Do you think that the Afterlife has technology? Will there be upgrades and updates like in the Nowlife? How advanced are they already? Will it remind me of the first time I sent an instant message or heard, "you have mail!"
Will it be as foreign a concept as Twittering?
Or will it revert back to old technology so things are slower. Like using the card catalog?
March 27, 2009
March 24, 2009
Trapeze swinging fishes
I'm good at alot of things. I make my bed, I recycle. I say hello to neighbors on the sidewalk. I make a good bloody mary and I can grill a steak. I know when it's time to stop fast forwarding thru commercial break of a recorded show. I can grow plants, flowers and vegetables. I can make strangers feel welcome at a party (even one I'm not throwing) and I remember my Grandma's birthday. I can mostly tell when someone needs a joke, a hug or to be left alone.
I remind myself, I am good at many things.
However.
Taking things at face value is not one of them.
It's so stunning the level of energy I use trying to come up with a hidden message. It can not possibly be as simple as it is stated in words. I must decipher what is clearly not being said. It is my paramount need to understand something that I know to be there but it's just missing. Give me time and I'll find it. I know I will.
I swear, if there was a secret language that no one spoke and no translation existed, I'd be the expert.
Why yes, I have received a PhD in Deciphering Nothing. It has taken many long years and required hours upon hours of debating and re-reading with furrowed brow. But as with any other degree, it's only in hindsight that I realize I dedicated time and effort that was overall unnecessary and at great expense I now hold a degree in something that does not prove useful to me.
I'm like a kid learning to ride a bike. Until I get used to the idea of falling, I won't ever want to take those training wheels off.
I remind myself, I am good at many things.
However.
Taking things at face value is not one of them.
It's so stunning the level of energy I use trying to come up with a hidden message. It can not possibly be as simple as it is stated in words. I must decipher what is clearly not being said. It is my paramount need to understand something that I know to be there but it's just missing. Give me time and I'll find it. I know I will.
I swear, if there was a secret language that no one spoke and no translation existed, I'd be the expert.
Why yes, I have received a PhD in Deciphering Nothing. It has taken many long years and required hours upon hours of debating and re-reading with furrowed brow. But as with any other degree, it's only in hindsight that I realize I dedicated time and effort that was overall unnecessary and at great expense I now hold a degree in something that does not prove useful to me.
I'm like a kid learning to ride a bike. Until I get used to the idea of falling, I won't ever want to take those training wheels off.
March 21, 2009
Washing Windows
I've always been fascinated by things in which order is created upon completion. I admit, this stems from a mild case of OCD. It's not so much turning the light switch on and off 43 times before walking clockwise three times around the bed before getting in OCD, it's more that everything has a place. Things look better to me....more in focus, clearer....peaceful....when in order.
A very close friend of mine (yes you, Anne) is the direct opposite of me. It's not really all that surprising that we are friends, opposites attract. Except when it comes to works of art. Our current game is finding art for her office. She'll search online and then email me at my desk (we work together) that she has some choices to show me. I prepare myself and go in.
"Ok, here's the first one...."
Please believe me when tell you it was as if someone had blindfolded the artist, spun them around and instead of "pin the tail," it was "paint the canvas."
(I think my eyes started to water)
"Not so much? What about this?"
Oh come ON! That's just not a good use of paint. Imagine the artist painting the pile of Pick-up Sticks.
(My head hurts)
"Duly noted. Here's the final pick...."
Evil. Just down right wrong. If someone could paint the sound of screaming, this would be the result.
(I may have passed out)
My idea of art, she reminds me, is B-O-R-I-N-G. Snoozefest. Really? I don't see how a perfect horizontal line running across the canvas is wrong. Starring at it makes the radio stations that seem to playing in my head (simultaneously, sometimes non-stop) quiet down. All broadcasting ceases to exist. It's so wonderful.
I'm not crazy. Pinky swear.
I know my habit of creating order is apparent to others. A perfect example is the dishwasher. Loading and unloading is a form of art to me. I was unloading it one time and my mom commented, "I just like to watch you. Every move you make plays off the last move. It's choreographed so beautifully." Aw, shucks... thanks mom.
She's right and I hate admitting that, but I know what she means. I feel it. I know when things are lining up right -- I don't have to pay attention, it's fluid. It's how I imagine dancers or jugglers, guys who toss/catch the fish in Seattle, chefs or speed freaks on the highway feel. Things line up and it allows you to just do what you know.
That's why I love watching the window washers who do the outside of high rise buildings. It's systematic: Soapy water, squeegee, swing to the right and repeat. What's left in their wake is a streak-free clearer picture.
What got me started thinking about all of this happened on my way home from the loop today. Being a Saturday, the Thompson Building (aka: the State of Illinois building) was empty and there was a group of guys working on washing the windows.
HAVE YOU SEEN THE THOMPSON BUILDING? The windows are like, forty feet up and on a slant. These guys had the most amazing equipment and talent I've ever seen. Being awe struck at the process, I headed to the train. As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the song on my satellite radio changed.......to Van Morrison's Washing Windows. Seriously. No shit. And I can promise this to you because while I like VaMo, I only know a handful of his songs and wouldn't have ever given this title as an answer in a trivia contest.
