“Away” is existential. Sure, there’s the literal geography of being in a different place. That’s a given. But you can be elsewhere physically and leave your mind back home. I didn’t do that.
Alice fell down her hole. (Heh-heh, I said “hole”.) Dorothy rode her cyclone. Arthur Dent hitched. I just drove up Interstate 15 until we hit Shangri-La. Wondrous food, blinking lights, sparkly clean toilets with automated soap dispensers – Las Vegas is more fun for me as an adult than Disneyland ever was for me as a child.
Again, all of that is a given. Those of you who’ve followed this blog (and big hugs to you!) have read about it before. I’m stuck trying to explain why this trip was bigger than all the previous. It was, and more.
No, I didn’t win lots of money. Well I did, but I graciously gave it back before we left. The food was both abundant and marvelous, the butternut risotto with gingersnap foam and candied pecans created just for me by the chef at Fleur de Lys (don’t try to order it, it’s not on the menu) will be a fond memory always. That was after the hostess recognized my face and smiled us to our regular table without me ever saying my name.
Birthday flowers (lilacs in March in the desert!) along with a five layer birthday cake and enormous tropical fruit basket appeared magically in the room. Mountains of the most delectable pastries gifted by the Bouchon chef at breakfast were devoured with the amazing piles of food we’d actually ordered. Tony the Jedi-waiter at RM liked my haircut. The chef at Fleur spoiled me gorgeously for mere mortal chow.
And the stories, oh my, the stories were funny. I’ll give you those in dribs and drabs while I try to parse the mental stuff, the Zen of elsewhere. Onward and backward we will go, my darlings. Excelsior!
Friday, March 12, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
That's Heavy, Man
Intangibles have weight. Obviously stress, tension and anxiety put lead in our spirits, but mundane repetition can do the same thing.
You wake up with the residue of subconscious motley fading from awareness then bam! Foreknowledge of the upcoming day falls on your head, chasing away dream’s last absurdity. Not enough to keep you in bed, but depending on the day, it might be enough to make you want to stay there.
You don’t. Like a brave little soldier you get up and slog. I’m proud of you for that. Even though you know that one guy is going to piss you off like he always does. Despite traffic, a mountain of potentially meaningless effort and phone calls, you persevere. Kudos belong to you, my dear friend. Your stamina and fortitude deserve reward.
I have neither stamina nor fortitude, but I’m getting a reward anyway. Knock wood for me please, sweetie, we’re off to Vegas tomorrow. I’m going cold turkey off the grid this time, too. My antique cell phone doesn’t receive email, and I’ve cut off all Twitter access to it as well. I’ve never done that before. This is a test of the emergency sanctuary system. It’s spiritual fasting via sensory overload, to lighten my soul and fatten my belly.
You’ll get a full report when I return, with the usual pix if all goes well. Please take good care of yourself in the meantime.
You wake up with the residue of subconscious motley fading from awareness then bam! Foreknowledge of the upcoming day falls on your head, chasing away dream’s last absurdity. Not enough to keep you in bed, but depending on the day, it might be enough to make you want to stay there.
You don’t. Like a brave little soldier you get up and slog. I’m proud of you for that. Even though you know that one guy is going to piss you off like he always does. Despite traffic, a mountain of potentially meaningless effort and phone calls, you persevere. Kudos belong to you, my dear friend. Your stamina and fortitude deserve reward.
I have neither stamina nor fortitude, but I’m getting a reward anyway. Knock wood for me please, sweetie, we’re off to Vegas tomorrow. I’m going cold turkey off the grid this time, too. My antique cell phone doesn’t receive email, and I’ve cut off all Twitter access to it as well. I’ve never done that before. This is a test of the emergency sanctuary system. It’s spiritual fasting via sensory overload, to lighten my soul and fatten my belly.
You’ll get a full report when I return, with the usual pix if all goes well. Please take good care of yourself in the meantime.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Clap Your Hands!
Yes, Tinkerbell, sometimes people are nice.
I know I’m the last person you’d expect to say that. Relax and breathe. My cynicism remains extreme. Logic and rationality require that I make allowances.
Nearly every day, someone – I have no idea who – stacks all three of my newspapers in a tidy pile on our lawn. Once or twice I’ve gone out early and had to crawl under my car and onto my neighbor’s yard to collect them, but most days there they are, three plastic-covered newsprint Lincoln logs.
You remember those old bumper stickers: “Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty”. You know the ones. Well, someone out there is really doing it. Despite the disruption of my bleak worldview, this is me saying “Thank you.”
I know I’m the last person you’d expect to say that. Relax and breathe. My cynicism remains extreme. Logic and rationality require that I make allowances.
Nearly every day, someone – I have no idea who – stacks all three of my newspapers in a tidy pile on our lawn. Once or twice I’ve gone out early and had to crawl under my car and onto my neighbor’s yard to collect them, but most days there they are, three plastic-covered newsprint Lincoln logs.
