I bet you think this blog is about you.. don't you..

I've been watching a frightening amount of peep show. Though after reading reviews of the show apparently that's normal. If you decide to start to watch it be warned: You will watch frightening amounts of it.

My mission:impossible game isn't any better in the summertime, by the way- I'm sure you were wondering when I was going to get back to you on that. Honestly I haven't been really looking- and I think the people on the Cambridge public transit aren't that interesting.

I suspect if I was still in Portland there would be plenty of people mission:impossibling their way around town. Once I saw very round ecstatic man pushing a wheelchair down St John's street. He was wearing what looked like a wrestling cape and a cowboy hat. I think he'd encountered a pot hole in the sidewalk just as I discovered him, which may have been why his walk appeared so jaunty. There was a big trash bag sitting in the wheelchair, full. If that isn't deserving of a mission:impossible theme I don't know what is.

I was in a car at the time, the person driving also saw him. He was real.  

I encountered someone on the MBTA a few days ago- interacted with them. "Met" isn't really the right word. We interacted.

I had just made myself unique among the commuters, you see, and when you do things like this apparently it makes you more approachable.. just sos you know.

Here's how I did it:
It's no secret among those who practice "small talk" that it's been science-fiction hot out (I stole that term, but I don't remember from where) over the last four or five days. When I'd made my way into the stone-and-mold guts of the subway I found a woman sitting hunched over on one of the benches. I thought she was a yoga-person stretching out or something. She wasn't.

I didn't know what was wrong with her,  but I figured the right thing to do was to try to find out and maybe be of some use. I couldn't get any information from her directly as she wasn't awake/conscious but looked deceptively well put together for someone passed out in the train station. I asked her a few times if she was alright, soft then loud, if she needed some water etc..When she finally unfolded herself, it was to sway and mumble that she was fine. 

I know what alcohol looks like, what a few other drugs look like.. sort of what going-to-pass-out looks like.. I don't actually know what about-to-cry looks like.. her face was a kind of shifting mosaic of a number of these things. Among others, I'm sure.

I looked up and saw a bunch of people trying not to look at what was going on. I grilled an older gentleman for a bit to see if I could get him to get some water or someone more authorized to deal with this lady. He was nice enough to point towards the office where I could find such authorized types.

Cool.

So I got up and went over to find a T-person to help the lady out. Found about five of them hanging out in their little air conditioned box. When I began to tell them about the lady they all had a good laugh and sent one of their number out with me. He took his damned time getting out of his chair, strolled along behind me saying something about the woman having been there for a while etc.. swaggering, knees bowing in between veed-out feet and flopping arms, leaning back to accommodate a lifetime of empty calories and inactivity.

Fear not, fair Maiden! For I have journeyed a-far and returned hence with the finest the Commonwealth has to offer! Hip Hip!

He proceeded to dismiss me from my post as the woman's watcher, and went full bore into his rescue plan.. which, as far as I could tell, consisted of hassling the lady about when she was going to leave and reminding her that she'd been there for a few hours. I started to feel bad about not just getting her some water myself. 

Here's where my helping this lady out made me more approachable:
I went back to waiting for the train which is when I became engaged in conversation with a guy who said he'd been watching the whole thing but, you know, more from, like, a social experiment point of view, because, you know, no one was doing anything, and it was, like, interesting to see how long that was going to go on. He asked me if I'd missed a train trying to help her. I hadn't, but I said I wouldn't have minded if I had. Because Jesus.

I didn't try very hard to hide my disgust. I think he was trying to seem interesting- some how above it all. We had a brief conversation during which I didn't actually say that he's part of the problem- this whole epidemic of people thinking someone else will take care of things. Not out loud anyway. I sat across from him on the train and we had broken conversation about homeless people and how they are often misdiagnosed as drunk instead of having a diabetic.. reaction or something. He did most of the talking.. I asked if he was in medicine.. he said his parents were but he'd messed himself up enough to know these things.

I indirectly watched him pull a tomato out of his bag and eat it like an apple.

Then I went home.

You know what isn't fun? Getting food poisoning on a plane.

Dear People in the Airport Bathroom Who Commented on the Noise of my Prolonged Vomiting,

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Did anyone else Aldoux Huxley on the 10th? Is that something that happens? Something people do?

Talking: The Final Frontier.

