Deep Thoughts

As a blogger, I have a major problem. (As a person, I have many major problems. But we'll stick with the blogging thing for now.) I do my best thinking when my mind is completely on a break, detached from everything. This generally happens in one of two places: on a bicycle miles away from anything, or in the shower.

The great ideas hatched in this brain o'mine have a tremendous obstacle, right from the outset. They are often forgotten before I get the chance to document them. As soon as the genius thought is born and mulled over, it is easily replaced with some other random inkling that has no use whatsoever. The great ideas are fleeting. And it's really affecting my chances of saving the world through this blog.

So as a public service, I will share here some ideas which were fortunate enough to be remembered long enough to document. Let's go on a magical journey through my brain. Please fasten your seatbelts and keep all arms and legs inside.

--- How will we know the future has arrived? Remote-controlled hair. In the future, scientists will develop a pill that allows you to decide the length of hair on your body. The pill you swallow will send tiny, tiny robots to all your hair follicles, and then you can decide how long your hair will be, straight from your iPhone. You don't need to worry about trudging to the barber shop every few months. Unsightly neck beards will be a thing of the past, and ladies will no longer have to wax their legs and/or mustaches. I am also very excited about the beard-of-the-day possibilities.

--- I often wonder if I will ever set foot in certain familiar places again. Two decades ago, I spent many hours in the gymnasium of Holmdel Village Elementary School. There was Phys Ed class, Heritage Day pageants, youth basketball league, etc. The Chicken Fat dance and wallball memories alone are enough to make me tear up. But I will probably never set foot in that room ever again. How strange.
The same goes for lots of place I've been on my bike. The nooks and crannies of Rock Creek Park, the old train trestle on the Capital Crescent Trail, the serene Potomac River views along the Mount Vernon, even the hills and valleys of the Custis. In all likelihood, I will never ride there again. But some of my fondest memories of living in Washington took place riding on those trails. How strange.

--- The procedures of taking our shoes off and throwing away liquids before getting on an airplane are probably here for good. Silly "security measures" that serve little purpose except to remind us how afraid we should be, they're not going away any time soon. Imagine what would have to happen for the government to take those requirements away. There will always be someone who is a threat to our country. The "war on terror" is not winnable. Perhaps I am a pessimist, but I can't picture a world where suddenly we're told, "It's OK! We're all safe! You don't have to take off your shoes! And bring all the mysterious liquids you want on board! Huzzah!" It would certainly be nice. But that world is so foreign right now. We're gonna be smelling each others' feet for a long time coming.

--- My grandfather was shot in WWII. The story I've been told was he stuck his head out to see something, and a bullet went through his neck, missing his jugular by millimeters. A more accurate shot would have prevented the existence of my entire family. But this fact isn't the one boggling my mind at the moment. Neither is the question of "Would you go back in time and kill Hitler if you could?", even though that has also confounded me at some point. Would I be willing to sacrifice my family's existence to avoid Hitler's rise to power? No, that is not what I'm thinking about, although it has puzzled me in the past.

The vexing issue at the moment involves the soldier who shot my grandpa. This is a person, presumably German, who had probably already spent at least twenty years on earth. He had family and friends, a favorite song, a kindergarten teacher, annoying habits, the whole shebang. And one day in the 1940s, somewhere in Europe, he had an encounter with my grandfather. They probably never saw each others' faces. Hell, he might not have even known where that bullet ended up. But this man affected my grandfather in an extreme way. And there is no way to know his name. There is no way to know if he survived even one night after sending a bullet through my dad's dad's neck. There is no way to know if he made it through the war and has great-great-grandchildren someplace. He could still be around himself. I wonder what sort of life this man had, who had such a direct effect on my family's existence. There is just no way to know. And how many German families never even formed because of my grandfathers' direct actions in this war half-a-century ago? It's a little discomforting to consider. If I were to meet the German shooter, though, I don't think I'd have any hard feelings. How could I, after so much time?

Brightness

It's a nice day out, and I had to share with you this image. On the first 50-degree day in what feels like a thousand years, I was walking from the subway station to my office this afternoon. As I cross the Chicago River via the Orleans Street bridge, an absolutely incredible Jukebox the Ghost song is playing on my iPod, preventing me from doing anything but smile. Then I see the man playing on the bridge with a 4-or-5-year-old kid. Dad is flying a batman/spiderman kite, and son is spinning in circles trying to untangle himself from kite string and streamers. The sun is shining, birds are chirping, and for just an instant, all is right with the world.

That's all.

Bad News

It might be morbid, but this is one of my favorite songs.


This too:

But I somehow can't sit through an entire episode of Star Trek. Curious.

Good times, remembered

While enjoying a lovely evening of bowling tonight, a bit of my deeply-repressed past popped to the surface. I suddenly remembered the fact that once upon a time, I owned a bowling ball. In fourth grade, a whole bunch of us got bussed over to Strathmore Lanes for a school-sponsored bowling league. And I used to bring my bowling ball (and its bag) to school every Tuesday.

The memory is shaky, but I distinctly remember picking the ball out of a catalog with my parents, and 6-8 weeks later it showed up (and I think it had a monogram). What a weirdo. Surely there were no other kids who brought their own bowling ball to school on the bus once a week. There's no way this kind of behavior escaped the mocking of the other nine year-olds, but I don't actually remember being the butt of any extra jokes. Either the other kids already had plenty of other stuff to make fun of me for, or I've really suppressed that stuff.

Regardless, I remember the fourth grade bowling league fondly. It was there that I discovered the beauty of a can of cream soda and snack bar french fries, as well as arcade games. Terminator 2, the Simpsons, Street Fighter 2, and they even had some weird Neo Geo game that was in 3-D somehow. Those were the days. So innocent then. Ahhh.

In other news, I wrote my first song on the guitar today. It only has three chords, but I'm OK with that. Sudden inspiration is a weird thing.

Reflections on a Full Stomach

The one-day boycott is over. We protested Chipotle's lack of a Leap Day Burrito Giveaway by not patronizing their establishment for all 24 hours of February 29, 2008. Today, the healing began, with some steak, pinto beans, sour cream, cheese, lettuce and corn salsa wrapped up in a tasty tortilla.

As I inhaled my first burrito in over four months, the surge of Mexican-ish goodness sparked a thought in my brain (for once). See if you can follow it. The Chipotle in my neighborhood is three blocks north of the CTA train stop I use every day to get to work. My house is three blocks south of the train stop. Being broke and largely friendless, I don't have much occasion to venture north of the train station on any given day. So it's pretty rare that I pass this Chipotle location. Thus, I rarely have the irresistible urge to immediately chow down on a tasty burrito.

The southerly location of my house is the only reason I (might) weigh less than two hundred pounds.

"But Gary!" you might say. "Didn't you have to pass a Chipotle to get to your Metro stop in Washington? You were able to fight the urge then. What's the big deal now?"

To which I have a simple response: Shut up.

One more thing:
I finally bought a guitar today, about a dozen years after I should have. Now begins the process of slowly teaching it to myself. Expect to see it on craigslist in 12-18 months.