So I'll admit it: I jumped on the bandwagon. A little late, as usual, because I hate fads. But it became too prominent to ignore. (Just like how I boycotted Facebook at first and then gave in and fell victim to all its curses.) So I went to see it. Inception. Your own dreams hijacked by your enemies, who then begin to dream within your dream, then a stranger starts to dream within his dream within your dream, and so on. I admit, it is a concept very few people have enough imagination to think up. And I get why it blew people's minds...because the movie itself blurs the line between reality and imaginary. And you walk out of the movie theater, among the throngs of people, feeling like the top that is still spinning as the movie ends, unable to pick your head up out of the quicksand that makes you so aware of your own existence. Here I am, walking, but how do I know this is real? What would happen if I acted like I would in a dream? Why am I me, and how do these other people possibly relate to who I am? And then your head is spinning so much with self-awareness that you think your "mind is blown" by the genius of the movie. But the makers of Inception were not the first to think this idea up. It is hardly novel. Edgar Allen Poe said it poetically: "all that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." For centuries humans have wondered whether this life was really it, or whether there was a greater, more real reality waiting for us after death. (So we may need all our gold and worldly possessions on the other side, please build me a pyramid and fill it with these things.) Buddhists believe in reincarnation then nirvana, Christians in an afterlife that is everlasting. It all emphasizes something after this. If this is just a dream, then we are all waiting to die and wake up to actual reality. How terrible and wonderful would it be to have a world that was more alive than this one? Greater pain, stronger memories, sharper senses, time moving in slow motion so you could feel every second...count each rain drop as it hit the skin of your scalp. Love and hate could easily possess people into frenzies in this other world, and everyone would be more tied to their kin. Humans would be able to outline other people's thoughts with a sense they didn't know they had. I am pondering life and death, so maybe my mind is "blown". But many other things could easily have done this. Religion, Literature, Discussion, Experience. Why does it have to be a movie, perhaps the least intense version of lesson-learning reality, that makes us all realize the possibility of impossibility? Why can't we all close our eyes, journey into our dreams, and map out our own reality?
Find Queen Elizabeth in NYC where she was visiting for the first time in 34 years, hopefully get a glimpse of her robes or, even better, a chance to say “Your Majesty,” and then go to the She & Him concert at Terminal 5 (that we bought tickets for weeks ago.)
Actuality: Reality is a cold, hard b*tch. Well, in this case, reality was sweltering in the summer sun, as Katie and I decided that it was way too hot a day to try to find the queen. And, to add to it, her agenda for the 5 hours she would be spending in the wonderful city were nowhere to be found. We temporarily considered camping out at the entrance to the UN, but decided instead to indulge in all the goodness of the Queen’s native country instead. Meaning, we went to the restaurant Tea and Sympathy. This is an adorable little place in the village that I read about, which has British food, traditional teas, and, most excitingly, British people working. It is small inside, but the walls are lined with teapots and teapot memorabilia. There was an extremely adorable display of teapot-shaped salt & pepper shakers (which Katie and I decided must go in the home we share with Giff someday.) There were pictures of the Queen we neglected to stalk and her beautiful relatives. There were books and doilies. And then there were the teapots…purple-flowered, pink-patterned, yellow-quilted, green-toilled. In the shape of a globe, a cat, a mitten, Henry the VIII’s head. Traditional, extravagant, conventional, Alice In Wonderland themed. It was wonderful. We had Quiche, Peach tea, and scones with clotted cream & jam (BEST INVENTION EVERRRR). I did have a small urge to try the finger sandwiches, but there is something about cucumber and cream cheese on white bread that just doesn’t sound good enough to spend money on. And we found a guy from Liverpool with the most delightful accent, and bought a Crunchie bar from him.
We then made the decision to find the apartment building shown in Friends, since my phone GPS said it was only 1.3 miles away, and we are devotees of the show. So we set off on quite an adventure. (Let me give a little history of Tara/Katie travels. You may not know Katie; she is a great human, but only an tolerable navigator. And I am the world’s worst map-reader, and my grandma-like memory doesn’t help. Then, when you put us together, we somehow get worse instead of better, always distracted by something lacey or someone cute. One time we set off for Brookhaven and ended up in Cold Spring Harbor. We have gotten lost at least 4 times coming home from Roosevelt Field Mall. One time we spent an hour trying to find a Taco Bell, our mouths watering with the thought of a Crunchwrap Supreme. We somehow managed to get lost trying to find the Pirates ride in Disneyworld, ending up in Toon Town. We so often have to call my dad for directions and help that he has taken to, every time he sees us, asking “Which one of you is Lewis and which one of you is Clark?”) This day was no different from the others. I attempted to follow the directions on my talking Droid phone, but ended up walking up and down Bleeker enough times for people on the street to begin to recognize us. A scruffy, scrawny guy passing on a bike hollered at us, as I puzzled at the street signs, “It would be easier to just ask someone for directions…” in an ominous manner that reminded me strangely of the smoking caterpillar from Alice’s tales.
But we were determined. Or, at least, I was being annoyingly dogmatic and dragging an exhausted Katie behind me. We were both dripping in sweat, with sore feet, and our hair frizzed more with each block. We considered asking a dumpy group of girls that seemed to be equally confused and trailing us if they were looking for the Friends apartment too, until we realized they spoke no English. After discovering a few used clothes stores, a great record shop, at least 5 places we must return to another day to eat, and one desperate stop for water, we found the place. It was unassuming and indistinctive and would have been unexciting if it weren’t for the triumph I felt at our success in finding it. Then we saw the group of girl tourists, going through the same burst of excitement we were. Actually, they seemed to have already gone through it, and were moving on to picture-taking and gawking. Yes, these non-English-speaking non-New Yorker tourists found the destination before we did. How humiliating.
But we took down our hair, shook out the sweaty locks, and posed for pictures anyway, like the troopers we are. So, we may possibly be the worst navigators on this side of the Atlantic. Yet whenever we get lost, we manage to find something wonderful. This time, many wonderful places, and a passerby who I swear to God was Ty Pennington from Extreme Home Makeover.
Daily Randomisms
Daily Excitement: On this city trip, after buying my Metro ticket in the subway, I clumsily dropped a handful of change. It went rolling across the dirty floor between tons of feet, all rushing to catch whichever train. Katie was already through the gate into the subway track, so I considered ditching the 50-something-cents on the ground for someone else to find. But, surprisingly, people began to stoop down, helping me to pick up my lost marbles— I mean— coins. At least four people handed me change before hurrying off. This one old man was stooped over, determined to help me get every last penny, even while his wife screeched over his head, “WE ‘AVE TO GOOOOO, MARTY, WE’RE GAWNA MISS OUR TRAIN!!!!” I admit, I had kind of lost faith in people’s goodness, and this situation temporarily remedied that.
Daily Annoyance: This heat. Seriously, I am melting here.
Daily Quote(s):
(upon entering the Landing pool)
“This water is soooo splashy! Did you add extra splashes to it, Miss Tara?”
-Thomas, 4-yrs-old, whom I teach swimming lessons to
(during “Ice Cream Scoops” drill, in which I make the kids at swimming lessons pretend the pool is a giant tub of their favorite flavor of ice cream and their hands are the spoons)
“Scoop the Spongebob ice creeeeeeam!! Uh-oh! Peepee on the ice cream!”
-a child which will remain unnamed
Trivia: One of JFK’s many woman, an actress by the name of Angie Dickinson, said her affair with him “was the best 20 seconds of my life.”
I will always be the kind of person who goes in the water at the beach. As much as I want to be able to lie languorously on a towel, taking in the sun with eyes closed, sipping a Pina Colada— some people’s true paradise— I cannot. The water pulls me to it, until I am so antsy to feel its cool rush that I cannot sit still. And I am drawn to people who feel the same way (oh, how I love my swimmers, still best friends after all this time), so I am seldom in the water alone. This is a good thing, because I am partially scared to be the only one out there. Maybe it is Shark Week’s fault, or maybe it is just somewhat frightening to be alone when you have water up to your chin and you can’t see your toes. But when someone else is with me, I completely forget this fear and fully embrace the rhythmic movement of the ocean. I remember when I was younger, after a full day at Robert Moses, lying in my bed at night and still being able to feel that motion cradling me to sleep. Not unlike when you really like someone and the relationship is new (the “honeymoon” phase, as some call it), and you can still feel their limbs tangled in your own.