I recently broke down and ordered a cheap mp3 player off the internet. It works fine, but it doesn't speak English so we don't really get along yet. It also doesn't appear to have any kind of brand, though I have come to know it as a "music stick". Unable to contact the maker directly to fix the problem, I found a site which sold the same item and e-mailed their support network to see if they could help me out. They asked me for my order number. I said I didn't have one because I hadn't bought the item from them directly but if they knew how to fix it could they please.. just.. tell.. me.. !!!

They wouldn't.

So I fished around in my mail box and found the site I got the thing from and mailed them my question.

When asked the appropriate key stroke sequence to change the language from Chinese to English I was sent two e-mails. The first one said they didn't have an answer yet but they would get one to me the following day.

How nice.

The second one was a shitty picture of the crap instructions that came with the item as well as this charming note:

Dear Lindsay,

Greeting from (place) support center.

Here is a easy diagrammatize attached at the bottom. Hope it can help you a lot. Any information that you may require, we shall be very pleased to forward to you.

Best regards!
K

My response.. almost:

Hi K,

Thank you for your note.

You see, I already received that very diagram in the package with the mp3 player music stick. You may notice that the layout of the actual keys on the stick and this diagram don't look anything alike, though in spite of this I believe I have figured out the basics of how to navigate the item. However, what I haven't figured out in the last few days is how to read Chinese, which is the language the player is using to communicate large pieces of information to me.

You may recall that this large piece of information was in my first note to you.

The song titles are in English. What it chooses to do with the songs, which order it will play them in, if it will play music at all or even if it decides to play the radio, this is all in Chinese. I have always meant to learn Chinese, though at this time all I can do is say "I don't know how to speak Chinese" and "where is the bathroom?" I can also say the word for "airplane, and "chicken." And I can count to ten. It is a beautiful language, but I can't speak it.

What I am looking for from you is a play by play of how many times I have to hit menu, enter, or next from when I turn it on in order to change the language setting to English.

Thank you,

Lindsay

I had this note fully constructed before I realized it probably wasn't the nicest thing to send. I'm actually kind of a jerk, turns out.

If I cannot pin down a Chinese speaking/reading friend in the next few days I might forward this on to friend-K.

Minus the first few paragraphs.

Maybe.

These are apparently the days of miracle and wonder.

Though maybe only from a certain point of view.

There are few things I would like to have re-engineered in my life.

Here are some of them:

I would like to erase all memories of the surprising parts about the Star Wars movies from the seventies/eighties era.

I would like to have been there watching The Wizard of Oz when it went Technicolor for the first time with no previous assumption that color in movies was even possible.

I would have liked to have been a person sitting in on the unveiled recording of Rolling in the Deep.

I would have liked to have been present at Beethoven's fifth symphony.. and others.

I would have like to have seen Santana's Soul Sacrifice live at Woodstock.

..or been present for certain parts of Stop Making Sense.. or any number of live encounters of certain songs.. the first performance of Twist and Shout for example..

The important part would be not having the socio/psychological baggage which tells me that these things are good. I would want to be surprised. I would want to be told by some deep well of intuition that these noises are truly able to wind their fingers around my heart and squeeze gently.

I guess there are only a few places in a lifetime that create enough openness and respect for complete awe.

I've been in the presence of greatness. I've shaken hands with it, told jokes to it, grown up with some of it, may never meet other parts of it. So many things are great. So many people.

I've wept in the presence of greatness. I'm not going to tell you what it was. You will poke fun at me when next we meet. It was nothing so noble as falling to my knees in tears at the feet of the David, no, no.

I thought the thing was great at the time. I do not think the thing is great anymore. See how cool I am now?

I had a milder experience at A Silver Mt. Zion show. I'll never forget it. (See??)

I have a friend (I probably have a few with this quality, but I am thinking of one in particular now) who sees these wonderful things maybe more frequently than others.

There is a scene in Wall-E involving a fire extinguisher which is particularly beautiful. I saw the movie in the theater with him and I recall seeing him wipe tears from his eyes during this event. I think of him whenever I watch that clip, and sometimes I feel like I see what he saw. I live this idea through him though, it isn't mine.

Similarly, these ideas that are mine aren't yours.

Duh.

You may not actually catch your breath during some piece of music, or find it necessary to breath very slowly, deeply and carefully at "the scars of your love, they leave me breathless."

