Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Slow day for pondering
Look,
sometimes the navel is just not available for reflection purposes. It's too cold to pull the shirt up, or you're amongst the general public, or that well of deep thought has just dried up (or is clogged up with sweater lint). Plan B goes into effect. Another body part. Just slip off your shoe. There it is! Your inspirational big toe. Like, Van Gogh's talented thumb, you just point it around your office or cubicle until an idea hits you. My apologies to the ladies out there; this is strictly a male inspirational method. I've never seen holes in a woman's sock (unless they're in the trash can), so you're on your own as far as latching on to your own thought invoking methodology.
From Saturday to Sunday, I usually leave my shoes on, which my family appreciates as their olfactory senses seem to be a bit more sensitive than my own. Besides, there are usually enough interesting things happening that the mind can latch onto inspiration easily. It's the Monday to Friday gig that provides meagre mental meals.
So it's back to the Wholy Sock. At some point in my day, John Prine's "Angel from Montgomery" starts bouncing around in my head. Sometimes it's John Prine hoarsely crooning the tune. Other times it's Bonnie (come on!! Please don't ask me, "Bonnie who?") or even Susan Tedeschi singing to me. And it's never the whole song; just the last two lines:
"How the hell can a person go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening and have nothing to say."
Now, being a semi-introvert, I already have a good excuse. But even that excuse can be as overused as Tom Ridge's "Color Codes of Terror". I could use the Big Fish method and let the brain and tongue do a tango until a feverish pitch has been reached, at which time, either all my stories will be believed or they will all be dis-believed.
But at least something's been brought up as dinner fodder, like a "shrimp on the barby."
I might take a visit into the phantasmagorical world of Gabriel Garica Marquez for topic hints. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to pull it off, convincingly; conversations that I had during my 9-5 day with frogs or dead people just don't come off well. Especially in the winter, since frogs are hibernating. Talking frogs? Well, maybe. But talking sleeping frogs? That would be a stretch even for Senor Marquez.
Luckily, the wholy sock has discovered photo sites on the web. If one picture isn't worth a 1,000 words, just keep on clicking. Sometimes, when you know there will be other folks at home struggling with their own "nothing(ness) to say", you can even make do with a pic that is downscaled to a 500 word worth. Hmmm, word worth...Wordsworth. Well, got my "something to say" started already.
Just in case,
the juxtaposition of Pandas, chained briefcases, "Greenspan", and "Moved to Den.." will also be back there in the ruminating stage of the mind, if my "word worth" thing goes down in flames.
And, if worse comes to worse,
memories of my happy childhood, watching my aunt and uncle conduct their unique and almost bird-like courtship water dance will do in a pinch.
Now it's time for the shoe to be put back on. Even I have started to notice the wafting of the wholy sock's airs...and, frankly, they are not devine.
Look,
sometimes the navel is just not available for reflection purposes. It's too cold to pull the shirt up, or you're amongst the general public, or that well of deep thought has just dried up (or is clogged up with sweater lint). Plan B goes into effect. Another body part. Just slip off your shoe. There it is! Your inspirational big toe. Like, Van Gogh's talented thumb, you just point it around your office or cubicle until an idea hits you. My apologies to the ladies out there; this is strictly a male inspirational method. I've never seen holes in a woman's sock (unless they're in the trash can), so you're on your own as far as latching on to your own thought invoking methodology.
From Saturday to Sunday, I usually leave my shoes on, which my family appreciates as their olfactory senses seem to be a bit more sensitive than my own. Besides, there are usually enough interesting things happening that the mind can latch onto inspiration easily. It's the Monday to Friday gig that provides meagre mental meals.
So it's back to the Wholy Sock. At some point in my day, John Prine's "Angel from Montgomery" starts bouncing around in my head. Sometimes it's John Prine hoarsely crooning the tune. Other times it's Bonnie (come on!! Please don't ask me, "Bonnie who?") or even Susan Tedeschi singing to me. And it's never the whole song; just the last two lines:
"How the hell can a person go to work in the morning
And come home in the evening and have nothing to say."
Now, being a semi-introvert, I already have a good excuse. But even that excuse can be as overused as Tom Ridge's "Color Codes of Terror". I could use the Big Fish method and let the brain and tongue do a tango until a feverish pitch has been reached, at which time, either all my stories will be believed or they will all be dis-believed.
But at least something's been brought up as dinner fodder, like a "shrimp on the barby."
I might take a visit into the phantasmagorical world of Gabriel Garica Marquez for topic hints. Unfortunately, I wouldn't be able to pull it off, convincingly; conversations that I had during my 9-5 day with frogs or dead people just don't come off well. Especially in the winter, since frogs are hibernating. Talking frogs? Well, maybe. But talking sleeping frogs? That would be a stretch even for Senor Marquez.
Luckily, the wholy sock has discovered photo sites on the web. If one picture isn't worth a 1,000 words, just keep on clicking. Sometimes, when you know there will be other folks at home struggling with their own "nothing(ness) to say", you can even make do with a pic that is downscaled to a 500 word worth. Hmmm, word worth...Wordsworth. Well, got my "something to say" started already.
Just in case,
the juxtaposition of Pandas, chained briefcases, "Greenspan", and "Moved to Den.." will also be back there in the ruminating stage of the mind, if my "word worth" thing goes down in flames.
And, if worse comes to worse,
memories of my happy childhood, watching my aunt and uncle conduct their unique and almost bird-like courtship water dance will do in a pinch.
Now it's time for the shoe to be put back on. Even I have started to notice the wafting of the wholy sock's airs...and, frankly, they are not devine.
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