Don't worry. This entry isn't as sentimental as the title might lead you to believe. The photographs to which I refer will not evoke any feelings of nostalgia. If you are me, they will evoke feelings of irritation, and if you are you, they will (hopefully) evoke feelings of amusement. See, from time to time I take pictures of things that annoy me, so that I can share them on this blog (like the picture in this entry of some guy's stuff all over the locker room). But I've been a bit remiss on this recently, so this is my chance to get all caught up on annoying photos; this is my Irritating Picture Catch-Up Entry (IPCUE, if you're in the biz).
Picture 1: A few months ago I went to park my car on the street nearest to my house. Roughly 95% of the time I'm able to find a spot. This time I wasn't and had to park on a neighboring street. This did not irritate me. It's the price of non-suburban living. But then it did irritate me when I saw this jackass.
Perfectly placed between the two signs so that nobody can legally park in front of him* and nobody can legally park behind him. This person either doesn't realize he's taking up two spots, or he does and just doesn't care. Which is worse, a narcissist or a sociopath? To be fair, maybe he's on a really tight budget. After all, with gas at $3.50 a gallon, pulling forward those extra five feet would've cost nearly a tenth of a cent.
Picture 2: Since we're on the topic of parking. Around this same time, I got a parking ticket. Again this in and of itself is not particularly irritating; it's the price of non-suburban living. Sometimes you take a chance with a spot that's not 100% legal and sometimes you get popped. But you shouldn't get popped when you park at a meter and pay the meter and return to your car before it expires. And yet that is precisely what happened to me.
My car is the silver Prius. You'll notice a car is parked in front of me. You'll notice there are two meters. I paid the back one. And I had plenty of time remaining when I returned, so you can imagine my surprise when I noticed the meter maid (I'm sure they have a more PC term now, but I want to be as degrading as possible) placing a ticket on my car. My recollection of our conservation is as follows:
Me: Why are you writing me a ticket? There's still time on the meter.
Her: You're pulled too far forward.
Me: What? Too far forward from what?
Her: The meter.
Me: What? I pulled up behind that car, there's plenty of room between us, and I paid the meter. What did I do wrong?
Her: You should've parked a few feet back.
Me: What? ... Why?
Her: Sir, you can protest the ticket if you want.
[She starts to walk away.]
Me: [Shouting] THANKS FOR RUINING MY DAY!
Possibly homeless man who just watched this all: Now, now, I done told that woman not to write that ticket. 'That man paid the meter', I told her. That ain't right.
Me: I guess I'll have to fight it.
Man: Hahahahaha ... You bes' call your lawyer 'bout this one.
I didn't call my lawyer (in part because I don't have a lawyer), but I did fight it. And I won. And by won I mean I wasted an hour of my time writing a letter and compiling evidence (pictures I took of the scene) to protest it.
.JPG)
One thing that isn't relevant to the story at all, but still feels like it bears mentioning for some reason is that the meter maid had a pierced eyebrow.
Picture 3: Over Thanksgiving I was with the family in South Carolina visiting the in-laws. One day I went for a run around the neighborhood. The streets aren't laid out in a grid or anything like that (it's deep suburbia), so to avoid getting turned around, I remember the street names and then run back on the same route I took out. I did this -- so I thought -- but I still got lost somehow. It wasn't a big deal; I had my phone with me, so I could just use the map app. But still, I couldn't figure out how I got lost, as I was pretty sure I had remembered the streets correctly.
Then I saw this, and it all made sense.
.JPG)
Or at least it made sense how I took the wrong street. Why anybody would have Holiday Ct. cross Holiday Rd., however, makes no sense. Although, to be fair, there are only, what, 100,000 suitable names for streets?
So those are my photographs. Now I'll tell you about my memory.
Last Saturday I was hit with a really strong sense of -- I don't know what the right term is -- deja vu, let's say. Just a vague sense of reminiscence with nothing specific. But as the day went on it started to slowly congeal into an actual memory. It was a song my dad used to play on his record player -- an obscure, silly novelty song from the '70s called "I am the Tiger". The title came to me because I remembered telling an older kid about it, and he insisted that I was thinking of "The Eye of the Tiger", but I wasn't.
I tried Googling the song, but I couldn't come up with anything. Then I remembered a few of the lyrics; it had the word "ding-dong" in it (which I thought was funny as a kid); and it had something to do with a flood. So I tried Google again, and this time I found it. It's actually called "I am the Lion", and it's not a novelty song. It's Neil Diamond. And it's on the same album as "Cracklin' Rose" (Tap Root Manuscript), so it probably doesn't qualify as obscure either. It is kinda silly though. I'll embed it below.
Thinking about this song -- about how in my memory it was something so exotic and mysterious, but in actuality it's a mainstream song by a huge recording artist -- made me wonder if the things I play for Lil' S now are going to seem that way to him someday. Or has the Internet pretty much killed all the mystery of things now?