But you could, and that's the important part.

The warm surprise of wonder comes to everyone at some point. I refuse to believe there are people who don't experience this sort of thing. This mainly because I think the reason these things happen is because everyone experiences them. Does that make sense?

Fine.

A friend asked me if I'd found myself to be more sensitive lately, in regards to things you feel rather than see or hear. I told her I probably haven't been paying attention. I also havn't been listening to much good music lately on the level I would like.

This whole line of thinking is all probably coming from the fact that I just got a pair of good headphones and a (free!!) mp3 player to replace KaZaK. When I first plugged the puppy in, did I listen to the 5th? The 7th? Other "great" things? Bolero?

Nope. No cigar.

The first song I played?

Rhythm Nation.

Yup.

and we all shine on.

There will always be this: it will be the middle of the night when I can't sleep- and for some reason I MUST find out why Marilyn Manson gained so much weight in 2009.

I'm fairly optimistic sometimes. It's foolish.

I've been thinking a lot about John Lennon lately. Sensitive.

J visits and tells me I'm distant- it usually takes me a good 20-24 hours to get used to having him around when it's been so long between visits. Work, meeting, work. We get a few hours together anyway.. toss the baseball back and forth. Talk. Sit. Lean. Sigh.

I've been thinking a lot about knees lately.

Memory:

Bolero.

.

I'm an excellent driver.

Doctor says "Take a week off." I says "Okay."

Went to visit my father in Cape Cod while he was there with his family-- who are my family as well, incidentally. I shared a few margaritas with his wife who I completely enjoy.. had a few conversations with her daughter about what she wants to be when she grows up. Looks like she's considering singing or theater of some kind- she likes Adele and Florence + The Machine. I don't blame her.

She asked me what I wanted to be when I was her age.

"A Jedi" I told her.

Never give up on a dream.

I stopped running cause it started to hurt my joints (I think) and I don't really miss it, but I did enjoy it when I was doing it. I liked the process.. the incorporation of the music.. I listened to a lot of Underworld- specifically King of Snake, Dinosaur Adventure 3D, Pearls Girl.. and some Flo + The Mo.

There are over 9000 songs on my iPod. I listen to it now almost exclusively on shuffle. I've beat the shuffle a few times- got all the way to the end.. nothing fun happens. I really only listen to a few songs on it, almost always stopping to listen to any Michale Jackson or Madonna.. or R.E.M. Other than that I skipskipskipskip until I find something bearable.

There are rules.

For example:

I have managed to acquire a tremendous amount of 90s radio hits in the form of the Billboard Top 100 of each year from 90 to 99. As a result of this some songs are in the shuffle more than once. My rules involving this are that every time the Macarena comes on I listen to it. Not because I enjoy it a whole lot, but because those are the rules. Here is a link to the version which was all the rage in 1996 incase you have been fortunate enough to forget it. I believe that the two guys in the suits are supposed to be in the same room as many of the half naked women. Can you believe that I actually find this video more tasteful than a lot of other similarly bent videos? Cause I do!?!?

I just watched -to refresh my memory and check the accuracy of the above statement- a video that was quite popular while I was living in New Zealand in 2006. It's called "Push the Button" and it's by a "group" called the "Sugar Babes". You will notice I have not included a link to the video.

Nope.

Sure didn't.

It's kind of a riot. The lyrics of the song are all about liking the way a man respects a woman, and wondering how obvious said woman needs to be in pursuit of said dude. Should you choose to youtube the video, you will notice that it features three half naked women prancing around in an elevator encountering three unsuspecting gentleman attempting to "push the button." The three are not in any danger of being too subtle. The number one guy is unconvincing.. the number two dude with the skinny tie is kind of dreamy.. the number three guy attempts to win her over by pulling out some random pirouette and later decides to shift over to the robot. The guys try hard too, sometimes.

Fantastically popular in New Zealand.

Back to the Macarena.

Also while I was living in New Zealand, I worked with a couple who taught Argentinian Tango, Camilla (who I will refer to by name, because if she ever stumbles across this I would love to get back in touch with her) and Davide (same). Camilla is probably one of the most attractive women I have ever had the pleasure to know personally, in addition to being a really awesome person. She and I would occasionally go out in Wellington, the capitol, to wonder around and see the sites. The drinking age in NZed is 18 so whenever a particularly sloppy gaggle of trashed hussies would stumble by us she would turn to me, lower her wonderful Argentinian eyelashes, sneer her lovely Argentinian lip, and mutter in her throaty Argentinian voice: "Desastre."