So I dedicate this post tonight to the redheaded-window-washer-master and Van. Thanks for giving me some much needed clarity.
A very close friend of mine (yes you, Anne) is the direct opposite of me. It's not really all that surprising that we are friends, opposites attract. Except when it comes to works of art. Our current game is finding art for her office. She'll search online and then email me at my desk (we work together) that she has some choices to show me. I prepare myself and go in.
"Ok, here's the first one...."
Please believe me when tell you it was as if someone had blindfolded the artist, spun them around and instead of "pin the tail," it was "paint the canvas."
(I think my eyes started to water)
"Not so much? What about this?"
Oh come ON! That's just not a good use of paint. Imagine the artist painting the pile of Pick-up Sticks.
(My head hurts)
"Duly noted. Here's the final pick...."
Evil. Just down right wrong. If someone could paint the sound of screaming, this would be the result.
(I may have passed out)
My idea of art, she reminds me, is B-O-R-I-N-G. Snoozefest. Really? I don't see how a perfect horizontal line running across the canvas is wrong. Starring at it makes the radio stations that seem to playing in my head (simultaneously, sometimes non-stop) quiet down. All broadcasting ceases to exist. It's so wonderful.
I'm not crazy. Pinky swear.
I know my habit of creating order is apparent to others. A perfect example is the dishwasher. Loading and unloading is a form of art to me. I was unloading it one time and my mom commented, "I just like to watch you. Every move you make plays off the last move. It's choreographed so beautifully." Aw, shucks... thanks mom.
She's right and I hate admitting that, but I know what she means. I feel it. I know when things are lining up right -- I don't have to pay attention, it's fluid. It's how I imagine dancers or jugglers, guys who toss/catch the fish in Seattle, chefs or speed freaks on the highway feel. Things line up and it allows you to just do what you know.
That's why I love watching the window washers who do the outside of high rise buildings. It's systematic: Soapy water, squeegee, swing to the right and repeat. What's left in their wake is a streak-free clearer picture.
What got me started thinking about all of this happened on my way home from the loop today. Being a Saturday, the Thompson Building (aka: the State of Illinois building) was empty and there was a group of guys working on washing the windows.
HAVE YOU SEEN THE THOMPSON BUILDING? The windows are like, forty feet up and on a slant. These guys had the most amazing equipment and talent I've ever seen. Being awe struck at the process, I headed to the train. As the train pulled up and the doors opened, the song on my satellite radio changed.......to Van Morrison's Washing Windows. Seriously. No shit. And I can promise this to you because while I like VaMo, I only know a handful of his songs and wouldn't have ever given this title as an answer in a trivia contest.
So I dedicate this post tonight to the redheaded-window-washer-master and Van. Thanks for giving me some much needed clarity.
March 11, 2009
French Horns and Accordions
I really like to laugh. Which is good because when I laugh everyone around me knows. I laugh like I hug, every part of me joins in, it just comes bursting out from somewhere inside. I like how it feels just after laughing. You know what I'm talking about, those little tremors that if not heeded would bring about a fit of giggles and right back into full-on laughing all over again.
Man! There can never be too much laughing for me. Chances are, if you and I don't share a laugh, any from the list below, I probably wouldn't be expecting a Facebook friend request any time soon.
There's the small smile from seeing someone do something sweet or kind for someone else. Offering up their seat on the train, picking up a dropped item or random litter, offering an umbrella or an arm across the street, even catching someone do something silly and think (or hope) no one noticed. Come to think of it, this small smile (not to be confused with a smirk) is also the reaction I have with compliments. They're great to get, just hard not to squirm around when getting them. A small little one sided grin which doesn't mean I don't want it, it means I don't know what to do with it. Like Anne tells me, "Just say thank you."
Then we've got the full toothy grin. Even my eyes will join in and light up with this. It's real. I've seen it in pictures that I didn't know were being taken. I have a smile like this from when Robyn and I celebrated our 31/32 birthdays. I look at that and immediately get the same goofy grin. I like to think that this grin makes people wonder...what's gotten into her?
Occasionally this happens when I am riding on the train or walking around. It's when I'm quiet and reflective that I can take time to really see my surroundings. I love noticing someone do something crazy and out of the ordinary. Catching someone cartwheeling down the sidewalk or getting good news on the phone and doing a little jig. Often little kids can make this happen. Or dogs. They are both always so damn happy to just run around. Who wouldn't smile wide from such innocent play?
But then we get to the silent laugh. You'd think the silent laugh is the polite laugh -- when something is not all that funny but you have to pretend so....and you would be incorrect. The polite laugh, a.k.a. the uncomfortable "it's not funny or I don't get it" laugh is more like the character Janice on Friends. It's awkward and too loud and just feels metallic to your ears.
Kinda like chewing on tinfoil.
