Deep breaths

There are moments of surprising clarity that come to me occasionally during extended periods of physical activity. While cycling for instance. With the weather finally beginning to clear up a little bit, I decided to revisit some trails I hadn't in a while. Cycling, unlike hiking, is something I find easy enough to do by myself.

Speaking of said moments of clarity, at some point yesterday, while huffing and puffing my way up a particularly annoying uphill stretch, I realized that I'd somehow almost forgotten about it! One of the best evenings I've had in a long time! Pearl Jam played live in Olso a couple of weekends ago, and guess what? I was there!

Since then many things have happened, and somehow the memories of that evening got sort of buried. (Of course the consumption of an injudicious amount of alcohol might also have had something to do with that, but moving on.) So! Pearl Jam! I'd seen them live before, way back in '06 in Perth for the first time and I suppose in some ways this was never going to top that. But what a show. I have to say I haven't paid particular attention to their last album, but despite that, it was thoroughly entertaining. There was enough of the good old stuff to make it all rather magical, despite the venue.

That's one thing with music I suppose, and I might have mentioned this before, it's got this ability of transporting one back in time. And every time I think that, I think of that story about an entire book that takes place within the space of one song. People who've seen Before Sunset would know what I'm talking about.

One film I saw recently and was rather intrigued by was Only Lovers Left Alive. My initial curiosity was mostly because it stars Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston. Despite being rather ponderous in its pace, I must say I did like it quite a lot. Something to do with the pros and cons of permanence amidst an unending ocean of turbulent change.

Right, so on to the main thing that has occupied the better part of my attention recently, the World Cup. It so happens that I am an Argentina fan. Always have been. Something to do with the first (completely unremembered) World Cup I ever saw in '86 (or so I am told, I wasn't yet at an age where long term memories begin to impede one's happy existence). By the time the '90 final rolled around though, most of my football related world had been based upon borrowed memories of Maradona's genius and an impregnable belief that this time around I would have my own memories of his heroics once Argentina won again.

Most people know how that went. Did anyone see Robben consoling that little kid in the stands after the penalties last night? Well, I suppose I can sympathise. While I wasn't in Rome in person, learning the hard lesson that the terrible things you cannot imagine do happen wasn't any easier when seen from the other side of a flickering little CRT screen, awake way past my bed time. I remember being told then, there would be the next final for Argentina to win. An adult's way of consolation I suppose, as my world seemed to have momentarily fallen apart. And every four years since (with the exception of the '02 World Cup, which passed me by completely for one very good reason) I have waited.

Should I accept that there is a one in two chance that Argentina might lose again? Might make it easier to take the loss if that eventuality were to transpire. Or should I live dangerously? Give in completely to belief as I once did?

Feeling: dangerously confident
Listening to: Moby - A long time