Recently, on this idyllic beach in Aruba, my family ventured into the turquoise water multiple times. (And by “ventured” I mean sauntered out into the still water that was clear and warm as a bathtub.) At one point, we were all floating on our backs, holding hands in a chain. Yes, I am aware of how trite and corny this scene sounds. And yet, I couldn’t help savoring every swell of the water we rode together in this fashion. We finally let go, and I mayyyy have looked around hastily to see if anyone had been watching this shameless display of familial affection. But no one seemed to care, everyone in his/her own relaxing world (and maybe a bit too comfortable, for I saw multiple cracks slipping out of bathing suits that I had no desire to view.) So I let the white sand ooze between my toes as I swam back to shore.
The question is: where does this aquatic love stem from? I joke to people that it is because I am a Pisces, the fish sign (though I do not believe in astrology much at all.) This is also the reasoning I cite for not liking seafood: I cannot eat my own kind. People never think this is too funny, but it amuses me, so I continue to say it. Fellow swimmers have told me that our love of the water has some kind of scientific origin: as fetuses (feti would’ve been such a better plural of that word) we spent all our time in the amniotic sack (in liquid) before we enter this oxygen-filled world. So when we are in water, we are comforted, because we feel again as if we are in our mother’s womb. (I think I am getting this description right. However, I apologize for any wrong facts; for when people start to talk science, my brain often begins to think in poetry or a British accent…) There is, of course, the people that go in the water simply because it cools them off. Some do it for exercise and some because they are just influenced by others to go in. But I have come to think that maybe what we are drawn to so much is the consistency. The weightlessness it gives us, the way it holds our bodies and carries them, beyond our control.
As a society, we are rather obsessed with weight. As terrible as America’s obesity is, I am kind of tired of hearing about it. People (more so girls than guys) are constantly picking out their weight, a feature they want to change, or worrying about what they put in their mouth, because they know it will affect this infamous weight. I am not saying I am any different. I hate that it is something we must worry about.
There is also the emotional stress on us that so often feels like a physical weight. Our stressors seem to make our shoulders slouchier (is that a word?), our head heavier. So what would be better than something that takes our weight away? A substance so great, that it subtracts our unwanted baggage, leaving us to be, simply: our thoughts with a ghost of a body?
Daily Randomisms:
·Daily Excitement: Ging’ Binges (Ging’ pronounced like the first syllable of Ginger). This is when one hangs out with many red headed people at a time. Ex.) I was so excited when I was introduced to the term “Ging’ Binge”, because, at the time, I was hanging out with Kevin, Katie, and Michelle, so I was definitely on a Ging’ Binge.
·Daily Annoyance: Current Pop Culture. A few days ago I was in a record shop in Huntington, and was looking through the splendid collection of albums, wishing turntables were the norm. And I hear some middle-aged man come in and ask for a Jonas Brothers CD. Seriously. Among Houses of the Holy, some Bob Dylan, Arcade Fire, Revolver, Janis Joplin, The Joshua Tree, — he expected to find the JONAS BROTHERS??? You have no idea how close I was to breaking the Bob Marley and the Wailers album in my hand when the shop clerk said “Yes, they should be in the back left corner…”!!!!!!!!! Those Jonas Bros were there, tainting the beautiful array of music that I was looking through! I asked the guy working there about this, and he said, though it is sad, they have to carry that kind of stuff. “I wish we could only carry Bob Marley, though,” he said, as I paid. “Seriously, who doesn’t like Bob Marley?” he continued. That was an easy question to answer for me: “People who don’t have a soul!” He agreed.
But then I got to thinking (what’s new?) that maybe I shouldn’t judge. Should people be allowed to make severe music mistakes? After all, they may redeem themselves once they hear what else is out there. I mean, this may come as a shock to those who know me, but the first time I heard Led Zeppelin, I was opposed to them. (In my defense, I was young, and obviously very misguided by N’Sync’s annoying vibes.) And soon I realized how wrong I had been. Maybe the Jonas Bro-lovers will grow up to like Ricky Martin and Nickleback and be a disappointment. Or maybe, just maybe, they will hear “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” and fall in love with music, as it is supposed to be.