Camilla, Davide and I had a lovely time waiting tables together at a local Italian trattoria. I used to make Davide sing the Macarena.. and La Cucaracha. He would get me back by singing "Shake That Ass For Me" on repeat.

There was one magical night, after hours when the two of them danced a tango together through the tables, holding one another very close. It was quite special. I miss them.

Thanks to Eminem I have, just now had the pleasure of saying "Shake That Ass For Me" on the internets to strangers. Yup.

Also:

I watched, over the course of about five or six days, the following movies:

Awakenings, Rain Man, Lorenzo's Oil.

My friend High Kick and I used to play a game we called "Awakenings" at work when it was slow. Either he or I would sit, inert, in a chair in the center of the back servers station. The other person would then huck an object at the sitter who would then.. catch it!

These three movies have aspects in them which could potentially be hard to watch. Awakenings features a man suffering from the after effects of encephalitis who is briefly rehabilitated and then relapses via a downward spiral of loosing all bodily control. Lorenzo's Oil is about a young boy diagnosed with Adrenolukadistrophy which is a disease which destroys the myelin which surrounds the nerves in the brain, essentially turning the brain to mush. The story documents his decline and his parents drive to find a cure for the disease. Rain Man is about an autistic man who is kidnapped by his recently discovered brother to drive across country in order to negotiate their inheritance.

In Awakenings it was really uncomfortable to watch the main character decline into an angry twitchy state, unable to control any of his bodily functions.

Lorenzo's Oil is a brutal, miserable film, I'd watched it when I was much younger. It still bothers me, all of the screaming, the choking on spittle, the relentless cooing of the mother..

Finally, Rain Man, which has moments of high tension when the Autistic brother gets alarmed or upset or you believe he will die in some way.. but still.. even considering all of that.. the most difficult part to watch of the whole thing was Tom Cruise.

there is a town with a little motel and an old movie house..

I just recently watched "The Bodyguard" with Ms. Whitney Huston and Kevin Costner. I never saw it when it came out way back when I was in fifth grade, so I figured I'd catch up on the pop culture. Turns out the actual bodyguard in the movie isn't a very good one- though I suppose we are to view his distraction and incompetence as the drowsy and frantic effects of love. It wasn't a very good movie- but it stirred me up a bit, kinda tense at a few points. I got involved. I wanted more from it though-- the best example of this is at the very end, which, if you haven't seen, I will spoil for you now: they kiss.

No big deal - they, like, 'do it' earlier in the flick.. but the final kiss is supposed to be a big deal. I was surprised to find myself making laughing noises at my computer (where I was watching the video). What was supposed to be a passionate embrace, one fitting of an energetic, talented vocalist and stage presence uniting finally with an unwavering being of honor, skill and integrity, actually made me laugh.

The two muckled onto each other and wagged their heads back and forth for a while, wrinkled brows and white knuckled fingers on shoulders (please) abound. It was like watching two aliens who had been told to demonstrate on each other how they thought humans were supposed to make out. Fie.

I wanted fireworks! I wanted goosebumps and heart issues! I wanted the kind of thing you would expect to see emanating from two romantically involved nuclear power plants! Disruption! Explosions! Chaos at it's affectionate finest!

.. nothing!!

The face Mr. C is making at the very end of the film basically says it all-- there were a couple places where I started to understand why he's even involved in movie production from the point of view of aesthetics.. but this face he's got at the end of the movie.. isn't doing him any favors.

I did enjoy watching W.H. sing though, at the risk of sounding Batemanish. She has a great voice and does appear to really enjoy singing, which is a lot of fun to watch. Her version of Partons song is really nice-- if one were to rework the background music to get away from the cheesy Michael Boltonish/Kenny G.ish/Celine Dionish bullcrap and steer it more towards something a little more timeless it would actually be a really great song. Dolly doesn't have the pipes kids, sorry- but of course she wrote it.. and delivers it with sincerity which is not to be ignored.. and.. so on.