You remember those old bumper stickers: “Practice random kindness and senseless acts of beauty”. You know the ones. Well, someone out there is really doing it. Despite the disruption of my bleak worldview, this is me saying “Thank you.”
Sunday, February 28, 2010
See, See, See?
On Sunday nights, I take my beloved mother out to dinner. Tonight's place was packed. When we left, the parking lot was full. The car next to mine had its lights on.
“Wait for me a second,” I said to my mother after she got into the car. “I’m going to tell them their lights are on.”
“Tell who?” she asked. “You don’t know whose car it is.”
“It’s the Russian guys who took the table next to ours. Trust me.” I went back in with a grin.
“Excuse me, but do you gentlemen drive a white minivan?” They nodded. “Your lights are on.”
The oldest of them ran out ahead of me and turned off the lights. He went back inside just as quickly, after saying thank you but without asking me how I knew it was theirs. My mother was more curious. As I backed out of the parking space, I pointed to the license plate. 4CCCP.
“Wait for me a second,” I said to my mother after she got into the car. “I’m going to tell them their lights are on.”
“Tell who?” she asked. “You don’t know whose car it is.”
“It’s the Russian guys who took the table next to ours. Trust me.” I went back in with a grin.
“Excuse me, but do you gentlemen drive a white minivan?” They nodded. “Your lights are on.”
The oldest of them ran out ahead of me and turned off the lights. He went back inside just as quickly, after saying thank you but without asking me how I knew it was theirs. My mother was more curious. As I backed out of the parking space, I pointed to the license plate. 4CCCP.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Call Me Virgil
This story ends fine. I don’t want you to stress. But finely as it ended, there was comedy, pathos and even terror amid things, so let us begin. Take my hand, Dante, it’s time to roll.
Yesterday I went to the DMV without an appointment. I left after 1:00 p.m. to avoid any lunch rush. Ha. 45 minutes to find a space of dubious legality half a mile away, up a hill. Then there was the standing line that stretched out of the building and around the block-- in unexpectedly blazing afternoon heat. About another hour to get my numbered ticket, but once I got into the shade I didn’t care. Not quite two hours after that I was at the window.
She wore a T-shirt that said “Bow to me”, which should have been a tip-off. The change of address displeased her, but her mood brightened when my nearsighted eye couldn’t pass the eye test. I see 20/20 with both eyes, but one contact lens is set for reading, not distance. She acted as if my license was in jeopardy then waved me to a machine at the end of the row.
“Put your forehead on that!” It was greasy and rather disgusting, but her fear tactics worked. I obeyed. “Read line one!” I did, with clarion precision, while she had a conversation with a coworker. I lifted my head. “Put your head back!” I did. “Read line two!” I did. She fiddled, it got blurry. “Line five!” I managed, she fiddled, blurrier. “Line six!” I died inside. “I can’t.” More fiddle, then clarity returned. “Line three!” Proudly, I announced every letter. She stopped talking. Timidly, I peeked out. She’d gone back to her window. I scurried. “Here’s your temporary license. Wait in line for the camera.”
Who could begrudge the next 50 minute line? I waited in a cloud of relief to be thumb-printed and processed. As 5:00 struck and the office officially closed, I watched tragedy strike. A charming old man got lost in the sardine-packed crowd looking for the window when his number was called. The employee he approached for help told him, “You have to go back and get a new number.” That broke my heart.
On the plus side, my parking space turned out to be fine. I was home by 6:00, with eight pages left to read in the book I’d brought with me.
Yesterday I went to the DMV without an appointment. I left after 1:00 p.m. to avoid any lunch rush. Ha. 45 minutes to find a space of dubious legality half a mile away, up a hill. Then there was the standing line that stretched out of the building and around the block-- in unexpectedly blazing afternoon heat. About another hour to get my numbered ticket, but once I got into the shade I didn’t care. Not quite two hours after that I was at the window.
She wore a T-shirt that said “Bow to me”, which should have been a tip-off. The change of address displeased her, but her mood brightened when my nearsighted eye couldn’t pass the eye test. I see 20/20 with both eyes, but one contact lens is set for reading, not distance. She acted as if my license was in jeopardy then waved me to a machine at the end of the row.
“Put your forehead on that!” It was greasy and rather disgusting, but her fear tactics worked. I obeyed. “Read line one!” I did, with clarion precision, while she had a conversation with a coworker. I lifted my head. “Put your head back!” I did. “Read line two!” I did. She fiddled, it got blurry. “Line five!” I managed, she fiddled, blurrier. “Line six!” I died inside. “I can’t.” More fiddle, then clarity returned. “Line three!” Proudly, I announced every letter. She stopped talking. Timidly, I peeked out. She’d gone back to her window. I scurried. “Here’s your temporary license. Wait in line for the camera.”
