Thursday, December 19, 2002

Come on people now, :-) on your brother sister

One of the wonderful aspects of the internet is the fact that it ties so many different people together. This not only puts you in contact with a variety of different people, but can also occasionally bring together people who are very similar but who would not have discovered each other in other situations. For instance, if you're a left-handed, lesbian, midget albino, you might despair of every meeting another left-handed, lesbian, midget albino and being able to commiserate on the particular challenges associated with living in a world that is not at all organized in a way that favours the lifestyle of your average left-handed, lesbian, midget albino. But, thanks to the Internet, you can do a quick google search and find out that Sarah Jane has started the left-handed, lesbian, midget, albino student union where thousands can gather and participate in left-handed, lesbian, midget albino-oriented activities. And while this exact situation may not have come to pass anywhere other than in a Dead Milkmen song, it still shows how people could be brought together by the Internet A more true-to-life example would be what happened to me today.

Extra-Sensory Perception and you

While perusing my daily reads, I found, to my surprise, that the Roaming Redhead and I share a mental infirmity that I thought belonged to me alone. We both occasionally find ourselves concerned that the people around us can read our minds. Because the idea is clearly insane, I've never voiced my concerns on this matter before, but since Red broached the subject, I feel that maybe more of my peculiarities should be brought to the surface so that I can find sympathetic souls. We can band together, form an organization which will host mixers where no one talks to each other because they think everyone already knows what they're thinking (Ha, I just checked back with Sarah's site, and she had the same idea). We can supply information on how to find a local mental health professional and which tinfoil works best for those mind-ray blocking hats. If you want admit that you're one of us, please chime in:

Not a Bud Light, I wanted a street light

I've only admitted this to a select few, some of whom now think I'm slightly unbalanced. Still, I had to chime in to support fellow "street light dimmer" who was being scoffed at by her sister. Rather than affirming the sister's sanity, I think I cast my own into doubt, but that's often the price you pay for standing up for what you believe in. Especially when what you believe in is seriously crazy. What Julie was trying to explain to her sister was this: sometimes, when she's out on the street at night, she notices that streetlights above or near her seem to flicker and go out moreso than those distant from her. What's more, she said, her husband, who used to scoff, has admitted that when he's with his wife, he does notice this happening. And I've noticed this about myself for a long time. Most recently I noticed that the streetlight immediately outside my bedroom window at my old apartment was always "on the blink" as it were. I would wake up to it coming on or going off or doing this dim to bright to dim thing. When I moved, I noticed the streetlight across from my new place does the same thing, but no other light within sight seems have this problem. And the other day, after I'd been living there a couple of months, I was talking to my neighbor. He looked up at the street light and said, "I wonder what's wrong with that light. It's been doing that a lot lately." "Didn't it always do that?" I asked. "No, only for the past few months." So now I know there's at least two of us. If there's more, let's hear from you (although we can't, of course, gather in one place because of the power outages that might occur):

What's the Dewey Decimal range for info about bran?

You'd think Julei's sister would be a little less judgmental, given that she and I share a quirk that I've never been moved to share with anyone else. I don't even know how the topic came up, but I'm fairly certain I wasn't the one to broach the subject. I mentioned once that my coworker was concerned that the regular amounts of cheese in my diet were going to make other digestive processes less regular. Because my bathroom habits are not anything I usually discuss, and because it would have sounded odd, I didn't tell her, "It's never a problem now that I work in a library." So the question I'm putting out there is: does anyone else find that being in the library loosens them, digestively speaking? I know one person has told me this is true of them also, so are there others? We could research this and maybe come up with a new laxative.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

And now onto the last quirk that I'm going to share with you today. This is one that I have found no one to admit to with me, and perhaps I never will, since it probably has its roots in my childhood, my love of science fiction, an unhealthy dose of egomania, and a little smattering of crazy on the side. I like a well done time travel story, but in the books or movies, someone who finds themselves in possession of a time machine will almost always head back to see famous people from history, maybe kill Hitler, or jump ahead to see what the future holds. When I would imagine what I would do with the ability hop around the timeline, my flights of fancy were neither so far-reaching or high-falutin'. Often the answer to "When would you go?" would be: I'd like to retake last week's Calculus test. I think I finally figured out the answer to question 5. But what I really started to think about was, wouldn't it be fun to go back to check up on the young me? The more I got to thinking about it, the more fun it sounded. I could give myself pointers, pep talks, help the young me avoid certain pitfalls. But then I saw the flaw, the ol' time-travel paradox. I don't remember an older me popping into my childhood on occasion to help me out, therefore I would not ever be able to go back. Unless... The fact that I put this much thought into makes me think I am crazy, but here's my reasoning: If I could go back, I couldn't change anything either because of some scientific law or perhaps some regulations imposed on the time traveling residents of the future, but I still might be able to go back, I just wouldn't be able or permitted to have direct contact with myself. But maybe indirect contact; I go to the right time and the right place, just to check up on my young self, an occasional drive by through the past. So this is where it gets a little crazy: I started looking for this person. Every now and then, I see someone and think, "That could be me in 20, 30, 40 years. Maybe it is." So, like the questions before, I put this one out to you in hopes that I'm not alone, because insanity loves company (unless you're one of those crazy hermits). Are there any other future time travelers out there?