No, the silent laugh is the kind that I have to hold in or it's going to go everywhere....it's just that damn funny. Most times my shoulders get involved. I really like this one because it minimizes the number of unexpected audience participants (those folks unfortunate enough to be close by when the out loud laugh breaks).
And now we come to the last two. The doozies. My very best friends, family and unlucky co-workers know these all too well.
There's the Cackle. A full out loud laugh that might be likened to a machine gun. Rapid bursts of laughs. I wouldn't liken it to that. But I know it is. It usually starts with the hard burst of laugh and progresses into the next stage. This is when the unexpected audience participants turn their heads to see who's laughing and begs the question, "What's so funny?"
Which precedes the final stage....the Mt. Everest of my laughing.....the Wheezies.
Yup, I'm one of those. Imagine your Uncle Al, the Lucky Strike smoking, whiskey drinking Uncle. Tell him a dirty joke and see where it takes him. Now, add some tears from laughing and you'll have a fair representation of me. I know it sounds obnoxious and it's probably damn annoying if you aren't a part of the fun, but I can't help it. I don't know how some people have a great laugh -- the kind you could listen to all night long -- and others have, well, the Wheezies for example. But I know for sure that won't stop just because it sounds ridiculous. I don't remember laughing like this when I was growing up, though I do remember trying to practice laughing -- yeah, that didn't last long. I wonder if it will morph again into something down the road a few years. God I hope it's not worse sounding than the Wheezies!
Until that should take place, and I wouldn't hold your (laugh!) breath, please feel free to join in with me. Shake what your Momma gave ya, and all that jazz! I mean....even an Accordion has a place in a pop song every once in awhile. You just have to accept it and decide if you like the noise it brings to the table.
Man! There can never be too much laughing for me. Chances are, if you and I don't share a laugh, any from the list below, I probably wouldn't be expecting a Facebook friend request any time soon.
There's the small smile from seeing someone do something sweet or kind for someone else. Offering up their seat on the train, picking up a dropped item or random litter, offering an umbrella or an arm across the street, even catching someone do something silly and think (or hope) no one noticed. Come to think of it, this small smile (not to be confused with a smirk) is also the reaction I have with compliments. They're great to get, just hard not to squirm around when getting them. A small little one sided grin which doesn't mean I don't want it, it means I don't know what to do with it. Like Anne tells me, "Just say thank you."
Then we've got the full toothy grin. Even my eyes will join in and light up with this. It's real. I've seen it in pictures that I didn't know were being taken. I have a smile like this from when Robyn and I celebrated our 31/32 birthdays. I look at that and immediately get the same goofy grin. I like to think that this grin makes people wonder...what's gotten into her?
Occasionally this happens when I am riding on the train or walking around. It's when I'm quiet and reflective that I can take time to really see my surroundings. I love noticing someone do something crazy and out of the ordinary. Catching someone cartwheeling down the sidewalk or getting good news on the phone and doing a little jig. Often little kids can make this happen. Or dogs. They are both always so damn happy to just run around. Who wouldn't smile wide from such innocent play?
But then we get to the silent laugh. You'd think the silent laugh is the polite laugh -- when something is not all that funny but you have to pretend so....and you would be incorrect. The polite laugh, a.k.a. the uncomfortable "it's not funny or I don't get it" laugh is more like the character Janice on Friends. It's awkward and too loud and just feels metallic to your ears.
Kinda like chewing on tinfoil.
No, the silent laugh is the kind that I have to hold in or it's going to go everywhere....it's just that damn funny. Most times my shoulders get involved. I really like this one because it minimizes the number of unexpected audience participants (those folks unfortunate enough to be close by when the out loud laugh breaks).
And now we come to the last two. The doozies. My very best friends, family and unlucky co-workers know these all too well.
There's the Cackle. A full out loud laugh that might be likened to a machine gun. Rapid bursts of laughs. I wouldn't liken it to that. But I know it is. It usually starts with the hard burst of laugh and progresses into the next stage. This is when the unexpected audience participants turn their heads to see who's laughing and begs the question, "What's so funny?"
Which precedes the final stage....the Mt. Everest of my laughing.....the Wheezies.
Yup, I'm one of those. Imagine your Uncle Al, the Lucky Strike smoking, whiskey drinking Uncle. Tell him a dirty joke and see where it takes him. Now, add some tears from laughing and you'll have a fair representation of me. I know it sounds obnoxious and it's probably damn annoying if you aren't a part of the fun, but I can't help it. I don't know how some people have a great laugh -- the kind you could listen to all night long -- and others have, well, the Wheezies for example. But I know for sure that won't stop just because it sounds ridiculous. I don't remember laughing like this when I was growing up, though I do remember trying to practice laughing -- yeah, that didn't last long. I wonder if it will morph again into something down the road a few years. God I hope it's not worse sounding than the Wheezies!
Until that should take place, and I wouldn't hold your (laugh!) breath, please feel free to join in with me. Shake what your Momma gave ya, and all that jazz! I mean....even an Accordion has a place in a pop song every once in awhile. You just have to accept it and decide if you like the noise it brings to the table.
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