Flying 14 September 1998

Must! Remain! Continuously! Active! Cannot! Stop! Typing! Where is! TickerTape! of Current! Headlines??! Say! This! PopTart! Isn't! Bad!

There is a certain feeling that you can get when you've sent out a lot of email and you're waiting for any replies to come back, and it's starting to have been a while, and nothing has shown up. That feeling is not dissimilar to the sensation of being addressed here at work as "Gustav". "Gustav" was someone who doesn't work here anymore, who even I could tell was a creep. He was also, I think, closer in age to me than I am to these kids around here. I guess that accounts for the confusion. "You know, that old guy, whatsisname."

So........ yep. What do you think distinguishes people who will listen to a 100-CD player on Random Mode, from those who will still use it to play just one CD at a time, which they go up and put in themselves and then take out of the player when they're done?

No, there's no trick answer. I honestly wonder.

What does today mean? The New York Times is really getting out of control. "A Day-By-Day, 'Blow-By-Blow' Fantasy About President Clinton, Who, With All Due Deliberation And A Grave Awareness Of The Seriousness Of Our Actions, Should Be Burned At The Stake For The Evil Bastard That He Is." Today is a funny day somehow. I suppose it's just Mondayness. Re-entry, jet lag, I've discussed this before.

But damn, pretty soon I'm going to end up having discussed everything before. Not that much unique happens to me, you must realize this. If I didn't repeat myself... well, what would I do? Good God, I might have to go out and do something new. What a ridiculous notion.

Travel. There are places I would like to see, it's true. I am not brimming over with confidence in my ability to get around foreign environments without collapsing into a hotel-bound heap, though. Especially if I can't speak the language. It's that outgoing thing. The times I have traveled and enjoyed myself, I was able to borrow someone else and her personality.

I don't think I've told this story here. My sister told me about having to take me to the babysitter when she was in grade school and I was pre-pre-school age. Not even 2 years old, I think. She was only 8 or 9 herself, but of course she had to do it because she was the girl. Nine kids, 8 boys, 1 girl. Spare a tear for my sister, it's deserved.

Anyway, so she would have to take me over to this neighbor woman's house before school, since my mom worked all day and my dad was... usually otherwise occupied. Ahem. Distances were too great and time too short to go places on foot, and even though this was in California, nine-year-olds were still not allowed to drive. So she would just plop me down into the basket on the front of her bicycle and take off.

She started laughing at this point in the story. "You should have seen your face!" Really. "Oh my god! You had this look - !!!" More laughter. So glad that my career as an object of amusement began so early. And what kind of look might that have been, Sis? "You just sat there strangling the edges of the basket, staring straight ahead, with your eyes bugging out of your head. You never moved, you never said anything, you looked like you were hypnotized or something!"

I don't strictly remember any of this, but the description rang a dim kind of bell. What I can picture is the situation I was in: being in the basket in the front of the bike, I wasn't really able to see how I was moving, what was holding me up. I would have just been flying through the air, propelled by who-knew-what, going who-knew-where. Hence, that cute look of abject terror on my chubby little visage.

I believe this is what is called "a formative experience."

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep. © 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne.