Category Archives: memory

On typing

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I won’t call it keyboarding–I’m too old for that. I learned to type on a small portable Remington while working at a small 100 watt am radio station near Minot, North Dakota. There was really nothing else to do, so I learned to type, even though I had nothing to either write or say. Some might say that is still true today. What I liked about typing was the physicality of punching the keys and watching the letters appear on the paper–an actual piece of blank, white paper–without looking at my fingers or the keys. I developed the same muscle memory that piano players had, but instead of 88 keys, I only had 52, each key was identified with a letter, not a note. I couldn’t play cords, but I could write words in spite of knowing little and saying less. Banging on the keys of a typewriter in order to pound out an essay on post-structuralism is really more satisfying that most existentialists understand. The physical action of punching down the key with one of your fingers give one a very personal connection with the written word. I don’t get that same feeling from contemporary electronic keyboards found on most laptops or connect by wires or bluetooth to a desktop (which are becoming increasingly archaic, just like me). Kids entering college today may have seen a typewriter, but I’m sure they have never used one. Typewriters, along with rotary telephones and cathode ray tube televisions, are relics of the past, inventions that have been dumped on the ash heap of history along with cassette players, eight-track tapes, and 35 mm cameras that still used film to take pictures. A pity.

On the selfie

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The latest craze is to shoot a self-portrait and post it on the web. They did it during the Oscars the other night. I have always found the “selfie” to be a little narcissistic, silly at best. I mean, no one wants to take your picture so you do it yourself? Just because you have a camera doesn’t necessarily mean that you need to use it, does it? The advent of the ubiquitous digital camera, especially those attached to smart phones, means that anyone and everyone has the ability to shoot a couple of embarrassing selfies and post them on their “wall.” The “driving selfie” seems like one of those last things that some people will ever do: take a picture of themselves at the wheel of a car going 70 miles per hour. Some selfies are cute, but most should never see the light of day. The pregnant stomach selfie seems a little weird, but it does document the process. Most naked selfies would best be forgotten for so many reasons–poor taste among them. And naked selfies should never be sent over the web for any reason at all unless you trying to lose your job on purpose, break up with your significant other, or are purposely trying to get arrested. Clown selfies are illegal in thirty-eight states. Friends don’t let drunk friends shoot selfies. Tonight’s selfie could be tomorrow’s viral post on Facebook. Most people’s arms aren’t really long enough to take a selfie without distorted perspective unless you don’t mind that the whole world see your nose hair.

On the selfie

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The latest craze is to shoot a self-portrait and post it on the web. They did it during the Oscars the other night. I have always found the “selfie” to be a little narcissistic, silly at best. I mean, no one wants to take your picture so you do it yourself? Just because you have a camera doesn’t necessarily mean that you need to use it, does it? The advent of the ubiquitous digital camera, especially those attached to smart phones, means that anyone and everyone has the ability to shoot a couple of embarrassing selfies and post them on their “wall.” The “driving selfie” seems like one of those last things that some people will ever do: take a picture of themselves at the wheel of a car going 70 miles per hour. Some selfies are cute, but most should never see the light of day. The pregnant stomach selfie seems a little weird, but it does document the process. Most naked selfies would best be forgotten for so many reasons–poor taste among them. And naked selfies should never be sent over the web for any reason at all unless you trying to lose your job on purpose, break up with your significant other, or are purposely trying to get arrested. Clown selfies are illegal in thirty-eight states. Friends don’t let drunk friends shoot selfies. Tonight’s selfie could be tomorrow’s viral post on Facebook. Most people’s arms aren’t really long enough to take a selfie without distorted perspective unless you don’t mind that the whole world see your nose hair.

On missing the end of the show (because I fell asleep)

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Have you ever woken up to find you had missed the end of the movie or show? Not that it happens often, but sometimes a long day can take its toll on my ability to focus and stay awake. You don’t even know it, really, until it happens: All of a sudden you are looking at and listening to other characters doing other things and you are wondering what happened to the show you were watching. Perhaps I’ve seen way too much television, perhaps I can predict almost any plot twist possible, perhaps I need my sleep more than I need to watch another police procedural show. Yet, it makes me mad to miss the end of the show–I want to find out who did it. It makes me mad that I couldn’t stay awake long enough to make it to the end of an hour show. By falling asleep I am reconfirming that most television is only sleep-worthy and that we are all wasting our time with most of what’s on the tube. By falling asleep, I am reconfirming that I don’t sleep enough at night, and I need to change my sleep habits. By missing the end of the show my subconscious is suggesting that most television is not worth watching and that my time would be better invested in sleeping. I fall asleep and miss the end of the show, waking up with a sore neck, a hazy sense of reality, and a lost hour or so. It takes a little while to get one’s bearings when coming up out of the black hole of sleep. So I miss the end of the show, no problem, it won’t be a rerun for me in three months when I see it again.

