The Consequences of Saying Hello

XY
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

I guess I can’t complain. After all, it was my idea to take off my headphones. And that’s where the trouble slash hilarity started. I was passing by a house that I often pass. On foot. Jesus lives there. Lately, there has also been a pair of men hanging on the porch. Well, not actually hanging – more like sitting. (Because that’s what people do on porches, mostly.)

Anyway, I always make a point of saying hello to these gentlemen. Why? Because they’re not part of Maine’s trailer trash fat-toothless constituency and that’s refreshing. Also, when I walk by, I am about three feet away from the pair by way of a sidewalk. As such, cultural courtesy encourages an exchange of greetings.

recreational porch sitting + habitual walking = saying hello = not being an asshole

So there I am, walking and iPodding, and I say hello. One of the men mouthed something back at me, but with the iPod, I was hearing impaired. (This is not infrequent.) Usually, I just smile in response and continue along my merry (or not so merry) way without taking the time to find out what inane pleasantry the stranger had mouthed. This morning, however, something inspired me to remove my headphones and find out what I’d missed. In the following exchange, it’s worth noting that I was the instigator. Me – not the men who were minding their own business, enjoying the day and their porch, saying hello because they’re not assholes. No, they were just doing what good neighbors do and then I came along.

ME: “Gorgeous day.” (It is. Really.)

GENT NO. 1: “Yes it is. Whatchu into today?”

ME: “Going for a walk. I’m not feeling so well; figure the fresh air might do me some good.”

GENT NO. 1: “Where you hurtin’?”

ME: “I’ve got a stomach ache.” (I did. Still do.)

GENT NO. 1: “Like heartburn or indigestion?”

ME: “No – well actually, maybe it is a digestion problem.” (The byproduct of unwise vodka/wine consumption.)

GENT NO. 1: “I’ve got Tums inside. Want me to get them?” (What a nice guy, right?!)

ME: “No, but thanks. I’m hoping the walk will do the trick.” (Tums taste bad.)

GENT NO. 1: “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

ME: “No.” (Thank god and the ilk. But thank you, GENT NO. 1, for the thorough questioning.)

GENT NO. 1: “Just checking, you know.”

ME: “Yeah, you might as well ask, right?”

GENT NO. 1: “Wanna have dinner with me sometime?”

ME: “No. Thanks, though.”

GENT NO. 1: “Why? You got a boyfriend?”

ME: “No.”

GENT NO. 1: “A husband?”

ME: “No. I’m just not into men.”

GENT NO. 1: “You ain’t no dyke, are you?”

ME: “No, I’m just not into men.”

GENT NO. 1: “Are you into women?”

ME: “I’m just not into people at the moment. It’s not that I’m into animals, I’m just not into people.” (I think the bestiality comment freaked him out. Upon hearing that I wasn’t into animals, the man placed his hands over his face. I think that’s where I crossed the line.)

GENT NO. 1: “Oh, I see how it is.”

ME: “Thanks though. Have a great day.”

GENT NO. 1: “Ok. You too, baby.” (How sweet.)

Thanks for the well wishes. He might be pleased to know that yes, it has been a good day so far. Actually, it’s been an interesting 24 hours. Strangers, Hawaii, mothers with heart attacks, fat people at the beach (in bikinis and speedos), coffee and wine. Interesting.

Parenthetically Speaking

Dream Car
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

Part I.

I think I’ve found my calling. As in, life. I’ve found my life’s work – at last – the way a missionary finds his. Or hers. Mine is slightly less noble, though. Or slightly more. I’ve found that I am a natural in the field of unemployment. As a wise friend duly noted, I am far too busy – have far too many things on my plate – to be bothered with trifle inconveniences like work. This observation came from someone who knows a thing or two. And lest you entertain a thought to the contrary, let me clue you into something worth remembering. Words of wisdom, courtesy of the aforementioned source: Never buy batteries for your vibrator at the dollar store.

That’s as sound as advice has a right to be. The lord’s honest truth. Sound advice like that is hard to come by, so when you do, you better grab it and run. Fast. And while we’re on the subject of the lord, let me share with y’all the buzz word of the month: praise. As in salutation-cum-affirmation-cum-rhetorical goldmine. Praise. Are you with me?


Part II.

While walking down the sidewalk, with the Atlantic just beyond, I passed beneath a canopy of leaves – ash, I think – and I became so overwhelmed I cried. This is a thing called gratitude. Apparently, I was full of it. What a feeling to be driven to tears by the sheer beauty of simplicity, of breeze in your face and salt in your nose. To be overwhelmed by the splendor of it all, however ugly, intangible, or blind. It is to be open in the ultimate sense, not just to possibility, but to acceptance you heretofore thought impossible.

Parenthetically speaking, fill in the blanks yourself. And if you see an unfamiliar word, look it up. If you do it enough times or if you never do it at all, you too might find yourself walking down a city sidewalk – even if it is a provincial novelty of a city street – stepping lightly.

