I got a smart-aleck remark yesterday on Facebook. It was in response to a status update I wrote about ordering a wallet and chain. The person quipped that I should get a mullet to complete the look. Heh.
Today should be interesting because I’m wearing it to work. It arrived on Sunday in the mail. I posted about it and put up a photo of it here on my blog, along with some thoughts on its symbolic references.
It’s interesting to me that I feel somewhat like I’m violating a gender norm by having a chain dangling on the side of my pants and having a bulge showing in my back pocket.
Last night while watching the first Spider-Man film with Tobey Maguire for like the third time, it dawned on me that Peter Parker’s aunt and uncle were cut from the same template as Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham from the old sitcom Happy Days, both of who were American archetypes. This seems to make a degree of sociological sense being as the Spider-Man comic was created in 1962. No?
Which would make Peter Parker somewhat of a Fonzie figure — you know, infallible and all. With the exception of Peter Parker being a social klutz, in contrast to The Fonz’s finesse and charm.
That’s about the only semi-interesting thing I have to say today, methinks. It’s hard to have more than just one or two decent observations when all you do is go to work during the week and then restrict your weekend social activities to grocery shopping.
I will say that I like that when you watch a movie multiple times over the course of whatever time period, you start to gain enough original insights and ideas about it that seem almost essay-worthy.
Yes, I ordered a wallet & chain. Not that I have much to put inside. It’s more the appearance that’s appealing. I like what it projects.It’s not refined or soft like the traditional feminine aesthetic, nor is it demure. The chain denotes power. And the best part is the bulge in the back pocket — perhaps a reference to the male crotch, or a simulation of it. Perhaps even a distortion of it.
I had a nightmare the moon smoldered and spun, then fell out of orbit. Afterward, I wondered about the consequences, but I did not immediately feel adverse effects. I knew they would come, though, since I’d been told the moon holds sway over the oceans and such, and by extension, factors in as far as human behavior — what with us consisting of up to 60 percent water. That’s according to the US Geological Survey.
Recently I had a flat tire, so I had to join AAA on the spot. They charged me an extra fee because normally you have to wait a certain period before requesting assistance. But it was cheaper than calling a tow truck. I had initially pulled over at a gas station and attempted to fill my tire with air, but I couldn’t revive it: My dashboard said the pressure remained at 0.00 percent.
Thinking about both these things, I drew a connection. I surmised the message was my life was out of balance.
There are multiple ways to write. A few examples: a) you already have the story in your head, pretty much in its entirety (this happens to me sometimes); b) you invent a character, put it somewhere, like a store or a cafe or a gym, and let the character take charge of the story; c) and I just thought of this one, you can discuss a topic that interests you with a friend while recording the conversation. Then listen to it and transcribe your more interesting remarks.
I suppose that last one would be better suited for essay writing.
There’s a documentary on Kenneth Koch on YouTube, and he mentions a technique whereby he just gets behind a typewriter then writes unfiltered. The he goes back and edits — or more like, salvages.
I also read an interview in the book The Essential Allen Ginsberg where Ginsberg advised his writer friends to do like he does if they want to put out a book: go though your journals and pick/choose/edit.
What about who I am or what. I’m not sure how many people think in terms of “what” when they consider their identity, but do you think of “what” often, or is it more like “who?” We might consider a little of both. It seems that the what is more like which labels apply, or what do you feel like in relation to them. And who might be ego or your archived past. I can’t find labels that suit me most of the time. Weirdo maybe. Or unorthodox. Or strange. Politically correct I am unique. Interesting.
I feel like nothing. I have empty inside me but it feels nice. This is the joy of dumbness, or being struck dumb. I am dumb in the face of the mysteries of the universe. I cannot comprehend. I “understand” the universe spiritually but it ends there. Nothing else really registers, though a good Thai meal or a noteworthy cup of coffee or a poem will resonate. Good music like the unplugged jazz I listen to or certain classical music, like Beethoven or Schumann piano pieces or Schubert trios. Chopin and etc.
My house is like a religious house. No one here is religious but it is constantly quiet with us reading or thinking or daydreaming or sleeping or eating. My cat is loud enough to make up for the rest of us.