Reflections on art, fitness, family, politics and literature that hit me like bricks as I chauffeur my children from place to place...
A pink taxi
April 1, 2011
Bloggers Must Be Stalkers
My relatives and closest friends call me a stalker. It is an exaggerated accusation and I will do my best here to defend myself.
I concede that I do not hesitate to approach a person I admire when I see one. I introduce myself to the sportsman, the political figure, the artist and tell them that their talent or aura has touched me.
Indeed I maximize the chances of meeting them, sometimes waiting for them when I sense they will take that route, often attending their games, listening to them on the radio, showing up to their art openings.
On very rare occasions, I have had dinner with artists I admire. Abbas Kiarostami, the film director, had to settle for my less than perfect Farsi. I quizzed Reza Aramesh, the talented photographer at the formal Canvas Magazine dinner when I sat close to him. I am proud of my friendships with Bernar Venet, the great sculptor or Atiq Rahimi, the Afghan writer. Every occasion I get, any thought relevant to their art gets emailed to them in a click of my blackberry.
I also have a friend who is a DJ on 92FM and I believe I am her biggest fan. I send her a flurry of sms about the music she plays, I phone in requests, enjoy her film and book reviews. This happens on a daily basis. Ok! Call it stalking....
My father thinks this compulsive behavior is abnormal for a woman in her forties and calls it a midlife crisis. I prefer to call it enthusiasm and keen interest. There is no doubt that there is chemistry between the stalked and the stalker. This has nothing to do with the physical appearance. I have accompanied my son to Frank Ribery's Bayern Munich soccer training sessions, the same way we have attended Tiger. Wood's games or Roger Federrer's matches. I have certainly listed them in degrees of increasing beauty! Out of the three, Ribery was the one we approached more closely, perhaps because soccer is the most casual of the three sports and it was less embarrassing. Indeed, when I dined in the company of Federrer, I barely exchanged a few words in respect of his privacy. I may stalk but I don't harass!
A blogger needs to be a-normal, not to say abnormal. She needs to write a story, and therefore waking up at dawn with my son and rushing to watch Tiger Woods practice, at an early time when he is fleeing the crowds, before my son goes to school, is only being persistent. Besides, it is funny to turn into a familiar and recognizable fixture for the so-called admirable person!
The pink taxi runs from 7 am to 7pm. It picks and drops off my 3 kids at school, ballet,judo, aikido, violin, climbing, riding, squash, basketball, skiing, skating, swim team, friends, grandparents and teachers. The car, not pink, but a black SUV, drives to Carrefour and Coop. To Club stretch for pilates and Aviation club for weekly workouts. It is driven by a woman who navigates on the radio, gets DJed by her 4 year old or sometimes quietly reflects. The thoughts are about politics, family, humor, literature, art or fitness. Sometimes they are excruciatingly longwinded, other times they are gossipy and hot.
I hope you will all enjoy!