I was wondering this evening if it s a crime that we can hear the sincere delivery of a song like the one mentioned above and eventually stop liking it because it is "overplayed". Is that a bad thing? Is it a bad thing that I can never hear Beethovens 5th without thinking of all the lame commercials it's been featured in? Or perhaps that my sisters grammar school chorus did a chicken clucking version of the damned thing? Is this a bad thing? Or is it a really amazing thing that I even have access to such a piece (and others) in such variety and volume?

It's getting easier to see around the crap. I'm more able to listen to the 5th and hear it.. like it's a song and not a gimmick or a tag line. When it climbs I consider a universal and intangible outward expansion instead of mounting stress that some yuck wont get his cheeseburger on time. When I hear Huston sing about bittersweet memories in this big wonderful voice I just enjoy it.. instead of thinking of her as this shrieking overplayed pop-radio banshee-- which I certainly did for a while. These songs are energy and vibration and they are lovely, mostly.

I am not saying that these two songs are anything alike- that would be like saying that a sea cucumber is very similar to a riotous flock of flamingoes. However..

It is my feeling that overabundance of something is irrelevant if the quality of the item remains undiluted. The true things will remain true- the honest resonation will stand firm while everything else goes away. Same with art. Same with love. Same with relationships of any kind, on a grand or a fine scale.

I was asked earlier today what I believe in.

I guess I believe in that.

upside: love you, down side: miss you.

I just woke up from one of those devastating naps. To be completely honest I was moving around a few hours ago-- but I feel just now, that I just woke up. One of those ones where you wake up stuck to the pillow and can't walk in a straight line. Way to spend a rainy day off..

I've started running.. and who knew that I'd like it so much. I only do a mile.. my goal is two at about 6 or 7mph-- it's a good warm up to other things I've been working on. I have discovered, and I don't know if this is normal or not, that if I grab the heart-rate-things on the treadmill once I've hit the mile marker and begin to walk, that I can slow my heart rate down from 170 to 115 within the span of a minute. Fun game. It's probably normal.

I'm not built like a runner.. more like a gymnast, but I do love sprinting. I remember vividly the first time I ever put on a pair of cleats.. it was like flying.. gripping the ground like an animal.. turning on a dime.. causing the opposing team no end of stress..

I used to play softball and I miss it every now and then. I was short stop, and third base. Left field if there were a bunch of older girls on the team who got infield favor. I was always told it was best to be tall if you wanted to play short.. tall or fast as hell with an arm that wouldn't quit. Which was me when I was twelve.. so shortstop it was. Third base used to terrify me, especially when I started playing in a high school summer league, and the third baseman was stationed about three feet away from the batter. I pitched for one game.. the one game where we were in need of an umpire.. and my father volunteered. The only decent pitch I threw he called a ball.. and apologized under his breath from behind me (the ump would stand behind the pitcher for little league games.. far away from where a wild bat could be thrown). As far as batting went, I spent a fair amount of time hitting ground balls directly to the pitcher or the first baseman and making valiant attempts to outrun their efforts to get me out. Never really worked.. beyond that there were a few years where I managed to sit comfortably in the clean-up hitter spot. I think this was more for shock value than anything else. I'm a small person, and when I was twelve I was probably smaller, so watching me go up to bat clean-up must have seemed fairly ridiculous. The opposing team would inevitably signal to their team mates to "move in" ten feet or so.. later in the game, four runs behind, their educated method would be to back up. I also used to LOVE to attempt to steal bases. If you get any two twelve year old girls to enthusiastically huck a ball back and forth to each other under the stress of trying to manipulate a troublesome runner they will eventually miss, and this I would use to my advantage-- much to my coaches dismay. Yes, softball was fun. I enjoyed it and had a knack for the skills required to play it. I stopped playing in high school because the coaches started to adopt this "win or die" attitude that I didn't agree with. Also, I wasn't good friends with the coaches daughter so I would get benched while her buddies enjoyed field time. Lame.

J is far away at some army officer training thing-- I wont be able to speak to him until sometime next month - they've taken his phone away, like fat-camp. This amuses me, pretending that he's at fat-camp- he being more or less built like the David.. perhaps broader in shoulder and smaller of head..

Ten year high school reunion in a few days. I get to go up to Maine which will be nice- do some hiking and swimming in the MDI area. I miss Maine.. been thinking about it a lot lately. I'll probably end up back there.. some day.

Had a thought the other day, and it was this: Abacus was probably the best job I've ever had.

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how ~ Nietzche