Who could begrudge the next 50 minute line? I waited in a cloud of relief to be thumb-printed and processed. As 5:00 struck and the office officially closed, I watched tragedy strike. A charming old man got lost in the sardine-packed crowd looking for the window when his number was called. The employee he approached for help told him, “You have to go back and get a new number.” That broke my heart.
On the plus side, my parking space turned out to be fine. I was home by 6:00, with eight pages left to read in the book I’d brought with me.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Bureaucracy Loves Company
Little things matter. I’ve read books that try to quantify how random interactions with relative strangers can have pervasive effects. Sure, we all know that one bad driver on the way to work can ruin your morning, but there’s a good side to this single. (Kids, ask your grandfolks what a record is. Be prepared to hear about AOR radio and the movie “FM”. Counter that with “Airheads”. If you’re too young to remember “Airheads” then you shouldn’t be reading this. Go play World of Warcraft, or whatever it is young people do nowadays.)
A smile from someone you see regularly -- whether it’s the security guard, a barista or a fellow drone -- can make you feel like you’re not in it alone, whatever “it” is. It’s not just misery that loves company; a good laugh is best shared.
What’s my point? On Monday I’ll be dropping by my friendly neighborhood Department of Motor Vehicles to wait in line and renew my driver’s license. Granted, the DMV is neither friendly nor in my neighborhood, but I expect to share this experience with a number of strangers who, by the end of what I presume will be a lengthy wait, will be familiar strangers. It’s my own fault for forgetting that the deadline approacheth, and I will pay my penance in time and patience. Hopefully there will be someone else who will see the humor in the situation, and with luck, I’ll share a smile or two. If not, I might be able to give a first hand analysis of the Stockholm Syndrome.
A smile from someone you see regularly -- whether it’s the security guard, a barista or a fellow drone -- can make you feel like you’re not in it alone, whatever “it” is. It’s not just misery that loves company; a good laugh is best shared.
What’s my point? On Monday I’ll be dropping by my friendly neighborhood Department of Motor Vehicles to wait in line and renew my driver’s license. Granted, the DMV is neither friendly nor in my neighborhood, but I expect to share this experience with a number of strangers who, by the end of what I presume will be a lengthy wait, will be familiar strangers. It’s my own fault for forgetting that the deadline approacheth, and I will pay my penance in time and patience. Hopefully there will be someone else who will see the humor in the situation, and with luck, I’ll share a smile or two. If not, I might be able to give a first hand analysis of the Stockholm Syndrome.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Huh?
Language is both volatile and subjective. A word can imply something completely different to you than it does to me – or worse, something slightly different, just enough to skew but not enough to be obvious.
Let’s put it another way. When you hear “blue” you think of a particular shade that’s different from the one I see in my head. Fine and good. It’s hard to think of a situation where that would matter. But for other words, those little nuances can shift the meaning into a whole n’other ballpark.
What do we intend when we say things? I think most ordinary conversation communicates emotions, not ideas. “How are you?” can translate to “I like you and I am pleased to see you now” as much as it can “Ugh, you again! I’ll be polite until I can get away, which I hope will be soon.” The particular word choices are less significant here, the feelings affect the flow.
But, and it’s a big but, when the feelings are complex or strong or potentially conflicting, the words matter – whether we’re hearing them or saying them. Our personal interpretations can inflame the most innocent comment. This is why I am starting to think that feeling may supersede meaning.
That’s heresy coming from me, given my lifelong love of narrative and philosophy. Meaning used to be the crown, and words the jewels of which it was made. But where there is genuine goodwill, we ought to be able to transcend verbal differences. I ought to be able to. With one hand on my beloved paper dictionary, I’m going to try to. We’ll see how long that lasts.
Let’s put it another way. When you hear “blue” you think of a particular shade that’s different from the one I see in my head. Fine and good. It’s hard to think of a situation where that would matter. But for other words, those little nuances can shift the meaning into a whole n’other ballpark.
What do we intend when we say things? I think most ordinary conversation communicates emotions, not ideas. “How are you?” can translate to “I like you and I am pleased to see you now” as much as it can “Ugh, you again! I’ll be polite until I can get away, which I hope will be soon.” The particular word choices are less significant here, the feelings affect the flow.
But, and it’s a big but, when the feelings are complex or strong or potentially conflicting, the words matter – whether we’re hearing them or saying them. Our personal interpretations can inflame the most innocent comment. This is why I am starting to think that feeling may supersede meaning.
That’s heresy coming from me, given my lifelong love of narrative and philosophy. Meaning used to be the crown, and words the jewels of which it was made. But where there is genuine goodwill, we ought to be able to transcend verbal differences. I ought to be able to. With one hand on my beloved paper dictionary, I’m going to try to. We’ll see how long that lasts.
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