Gray Monday with a chance of warm. High probability of coffee in orange mug, possible cold front sweeping through sinuses. Thunder rumble, or truck of insanity on road in need of paving. Grading done, writing commenced, baby "singing" to his toys on the playmat while music softly plays. A good start to the day/week/month/year. To wit: my March Madness bracket ain't shot yet. One side is completely intact, save for Syracuse losing to Marquette last night. What can I say? I make my picks with the heart.
Gray Monday deserves as much prettiness as we can give it.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
White Noise
I've been wondering lately about images and associations, and how the brain does what it does when it comes to calling up random bits of information, culture, clutter, effluvia. The white noise of the brain, the distractable brain. The Retractable Brain, the brain that can be folded into a small case, potato-head-like!
Sometimes I get certain words in my head and repeat them to myself in the manner of a lunatic. Or I am driving, and the music I'm listening to (Arcade Fire, The Suburbs) makes me feel like the soundtrack to my own movie is playing in the background. A single raindrop hits my windshield and rolls down, slowly, and if I were a filmmaker, this would be my visual for "sad," my cheesy and obvious visual, until the pan-out reveals I am in the Starbucks drive-through, being a yuppie buying a yuppie drink ("I think we've aged out of that designation," I recently told my husband, though right now, the moment of this image, I am alone in the car, with Arcade Fire (is it "The" Arcade Fire?), soy latte in hand), and the detail of Starbucks, the iconic green logo, makes the mood either sadder or much happier, depending on where you sit. I sit in the car. I wish for my camera when a man on a bicycle rides slowly by, hunchback in a red and blue windbreaker, framed perfectly between two identical brick buildings.
I want to write these things down, but I am in the car, driving. Also, I keep losing my favorite pen. DANCE TEAM TORI says the window decal on the Suburban.
My brain recalls and grabs on to things that seemingly have no connection: "My ancestors spit on your haircut!" RSTLN and E. Rock you like a hurricane.
What is my brain trying to tell me?
I attempt to unravel these connections. I google things and get lost for awhile, in the brain-like folds of the Internet. There were weeks when everything I searched for directed me to the same cruddy website. I thought that Google was broken, but it was me.
Consider the equation. What if: C.Sheen = J.Phoenix - beard + smirk (x sympathy / tough love)?
We build excitement.
Operators are standing by.
Online TV Shows by Ustream
Or maybe the operators have flown by now. Flighty. Like my brain.
Sometimes I get certain words in my head and repeat them to myself in the manner of a lunatic. Or I am driving, and the music I'm listening to (Arcade Fire, The Suburbs) makes me feel like the soundtrack to my own movie is playing in the background. A single raindrop hits my windshield and rolls down, slowly, and if I were a filmmaker, this would be my visual for "sad," my cheesy and obvious visual, until the pan-out reveals I am in the Starbucks drive-through, being a yuppie buying a yuppie drink ("I think we've aged out of that designation," I recently told my husband, though right now, the moment of this image, I am alone in the car, with Arcade Fire (is it "The" Arcade Fire?), soy latte in hand), and the detail of Starbucks, the iconic green logo, makes the mood either sadder or much happier, depending on where you sit. I sit in the car. I wish for my camera when a man on a bicycle rides slowly by, hunchback in a red and blue windbreaker, framed perfectly between two identical brick buildings.
I want to write these things down, but I am in the car, driving. Also, I keep losing my favorite pen. DANCE TEAM TORI says the window decal on the Suburban.
My brain recalls and grabs on to things that seemingly have no connection: "My ancestors spit on your haircut!" RSTLN and E. Rock you like a hurricane.
What is my brain trying to tell me?
I attempt to unravel these connections. I google things and get lost for awhile, in the brain-like folds of the Internet. There were weeks when everything I searched for directed me to the same cruddy website. I thought that Google was broken, but it was me.
Consider the equation. What if: C.Sheen = J.Phoenix - beard + smirk (x sympathy / tough love)?
We build excitement.
Operators are standing by.
Online TV Shows by Ustream
Or maybe the operators have flown by now. Flighty. Like my brain.
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