So I cooled off and decided to be less judgmental, and, hopefully, less annoyed.
·Trivia: Lyndon B. Johnson, in reference to JFK’s stud reputation, said, “I’ve had more women by accident than he’s had on purpose.” Obviously LBJ was a little envious of his Kennedy predecessor. Maybe he didn’t know that sometimes its quality, not quantity; in the words of JFK: “I’m never through with a woman until I’ve had her three ways.” Lovely.
You have your normal traffic obstructions: construction done idiotically during rush hour, that pedestrian that you have to yield to, an incident that causes rubbernecking (because so many people out there are just SO morbidly curious), stand-still traffic that seems to happen for no reason, people who don’t know how to drive in the rain. But then, occasionally, as a break to your weary road-sore eyes, you will get an amusing obstacle that makes you slam your foot on the breaks. And it is such a wonderful sight, you forget to be mad.
A week or two ago, my mom and I were driving up Middle Country Rd. past the Smith Haven Mall, and were passing Applebees when we saw people stopped and gawking at something. We quickly stopped the car, to see a mother duck and six baby ducklings crossing the double yellow line right past our car. The honking and streaming traffic soon confused them, and the mother about-faced and quacked to her babies (“Oh, my darlings! How could I have led you to this danger! This path is one filled with angry beasts on wheels!). As the went to return the way they’d come, people who thought they could finally drive almost squished them into the hot tar. People have no patience. I waited until the ducks were safe in the Applebee’s parking lot (safe-ish?) before driving away, and ignored the man in the car next to me screaming, “Oh, sorry to ruin your stroll out in the park!! I’ll eat you for breakfast next time!!!!” For once, I sympathized with birds.
Katie was driving me home the other day and we were turning by the Bull when we see this bald-headed guy in a purple PT Cruiser blocking three lanes of traffic to make a left from the right side of the road into the parking lot of the Oasis (our towns Gentleman’s Club…or whatever the nice name for a sleazy naked ladies joint is. Because, seriously, what gentleman would actually go there??). After succeeding in crossing the road after 5 full minutes of being perpendicular to traffic, he got out of his car proudly, like “Hey Smithtown! Yes, I did just interrupt your evening commute home so I could go inside and see girls young enough to be my granddaughter strip for me! I am proud to be a horny old man!!”
(Feel free to post any similar stories you have on comments! Especially if you’re Giff and you saw an old man lying in the road a few nights ago!)
Project Film Frenzy update:
· Dirty Harry (fantastic, minus the annoying music; Harry Callahan is a BAMF!!!)
· Easy Rider (kind of slow, really thought this movie would be better than it was considering it defined a generation of counter-culture…but Peter Fonda was good, the soundtrack was great, and the ending was powerful)
· Woody Allen’s Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* but were afraid to ask (pretty funny stuff!)
Daily Randomisms
Daily Annoyance: Those stupid pop-up chats that come up when I am trying to watch the Office on tvlinks.com!! No, I am not that guy you dated in high school, Lelaine12x! I am sorry that you just broke up with your boyfriend but, frankly, I do not care! Because guess what? You’re not real!!!!!
Seriously, who clicks on those things? They make me ashamed to be a human.
Daily Excitement: I bought a LIFE magazine from March 15th (my birthday, aka the Ides of March, aka the Day Julius Caesar was murdered by his best friends, aka the day the Romanovs were killed) 1959 in a used book shop!! And it has Fidel Castro on the cover (all young, before he took office violently, when he was just a revolutionist.) Can’t wait to read the sexist 50s advertisements!
Possible Future Occupation: Reading Teacher/ Literary Tutor…boring? I am not sure, but I love to read, and help others to enjoy it, too!
Trivia: Lewis Caroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland, died a virgin. (This may have something to do with the fact that he was famously not interested with anyone who was not a 10-year-old girl.)
Daily Quote: Harry Callahan: “I know what you're thinking. "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
