Microcosmic Dancing

A while back, in my "I Love the Devil (but not really)" entry, I committed to sharing some of the special experiences of mine that I had compiled into a list. I shared a couple, and then I forgot about all that for a while. But I was reminded of it again when I got to read another of my friend Stephen's poems last month. Hey, I don't know how it works, but you read one, and you've got to write one. I wrote this one a few weeks ago, but decided I might as well post it now. Go easy, this is only the fifth poem I have written in my life that doesn't rhyme. I'm experimenting.

Microcosmic Dancing

He fancied himself a dancer,
though at first he looked more like a buoy, bobbing
only slightly in the water. The thought
made me laugh and jest in his ear as I took
his arm and we shared a dance.

Now mocking my conception of a proper pace,
he teetered sharply back and forth
(a smirking pendulum).
“I don’t want to dance with a metronome”—
I pulled him in.

Time began to swish
more slowly, in that instant
I paused to sense it.
A word blasted in my brain,
a firework: “Microcosmic!”

It was a dance within a dance,
as little people swirling
in a shake of plastic snow,
or dancers in a music box
that’s sounding down,
with trembling fingers at bay--
to eagerly wind it up again.

Rush and Philosophy

I'm certainly glad that I keep up with the Rush is a Band blog, because as it turns out, there is now a Rush and Philosophy book in the works for the Pop Culture and Philosophy book series! If you remember, I was pretty dang excited about this series just a few entries back. When I came across the Beatles and Pink Floyd editions, I couldn't help doing a Google search for a Rush one as well. Of course, I wasn't surprised to find that such a book didn't exist, but that doesn't mean I wasn't certain that it would make a great edition. Apparently, others at "the top" agree with me.

Ol' Rush may not be The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame's cup of tea, but they are certainly getting a lot of attention lately. And what with a few of their songs getting into the Rock Band video games and all, perhaps the coming generations of video game junkies will get into it and download some Rush albums. Of course, I also fully acknowledge the supreme power of the "Colbert Bump." Old news, of course, but the fact that Rush hadn't been on tv for 30 years, and then suddenly made an appearance on The Colbert Report of all things, last year, REALLY excited me. I even want to see I Love You Man, even though it looks pretty stupid, because I know that there is a Rush concert in the movie.

Well, not much else to this entry other than the fact that I was excited about that book coming out. I guess before I leave you, I'll let you in on an interesting facet of Geddy Lee's personality. Now, I don't know whether or not Geddy has an obsession with a sense of equality, or symmetry, but he always seems to want something on his side of the stage to counterbalance Alex's amps. In this instance, industrial dryers:

While we welcome eccentricities in the World of Rock, our curiousity certainly heightens when we notice that for the subsequent tour Alex has gotten a larger set of amps, and Geddy has gotten an equally larger-sized set of...chicken rotisseries?!:

Okay, so Geddy is officially a little nuts. But I love him for it!

Run for Fun?

I warn all who know me very well, you will be shocked by this post. But don’t worry, I think you will recognize that I am still in my “right mind” as it all unfolds. Firstly, it seems as though I love fast food a little too much lately. I’m not one to usually care much about how unhealthy that is, or to mention anything about “watching my weight.” But I have definitely gained some weight lately, and I don’t like the fact. So, I’ve thought a lot more about…exercising. What?? Yes, you all know I generally hate that idea. I am the kind of person who has always loathed running, even as a kid.

Back in school, the mile run was essentially torture, but most asthmatic weaklings would agree. I remember that I skipped gym class during a mile run at least once in high school. Heck, I even lied to my teacher in elementary school about having an orthodontist appointment to get out of playing kick ball. Kick ball! Pretty pathetic, but I hate being forced to run or play sports when I don’t want to. And wanting to was…pretty rare. Still is, and today is officially a rarity.

Coincidently, my brother is also feeling the need to start exercising. Though, clearly, something needs to be done when you no longer have the energy to hop a low fence to retrieve a frisbee.

Though, the giant chopstick-like contraption is an interesting alternative. It’s certainly more fun than going around the fence. I can’t hop that fence successfully either, it’s true.

As luck would have it, Matt decided to get a treadmill for the extra bedroom.

Great, I don’t have to go to the gym. This has several advantages. You see, it has always been the case that when I want to do something that I find fairly distasteful, I require a novelty. So, I’ve thought about some things I can do that will psych me up while I run the treadmill to make the experience less torturous.

First of all, no run is complete without some great music to pump you up. In this case, I might choose Virgin Steele’s Invictus. Truly epic stuff.

If that doesn’t work I can always move onto reading "The Daring Girls Guide to Danger."

Number eight on the list actually suggests dying your hair purple! I haven’t tried that yet, but I did co-author a song called “Purple-haired Freedom” at one time.

If reading about how to be more dangerous doesn’t psych me up for a good run, I can always conjure some aggression by playing some Street Fighter II.

Such a classic!

Yes, the controller will reach. It’s a great idea! But I guess it could potentially be a little too dangerous to run on a treadmill and play Nintendo at the same time. Well, there’s always magnet poetry. Can’t get any safer than that.

Though, it might be pretty hard to place the words into properly aligned sentences like that. Drat.

I’ve got it! I know an activity that can be both safe and thrilling. I could set up some kind of virtual fantasy world where I am the super hero, and am running intently to capture some bad guys. Seriously, it’s not too high tech. of an operation. I’ve got all I would need already. The zany super hero glasses:

and the world (3D dvd) of choice.

Now, I can totally see myself doing that! Once all these novelties wear off, though, I could potentially be screwed. Let’s hope for the present that I can effectively brainwash myself into disregarding the truth behind these words from Back to the Future III, which have become like a motto to me, “Run for fun? What the **** kind of fun is that?”

Art Appreciation

Some time ago, while I was messing around on Facebook with this application where you pick your top five choices for various catergories, I realized that I have an insufficient knowledge of many subjects. While it is easy for me to pick favorite bands, books, and tv shows, there are other things that I haven't explored enough to distinguish my favorites. The main subject that caught my attention was the fact that I can't name my five favorite artists. I guess I just haven't been that into art. So, I've decided to finally establish some favorites!

I began the search by trying to find the artist who painted this picture I have on my wall of two girls in a rowboat with a lantern:

I really love this picture! The lantern really just seems so beautiful and special to these girls. It reminds me of a line from a Rush song that mentions wanting to be "Lit up like a firefly, just to feel the living light."

Sadly, I couldn't find this picture on the internet. But, I found this other one called Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose by John Singer Sargent which I think I may like even more:

Apparently, to get the effect of the light and colors of lanterns at dusk just right, he only painted at this time for about ten minutes a day, and it took him years to do it. I applaud his dedication, but I kinda feel bad for the girls having to put on those dresses every night.

Another picture that I had on my wall that I really enjoy got me interested in Edgar Degas (Dancers, Pink and Green):

I got a book of his work at the library, and enjoyed these paintings as well.

Singer in Green:

Four Dancers:

Singer with a Glove:

and Before the Curtain Call:

While I'm on the subject of art, I also had the opportunity to see two 1980s themed art shows this month. One of the shows specifically had a 1982 theme, and one of the artists showing her work was my sister's good friend Gentry Blackburn. I forgot to take pictures of her paintings, but I've attempted to recreate one of them for you:

Arguably, Khan is one of the sexiest older men in the history of cinema (especially against a backdrop of neon lasers!)

Umm...moving on. The other art show, at Signed and Numbered, was displaying and selling prints of paintings inspired by quotes from 80s movies. The movies included: The Goonies ("Hey, you guys!"), The Three Amigos ("You sons of a motherless goat!"), The Princess Bride ("Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya, you killed my father, prepare to die!"), Labyrinth ("Smell bad!), and many more. They were so awesome, and certainly fed my nostalgia cravings for that day. I even bought some for my room. This one shows John Cusack from Say Anything:

The quote on there is, "I don't want to sell anything, buy anything, or process anything as a career. I don't want to sell anything bought or processed, or buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought, or processed, or repair anything sold, bought, or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."

I also got one with a quote from The Outsiders, but I still need to get it framed:

It says, "Stay gold, Ponyboy."

I specifically wanted these pictures because they depict young characters who are making decisions to live their lives authentically and optimistically. That's a decision that I feel is always good to remember. However, I actually entertained the idea of getting a picture of Bluto saying, "Smell bad!" for the bathroom, but I'd hate to start off my venture in the art world with such distasteful instincts. Though, it still makes me smile a bit. As does that sinister picture of President James Buchanan I considered buying (don't worry, this picture had nothing to do with an 80s movie). So, that covers the beginning stages of my explorations with appreciating art more. I've offically begun forcing more "culture" into my life. Yay for me!

Langoliers are Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Sometimes I think that I should just let my childhood nostalgia live on strong, in memory, rather than to seek to revive it. It is always disappointing. A lot of the time, especially with this day and age, you can easily track down virtually any movie, tv show, or book that you loved as a kid. It’s almost too easy. Part of me is thrilled at the thought, and the other part of me knows that the best part of nostalgic back-flashes is the flash, and nothing more. Then again, the moment when you get your hands on something again that you’ve lost, the moment when you are sure you’ll get the chance to find out all over again exactly what compelled you so much when you were younger, is really a pretty exciting moment. That must be why the end result is so disappointing.

