: Is he not aware that the Los Galacticos are playing on TV. If he were aware of this, he'd certainly turn off the small box and turn on the bigger one. But no - he is aware of this. He knows, and yet he's still writing his column. Well there you have it, that's the way I am. What can I do when I'm not better? Simple pleasures And what is it that I'm writing about? Marketing? Design? Strategic development of the company? The creative environment? No, writing about one of these topics is the last thing on my mind, although I could probably give it a shot because I do know a little something about these topics. However, a lot of smart things on this can be found in books, the Internet... I'd much rather write about things I enjoy. Somehow it's more me. And what do I love? What do I enjoy? Of course the Los Galacticos I already mentioned before or, better yet, those from Nou Camp. When I see them running out from the underground hallway onto the green field, I quiver just as the tens of thousands of soul mates present, although many (including my darling) quiver from anger for calling those present at the stadium soul mates. And when they start outplaying their opponents, whose going to have the best moves, squeeze the ball through someone's legs, jump higher and better, fake a foul better, score the better goal, have a better celebration, share it with their fans, stick to those of the opposing team... Eh, these are the reasons why I quiver. Especially when some team from let's say Vigo and Santander are playing, boys from the Pyrenees. It's as if we grew up and played together. We understand each other; I can read from their lips happiness, anger, sadness, as if we were speaking the same language since kindergarten. And many women don't understand this. What can I do? Maybe they should be sent to some soccer meditation course. How come no one has thought of this up till now? Instead of closing their eyes and humming some mantra that they blindly believe has some supernatural power, they should delve deep into themselves in front of the television and chant: "Soccer, I love soccer, I'm very happy when I watch soccer..." Really simple. And it really is the simplest things that are the hardest to come by, although they are in front of our noses, just like the TV. Anyway, I gave myself a tough assignment. Regardless of the strength of my argument, I'm aware that I'll have many opponents and that I won't fair well with all of this with the fairer sex. But then again, at least I gave it a shot, not only with facts, but with a very real suggestion. If they take me seriously and listen to me, many of them would be grateful to me. If any one of them tries, please mail me, they will not be exposed to the ridicule of others, the information is strictly confidential. And if, per chance, the information is brought forth and someone's identity is revealed, who would allow me to publish my next column? Company colleagues certainly wouldn't and I'm afraid those at Iskon wouldn't either. My only chance is for Seve to 'communicate' with me by mail, then I'd certainly get a column on the Index site. However, I shouldn't kid myself, my chances are not very great. Too bad there is only one Severina because if there were more my chances would certainly be greater. The Old Man and the Sea What else brings me pleasure? Sipping coffee in the company of friends at the peak hours in one of the cafés in the center of town. Yes, but not so much to write about it here. I'm somewhat of a solitary person. A solitary wolf. Or better yet - a solitary sea-dog. I love to head out for the open sea, looking for schools of blue fish, launch the rods and wait, wait... That's meditation. Although, I must admit that I'm practicing a certain mantra in a classical manner (by the way, that mantra only differs in one letter from the name of one of the Galacticoses. Many would say - nothing happens by chance). So when something 'hits'... (not my speedboat of course, that's just a way of saying that something tugged at my line). Hits, and you have no clue what it is, nor how big it is, nor what gender it is. You have no idea if it did what it did with a fraction of its body nor what would happen if it put its entire body into it. Then it pulls you left, then right, then forward. Then you realize that it is pulling you out to the open sea. Unfortunately, I'm in the Velebit's Channel so it can't take me to Italy, Pag won't allow it. That fact somewhat limits my imagination. But no matter, my imagination is going in another direction. I already see myself tying the enormous fish to the side of my boat. My four-cycle engine that never stalls has stalled, from the very bottom of my soul I beg for mercy because my mobile operator has not provided me a signal for that part of the ocean... pardon me, the Adriatic see. Although I'm not so old, my hands are all wrinkly from the ropes, my face from the sun and sea. Nevertheless, I have aged quite some from my battles with fiends. My imagination does not allow sharks anywhere near me, let them be somewhere else. Even like this it's interesting and dramatic enough. I no longer admire Hemingway because of his novel since it's an entirely natural description for us adventurers. It must be experienced and then all you have to do is sit down with a pen in hand, light up a true Havana Montecristo cigar, spice it all up with some alcohol and followers all over the world will be at your feet. But starting with a column is not a bad beginning. Don't kneel, I beg of you, you'll need your meniscuses, ligaments, cruciate, anterior, posterior, both known and unknown. All of this is really not worth it. A little less maybe. Playing with luck is not trying your luck Let's do it like this - everything will be recorded, so I don't have to crunch and throw paper in the bin. This summer, I was pulling something up, probably a bonito. I was excited, extremely, as much as can be when not caused by the love for my wife. After half an hour, I still can't see it, although it's tired, I know, I can feel it, smell it. It's somewhere under the boat. And I address God: Thank you for this, and if you think that it's not important that I pull up this fish, may it break off my line, let it go free into the blue abyss. There are maybe, only maybe, more important things that this. And what do you think? Was it important to God? No. It got away. And it wasn't the line that broke, which I'd explain by the size of the fish or by faulty line. It was as if the cheat was saying to me: You didn't need that! We did everything the way we were supposed to until your playing with the consistency or inconsistency of fate. And fate played a trick on me. But no matter. Let it be. I'm happy to be returning home in my thudding four-stroke motor, and not so old and tired. Nivea moistens dry skin. However, I did burn out a little. So why am I happy? Certainly not because I've burned out, or because my palate is dry for the longest period of time, but because I dared to anger the cheat and not feel humiliated and feeble, but happy. Happy because of my own game with luck, regardless of the result. Maybe I did gamble everything away. No matter. Those who understood, understood, those who didn't, didn't. I too sometimes don't understand things, but I still go on. Sometimes I find things boring, but what can I do. I finally have my column. Now, no one will be able to say: "Zoran, we're waiting". But really this is written out of love - for my wife. But not only for her. Also out of respect for all of those who work with Jasna, Renata, Miloš, Kornela, Mirjana and me. And others who have found themselves here by chance. Although, as they say, nothing happens by chance - and I believe them. Archive  Polygon for meaningful ambiguity |
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