On ants

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Vade ad formicum! Not being a scientist who studies ants, I can’t tell you a lot of the little creatures except that ants seem to live just about everywhere–red, black, grease, fire, carpenter. They form a social colony not unlike a small army, working tirelessly from sun up to sun down. Obviously the writer of Proverbs thought well of their work ethic. In Texas we have the wonderful fire ant, a devil of a creature that stings with a fiery bite that will leave you with tears in your eyes. My life in Minnesota was always haunted by small red ants and large black ones. We always knew that spring had sprung when little ant hills began to appear again between the stone flaggings in the walkway out to the street. Winter was a time for hibernation and sleep. I was always amazed at the social structure of an ant hill–workers, soldiers, nursery attendants–each going about their work in order to advance the survival of the colony. I always felt that stepping on an ant was a really low thing to do since they were so harmless. On the other hand, I have no qualms about poisoning an entire colony of fire ants–no mercy from me. The fire ant does not seem to have any redeeming qualities. Nevertheless, having ants inside your house is not a picnic, even if the ants want to make it one. Intelligent little creatures, the various kinds which store grain for food know that they must eat the heart of the seed lest it germinate while in storage and destroy the colony. How do they learn that stuff?

On ants

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Vade ad formicum! Not being a scientist who studies ants, I can’t tell you a lot of the little creatures except that ants seem to live just about everywhere–red, black, grease, fire, carpenter. They form a social colony not unlike a small army, working tirelessly from sun up to sun down. Obviously the writer of Proverbs thought well of their work ethic. In Texas we have the wonderful fire ant, a devil of a creature that stings with a fiery bite that will leave you with tears in your eyes. My life in Minnesota was always haunted by small red ants and large black ones. We always knew that spring had sprung when little ant hills began to appear again between the stone flaggings in the walkway out to the street. Winter was a time for hibernation and sleep. I was always amazed at the social structure of an ant hill–workers, soldiers, nursery attendants–each going about their work in order to advance the survival of the colony. I always felt that stepping on an ant was a really low thing to do since they were so harmless. On the other hand, I have no qualms about poisoning an entire colony of fire ants–no mercy from me. The fire ant does not seem to have any redeeming qualities. Nevertheless, having ants inside your house is not a picnic, even if the ants want to make it one. Intelligent little creatures, the various kinds which store grain for food know that they must eat the heart of the seed lest it germinate while in storage and destroy the colony. How do they learn that stuff?

On the good old days

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Today, nostalgia is an industry–books, movies, theme parks, television–anything that will evoke a time gone by when we thought everything was golden, that everything was better. Of course, our memories play tricks on us. Those “good old days” where perhaps only good because we were all so young, and it seemed like we could do anything–climb mountains, swim oceans, slay dragons, solve differential equations, resolve the enigma of the Sphinx. We were thin and energetic, full of vim, vigor, and vitriol, and we could eat anything and not put on a pound.Yet we were also inexperienced, foolish, and innocent. I remember my trip to Mallorca almost thirty-four years ago as if it were yesterday, but when I look at that picture of that guy who I used to be, I haven’t the slightest clue as to who he really was. Those days were good because we were not yet cynical and sad, disillusioned or unhappy. We had plans, a future. Life, however, seldom cooperates and gets in the way of the best laid plans a person can make. How is it possible that all of that time has passed in the blinking of an eye? Life is life, and we live it a day at a time, working, studying, eating, cleaning, picking up, exploring, singing, planning, loving, traveling, arriving, and then we start all over again, and so on. Life will not be better when the week is over, or when we get our next promotion, or when we get married, or when we get a new job. Life is happening every day whether you care to notice or not. Philosopher, poets, artists, have been telling us this with every new thing they create, but we fall victim to our own distractions and worry about when our lives are really going to start, or we obsess about a past that never existed in the first place. Perhaps the best thing to do with the past is remember it, but not idealize it. The past is an unknown landscape that exists only as a construction of our imaginations and our desire to be happy once more. If you go there too often, you will eventually crash in the present, bitter and tired. I prefer to remember the good old days as just that, the good old days, and some of it was very, very good.

On the good old days

Posted on by

Today, nostalgia is an industry–books, movies, theme parks, television–anything that will evoke a time gone by when we thought everything was golden, that everything was better. Of course, our memories play tricks on us. Those “good old days” where perhaps only good because we were all so young, and it seemed like we could do anything–climb mountains, swim oceans, slay dragons, solve differential equations, resolve the enigma of the Sphinx. We were thin and energetic, full of vim, vigor, and vitriol, and we could eat anything and not put on a pound.Yet we were also inexperienced, foolish, and innocent. I remember my trip to Mallorca almost thirty-four years ago as if it were yesterday, but when I look at that picture of that guy who I used to be, I haven’t the slightest clue as to who he really was. Those days were good because we were not yet cynical and sad, disillusioned or unhappy. We had plans, a future. Life, however, seldom cooperates and gets in the way of the best laid plans a person can make. How is it possible that all of that time has passed in the blinking of an eye? Life is life, and we live it a day at a time, working, studying, eating, cleaning, picking up, exploring, singing, planning, loving, traveling, arriving, and then we start all over again, and so on. Life will not be better when the week is over, or when we get our next promotion, or when we get married, or when we get a new job. Life is happening every day whether you care to notice or not. Philosopher, poets, artists, have been telling us this with every new thing they create, but we fall victim to our own distractions and worry about when our lives are really going to start, or we obsess about a past that never existed in the first place. Perhaps the best thing to do with the past is remember it, but not idealize it. The past is an unknown landscape that exists only as a construction of our imaginations and our desire to be happy once more. If you go there too often, you will eventually crash in the present, bitter and tired. I prefer to remember the good old days as just that, the good old days, and some of it was very, very good.