Insanity is as insanity does, the voices in my head always used to say

So there you have it, some of my deeper, darker, weirder secrets, put before you in hopes showing similarly minded or bodied individuals that while they may still be crazy, at least they're not crazy alone. And that's all I have to say about that. Now I have to go, because I'm pretty sure that future me heard my thoughts as I was typing this and will want to meet me in the restroom with the lightbulb that always seems to be on the fritz. Catch y'all later.

posted 2:07 PM

Friday, December 06, 2002

Winter #@!*&$*! Wonderland

Just in case anyone misses my smiling typeface around here. I haven't abonded anyone permenantly, but many of my blogs, between now and January, my show up in my seasonal blog page, the Yule Log. They my be of a different flavour then my usual posts, which may be a good thing. But anyhow, I don't want my imaginary readers to think I've aboned them, so pop on over to Yule Log if you wish. I may pop back over here to gripe about things that are seasonal, but not necessarily festive. Like the joys of living without power or heat for a few days, so feel free to drop in and check.

posted 4:10 PM

Thursday, December 05, 2002

The neighborly neighbor

Let's call him Hammy Davis, Jr., because he and Sammy have so much in common. Actually, as far as I know, he and Sammy have nothing in common. Except that their names rhyme, or at least they would if my neighbor's name was actually Hammy Davis, Jr.

the sanity clause

I've known him for about a month now, since shortly after I moved in. The other day he's in my apartment saying, "...so now that you know me well enough to know that I'm not crazy..." Hold on! When did we reach that conclusion? The jury is certainly still out on that verdict. I mean, he's a nice guy, an interesting guy, knowledgeable in certain areas, friendly, and so on, but sane? No, I'm sorry, there's been no definitive ruling on that yet.

(a/s)uspicious beginnings

A couple of days after I moved in I found a small package in my door. It was two CDs, homemade, wrapped in photocopies of drawing by Barry Windsor-Smith, and stuck in a Fed Ex envelope and addressed to "The New Neighbor." Maybe I'm unfriendly, reclusive, and/or introverted. I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm friendly and outgoing, but sometimes I think I'm on my way to being a curmudgeon, but I'm unaccustomed to welcome presents of any kind. I've never gone out of my way to meet a neighbor. I figure I'll meet them eventually, especially the ones that live in my building. So when I got Hammy's CDs, I was of two minds: I was happy that someone was being so neighborly, but I was also a little suspicious, not that I felt there were ill intentions, but just a very curmudgeonly sentiment of, "What must be wrong with this guy that he's so friendly?"

My thoughts to your thoughts, my mind to your mind

But when I actually examined the CDs, I was even more confused. For one thing, the Barry Windsor-Smith "wrapping paper." It confused me because I happen to know who that is, and because I know who he is, I would never just assume someone else does. He's a comic book artist, among other things, but to just drop that name with no explanation you'd have to assume that he had seen and recognized the comic book geek in me even though we had never met. That means I'm putting out some kind of "comic book geek" vibe, which is what I've always been afraid of. But then I listen to the CDs. One is almost exclusively music from old sci-fi shows and is labeled something like "Jack Kirby remix," Jack Kirby being another comic artist. Further confirmation that my geek vibe is actually emanating from me in waves that can be picked up from a distance. The second CD was a compilation of different artists, and I mean different. The Cardigans start it off nice and mellow, but it's really all over the place with dozens of songs from. Nat "King" Cole to Marilyn Manson to some 70's Funk band who's name escapes me right now, and two songs from the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And the whole thing ends with some sound clips from Buffy and Forbidden Planet. Again with the references only a fellow geek would catch.

EdgeWORDwise

So we finally meet. He dropped by to introduce himself, but I was on the phone. I wanted to talk to him but figured there'd be plenty of opportunities later, since he lived right above me. But no, Hammy sees no reason to wait. I thank him for the CDs (which I really do think are great, just odd for being both so eclectic and well-attuned to my tastes), and I try to say that I'll talk to him later, but there's no chance, because, as I've now learned, when Hammy starts talking, he doesn't stop. He's like a wind up toy that, after you've seen it walk along the table once, you figure you're done with it, but it's wound to tight and you have wait an interminable amount of time for it to finally stop buzzing along. Not that we was unpleasant to talk to. Quite the opposite. Because his geeky interests were so well aligned to my own, it was fun to hear him talk, but I was on the phone. It took several minutes for me to break in and finally let him know that I was actually in the middle of another conversation (which I had told him when I answered the door, in case he thought the phone up against my ear was merely decorative). I had written a little thank you note, which I gave to him and sent him away, but he returned ten minutes later to ask "what is this word here?" because my handwriting is notoriously illegible. I explained it to him, and it started him off on another conversation while I was still on the phone. Fortunately Rebecca was very curious about my new neighbor, too, and didn't mind listening in quietly on our (his) conversation.

Bouncing your reality check

So it's a month later, and I still don't know where I stand on the sanity issue. Of course there may well be people still trying to decide similar questions as they pertain to me. Still, I like having him around. He gives my life a slightly surreal edge by giving things a kind of sitcom feel. I think of him as my Kramer. But that analogy worries me a little, because what if he, or someone else for that matter, thinks of me as his Kramer. I guess that's not so bad. But Hammy is a welcome addition to my life. He's friendly, talkative, interesting. But sane? Only his mental health care professional knows for sure.

posted 4:57 PM