Regardless, I certainly am the sort of person who is much more given to exploring childhood interests than most people. In fact, Brady, you’ll actually have to comment this time, because I want you to remind me of the name of that Mexican punch that you and Dave used to like so much. I remember that I kept tasting it, trying to decide whether or not I liked it, and I had a sort of epiphany that the drink was like Nostalgia. And I suppose, I could call the punch by that name instead, but I want to track it down is the angle. It tasted familiar, but long-away so…and I simply could not tell if I liked it for its taste, or for its familiarity. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was drugged!

Speaking of your brother though, I’ll never forget the time he indulged one of my nostalgic cravings. I told him that I loved The Chipmunk Adventure movie as a kid, and one day he pulls out an old VHS tape with it on there for me to borrow. I’m pretty sure I snatched it, and literally jumped up and down, with a smile from ear to ear. It was probably about two in the morning when I got home with it, but I started watching it the second I got there, and loudly enough that I woke some roommates up, as I recall. Actually, when they asked me to turn it down, I pretty much didn’t. You must be excited about something to justify listening to it as loudly as you want in the middle of the night, right? Indeed!

Some things I revisit are much better than others (My Little Pony: The Movie). But it really is interesting to see how much of my heart is in silly little things like that. The best way I can conceive to keep these memories at their best would be to treat them like the memory of my cousins’ secret room. This room could probably be accessed by a door (somewhere), but I never knew of one. I only went in there once, and it was through a secret passageway underneath the bathroom sink. It opened up into this huge room with steps that led up to a reading area with soft pillows, and a wall painted with a giant rainbow. That’s pretty much the brightest rainbow in my memory. However, another came close a month ago. I actually saw it on the day I was leaving Logan. It was the first full rainbow I think I have ever seen, and it was so incredibly bright, that I had to pull over on the side of the highway to get a better look. It was a nice way to leave the valley.

Though, what I was getting at is that my childhood ought to be considered like that secret room, with a passageway I must concede that I simply can’t fit through anymore. Sure there’s probably a door I could go through to get in, but it wouldn’t be the same experience. The ceilings wouldn’t look so high on the way in, for one thing. And the rainbow wouldn’t be as bright, like Dorothy stepping into Oz for the first time. That’s corny to say, put that’s really the best comparison I have for it.

Although, next to the memory of the secret room, I’m embarrassed to mention the object of my latest childhood memory revival. I recently rented the movie The Langoliers, based on the book by Stephen King, from the library. It was mostly horrible. However, I could recognize a bit of what struck me with the storyline as a kid (not too young a kid at this point). Anyway, this plane flies through some rip in the fabric of time into the past. Although, the past is really not some awesome adventure like Back to the Future. It is completely empty, without people, smells, tastes, and sounds, except for a mysterious and foreboding noise that keeps getting closer. This noise is the Langoliers, who are described by one of the characters as creatures consisting of only hair and teeth, which come after all the lazy and unproductive children in the world, and eat them. His father had told him about them when he was a boy, to torment him into being an overachiever. Now they were real. And they were devouring the world, and the past. I guess the past is as useless as those lazy boys and girls. But anyway, the passengers must escape the Langoliers, and get back into the present.





Although the movie is mostly pretty awful in parts, I really love the idea behind it. For me, it explores the feelings and fears of not having a purpose. Although, maybe when I was younger it was the idea of loneliness or being unimportant that got to me. Don't ask why I like to reflect on my creepier childhood memories as well, I'm not sure about that. Anyhow, this story paints a picture that is maddeningly empty, with creatures that embody “the vast beast-whistle of space,” high on your tail to clear you out too. With a world full of Langoliers, you are always on the run. "And you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking, and racing around to come up behind you again." Sorry, I started quoting Pink Floyd.

Anyway, it is evident that the procrastinating reminiscent types wouldn't stand a chance against these Langoliers. Gee, with me not having a job right now and all, maybe I ought to watch my back. Though, I'm pretty sure that if a Langolier tried to gobble me up, it'd burst in a painful shower of nostalgia rainbows. But as of now, I think I'm safe anyway. I am not entirely unproductive. According to a recent email, I made a couple bucks in royalties with this t-shirt I made a long time ago. That’s right, I have officially sold two of them. I think I made more money at work while I was killing the time making that shirt than I've gotten from selling it. On the bright side, though, at least a couple bucks will buy me 10 lbs. of potatoes.