Enjoy the grandeur; the world's mysteries are infinite not only in every way you’d hope they would be, but also inconceivably huge in all the ways you failed to consider. You might find yourself so overwhelmed that you need to remind yourself what breathing is. And when you do, take a deep one, two, then smile and wipe your eyes.

Back of Last Page

The Bench
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

To change is
to become is
to swim in
a raindrop of
Consciousness,
though not calm,
soft and sweet
as a child,
as a child's toothless smile,
a smile that
makes me
want to run
in all directions at once.

Bad Advice

we all look sometimes
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

Having trouble finishing something? Unable to master a particular skill, maybe? Well, here's some advice. And not just any advice, folks. We're talking FREE advice. Yeah. You heard me. FREE, like an all you can eat buffet of information.

Here's what you have to do. You have to keep on trying. You've got to keep thinking, going, working, failing, and trying anew. Or, in the words of a venerable academic - you've got to "keep going until you have a Helen Keller moment."

Seriously. No stopping until you get there. This was a piece of advice I received today. I'm not exactly sure what it means, but the source is well regarded so maybe prestige is enough to overshadow substance. Or not.

Dolls, Vaginas, and the Plastic Revolution

the scariest thing ever
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

This truly is at the top of the list. Scarier than any horror flick, hands down. Even those celluloid adaptations of the Real.

This, ladies, is housed in the back seat of a beige Toyota Prius that bears Maine plates. Some might call it fine art. Others, terrifying. And then the other others are busy spouting off adjective-plus-noun combinations of fine art and terror.

What is it exactly? Good question (if you're blind). Ahhh, humor at the expense of the visually impaired. (I’m sorry, Jesus. Christ, I feel like I keep letting you down. But we’re still cool, right? I mean, we’ve got history, man, history. Plus, the whole semitic thing and sandals and long hair. We’re still cool, right? Nice. High five, bro.)

Back to the terror art. So this thing uses a piece of foam core or plywood as a base. To this base, the artist attached two baby dolls. Now, that wouldn’t be such a big deal if they were just plain old baby dolls or say, baby dolls dressed in lingerie or Santa hats or pet themed onesies or a Courtney Love costume. But that’s not how they’re dressed. Instead, each is bald, with hair cropped as close to plastic baby scalp as scissors allow, and each is naked. The result is a haircut that looks like a weaver’s symmetrical attempt at a skull cap. A naked plastic baby doll attempt.

Next come the jawbones. It’s hard to make out in the photo, but one jawbone appears on either side of each doll. And the jawbone source? Your guess is as good as mine. Unless you’re a vet or a biologist. If you’re one of those – or Jesus forbid, both of them - your guess is certainly better than mine. But while you’re busy photocopying official records and licenses and the like, let me just say: some “artist” is driving around with a mutilated baby doll slash jawbone slash plastic vagina (we’ll get to that later) slash bound with wire “piece” in the back seat of a fuel efficient Japanese vehicle. I guess the signs had it right all along: Maine – The Way Life Should Be.

Now, to the plastic vaginas. Half of each doll’s body is cut off. Think lengthwise. But rather than leave plastic cavity empty, the creator chose instead to affix a plastic vagina inside of each doll. Each plastic vagina lays parallel to the dolls’ single arm. Parallel to each doll’s backbone, if it had one.

Whoever made this thing is a fucking genius. It’s sure to be the next Tamagotchi.

BSE: like Scrapie, but less glamorous

Coffee
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

Here's the thing about humans: we can't help but relate everything we see and hear to ourselves, our individual set of experiences. It’s like genetic narcissism. So in looking at a picture of wooden floorboards, its paint peeling, I think of splinters. And then I think about scraping the face of a certain button-pusher across those floorboards until that face is a toothpick holder. Does that make me a bad person? I think not, if only because I have no idea what bad means.

Or maybe I do. Maybe bad means slacking on the bJournal for over a month for no reason I'd call good. A four-page long to-do list hardly qualifies as a legit excuse. Neither does going on holiday - not even if you went to the land of quasi-happiness.

And though I'm not exactly (or even vaguely) sure why, I'm confident that mention of Richard Simmons' Deal-a-Meal program is in order here. Had I more patience - or what others generally call "imagination" - maybe I'd go through the trouble of thinking up (or down) some clever analogy, some excuse to invoke mention of the program and its calorie trading cards. But I'm in no mood for such extravagance.

Weekend Update:

• John Walker's work reminds me of Cy Twombly's, but my heart belongs to Cy.
• If you like New York, good writing, beautiful Chinese women, and lesbians, go see Saving Face. It'll make you smile.
• Street festivals clinging desperately to some hackneyed if sanitized idea of multiculturalism - stop.
• Carpal tunnel is spelled with an a, not an e. That, and it fucking hurts.
• I don't have bovine spongiform encephalopathy or variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. Do you?