Next I started thinking about Lil' S being my age. And that set off a full-on existential freakout in my head, where I thought about how I would be dead someday. And I don't mean I thought about it like how I'm thinking about it now, I mean I thought about it. About once a year I have this type of existential crisis where I briefly understand the implications my demise will have on me, only to realize that there are no implications because I won't be here. It's a real mind fuck, and I'm glad it only happens about once a year.
Well, as Roger Ebert once said, "I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state." That's about as comforting as it gets for nonbelievers like myself.
Until next time ...
*When I use "him" in a generally sense, I mean him or her and just don't want to write it out every time because it reads weird.
Picture 1: A few months ago I went to park my car on the street nearest to my house. Roughly 95% of the time I'm able to find a spot. This time I wasn't and had to park on a neighboring street. This did not irritate me. It's the price of non-suburban living. But then it did irritate me when I saw this jackass.
Picture 2: Since we're on the topic of parking. Around this same time, I got a parking ticket. Again this in and of itself is not particularly irritating; it's the price of non-suburban living. Sometimes you take a chance with a spot that's not 100% legal and sometimes you get popped. But you shouldn't get popped when you park at a meter and pay the meter and return to your car before it expires. And yet that is precisely what happened to me.
Me: Why are you writing me a ticket? There's still time on the meter.
Her: You're pulled too far forward.
Me: What? Too far forward from what?
Her: The meter.
Me: What? I pulled up behind that car, there's plenty of room between us, and I paid the meter. What did I do wrong?
Her: You should've parked a few feet back.
Me: What? ... Why?
Her: Sir, you can protest the ticket if you want.
[She starts to walk away.]
Me: [Shouting] THANKS FOR RUINING MY DAY!
Possibly homeless man who just watched this all: Now, now, I done told that woman not to write that ticket. 'That man paid the meter', I told her. That ain't right.
Me: I guess I'll have to fight it.
Man: Hahahahaha ... You bes' call your lawyer 'bout this one.
I didn't call my lawyer (in part because I don't have a lawyer), but I did fight it. And I won. And by won I mean I wasted an hour of my time writing a letter and compiling evidence (pictures I took of the scene) to protest it.
One thing that isn't relevant to the story at all, but still feels like it bears mentioning for some reason is that the meter maid had a pierced eyebrow.
Picture 3: Over Thanksgiving I was with the family in South Carolina visiting the in-laws. One day I went for a run around the neighborhood. The streets aren't laid out in a grid or anything like that (it's deep suburbia), so to avoid getting turned around, I remember the street names and then run back on the same route I took out. I did this -- so I thought -- but I still got lost somehow. It wasn't a big deal; I had my phone with me, so I could just use the map app. But still, I couldn't figure out how I got lost, as I was pretty sure I had remembered the streets correctly.
Then I saw this, and it all made sense.
Or at least it made sense how I took the wrong street. Why anybody would have Holiday Ct. cross Holiday Rd., however, makes no sense. Although, to be fair, there are only, what, 100,000 suitable names for streets?
So those are my photographs. Now I'll tell you about my memory.
Last Saturday I was hit with a really strong sense of -- I don't know what the right term is -- deja vu, let's say. Just a vague sense of reminiscence with nothing specific. But as the day went on it started to slowly congeal into an actual memory. It was a song my dad used to play on his record player -- an obscure, silly novelty song from the '70s called "I am the Tiger". The title came to me because I remembered telling an older kid about it, and he insisted that I was thinking of "The Eye of the Tiger", but I wasn't.
I tried Googling the song, but I couldn't come up with anything. Then I remembered a few of the lyrics; it had the word "ding-dong" in it (which I thought was funny as a kid); and it had something to do with a flood. So I tried Google again, and this time I found it. It's actually called "I am the Lion", and it's not a novelty song. It's Neil Diamond. And it's on the same album as "Cracklin' Rose" (Tap Root Manuscript), so it probably doesn't qualify as obscure either. It is kinda silly though. I'll embed it below.
Thinking about this song -- about how in my memory it was something so exotic and mysterious, but in actuality it's a mainstream song by a huge recording artist -- made me wonder if the things I play for Lil' S now are going to seem that way to him someday. Or has the Internet pretty much killed all the mystery of things now?
Next I started thinking about Lil' S being my age. And that set off a full-on existential freakout in my head, where I thought about how I would be dead someday. And I don't mean I thought about it like how I'm thinking about it now, I mean I thought about it. About once a year I have this type of existential crisis where I briefly understand the implications my demise will have on me, only to realize that there are no implications because I won't be here. It's a real mind fuck, and I'm glad it only happens about once a year.
Well, as Roger Ebert once said, "I was perfectly content before I was born, and I think of death as the same state." That's about as comforting as it gets for nonbelievers like myself.
Until next time ...
*When I use "him" in a generally sense, I mean him or her and just don't want to write it out every time because it reads weird.
Holy shit! I remember that song. But never would have had I not been able to listen to it.
ReplyDeleteCrazy huh?
ReplyDelete