Author Archives: oinsketta

Bipedalism foo

I’m going to start walking on four legs.  Screw this bipedal bull dung, if you know what I’m saying.   Tired of the upright pretense of walking on two legs.   Too much work and not much pay off, I say.  My lower back hurts more than it used to and I’m pretty sure I know why.

I look at my master, the only time he’s up on two legs is to grab my wrist with sharp claws and sink his fangs into my hand.   The rest of the time he moves and relaxes horizontally.  Way to go, I say.  And I’ve never heard him complain about his back hurting him.

“Where are you going with this?” asks one of those upstanding prigs, the kind who scrutinize with a wrinkled nose.

“Follow me if you can,” I say, putting my palms on the floor, along with my toes, and moving smartly up the staircase.

Louis Armstrong was once asked by a square what the meaning of jazz was.  “If you got to ask, Daddy, you ain’t never gonna know,” said Armstrong.

So if I go on two legs, or on four, what I’m saying is the same– and so is the song I’m humming.  Only my hands will be a little more calloused when I gesticulate, you know, since I’ve been walking on four instead of two limbs.

Real time

In real time, sometimes, we get our ass kicked.  I feel it at the end of every two hour workshop with nine energetic and creative kids I work with on Thursdays after school.  I leave it all on the field, and feel like I’ve had my ass kicked and accomplished nothing.

But I remind myself every week, after I revisit the frames and sounds they’ve made, that real-time ain’t the only time.   Tweaking, combing and refining, I’m thrilled with what we accomplished, in spite of everything.

Good to remind ourselves to appreciate the blessings we are too preoccupied to recognize.

Experience

Deeply experienced things remain, even years later.  The moment, the light, how things smelled, facial expressions, every tiny unverifiable detail is contained in the memory.

I remember sitting on a stone bench on a cool evening, watching a gangly puppy’s uncontrollable excitement as he discovered the delights of eating deer shit.  “Let’s not mention this to her,” my friend says, laughing, raising a shot of excellent scotch.

Painful experiences are also in there, no doubt.  The blessing is that the beautiful experiences, though sometimes more subtle, more elusive, are just as strong as the other kind.

 

My Father’s Wit

My Father’s Wit

 

My father, may he rest in peace, was one of the fastest people on his feet I ever knew.  At least as far as a clever rejoinder, he was very quick on the draw.  He wasn’t always good at responding to other situations in real time, few are.  Those quick on their feet in every situation are the stuff of Hollywood movies, there aren’t many of them.  But in conversation my father was as quick as anyone in the witty comeback department.

I’m reminded of this because I was just lamenting to myself that I need to get more chores done, crucial unpleasant appointments made, business taken care of, in addition to daydreaming and planning all the time.  Granted, my daydreams and plans seem to be budding and I can almost see the flowers that will be the fruits of this long labor of dreaming and planning, but still, I need to do chores.  I also recognize that I’m fortunate, at the moment, that I am not lashed to the wheel of having to work to pay my rent  today, or tomorrow, although that day is looming.  So while I was bothered by my reluctance to take care of needed chores, and reflecting on my good fortune not to have to report to some hideous job every day, my father’s voice came into my head.

“You’d complain if you were hanged with a new rope,” said the old man.

It’s in the delivery

It’s in the Delivery

 

Back when I had a sense of humor, this was intuitive.   A slight pause, a turn of the head, the tone of voice, a small gesture of face or hands to set off the moment right before the laugh.   There’s probably no way it can be taught, people we know are either funny or say “I suck at telling jokes.”

I was reminded of this recently watching somebody coach somebody else on how to read a line so it would be funny.   The line was OK, I thought to myself, but if you have to coach somebody on how to deliver it to make it as funny as you wrote it, maybe the line should have been written better in the first place.  This is a touchy subject and I didn’t touch it, although I got my greasy fingerprints all over it just now.   Vhoops.

But delivery doesn’t just go for jokes.  Skillful delivery is crucial in getting any message across.  People, as a rule, don’t give a rat’s ass about anything that’s not already on their mind.   We are a self-involved species.  So how a thing is delivered to us will decide whether we hear it or not.  Also how the message will make you feel to receive it.  Compare:

I don’t mean to bring you down, and a lot of people, I know, have been doggin’ you and criticizing where they should either be quiet or praising you, but I couldn’t help thinking that your last post, even though it was pretty good, I mean, I thought it was good, well…. a lot of people could say it was kind of preachy and superior.  I’m just telling you this so you won’t think these people are right, I didn’t find it very preachy and superior, only a little bit, and it really didn’t bother me that much.

and

I like your recent post.  You’re surely aware that some could be put off by what they will consider preachiness or superiority, but for my money– preach away, my brother.  As for the more priggish in the congregation, let the dead bury themselves.  In fact, I’ve got shovels in the trunk.

Then again, what the hell am I doing here, preaching to the choir?