As always I fear the risk of crashing into that brick wall that is cliché.

How often we gloss over those not-so-familiar words:  Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind?
I never thought it to be a question.  I always pictured it as a hypothetical situation.  "In the event that old acquaintances happen to be forgotten, simply a, b, and c". 

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine ;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

New Years resolutions suck.  They seem to be a brief fix for ignoring what we've abandoned, what we hope has been left behind in the past, or a way to fill the gap from what was left behind that we wished wasn't.  Let's give credit to what we've lost, be it for better or worse.

So the question remains:  Should old acquaintance be forgot?  Should we forget what we've lost, what we've sacrificed, what we've abandoned?  Or should we hold on to them, not as painful burdens or regrets, but as reminders of what was and what could be?

 Since when did we become so scared to connect with people?  Especially strangers.

     Today I was standing in line at a newsstand in the airport.  Since I had nothing better to do, and I'm anywhere from somewhat to moderately creepy, I was listening in on this girl's cell phone conversation.  I had better motives than being nosy though: she was talking to some authority in her life getting advice because her mom or sibling was feeling sick.  She had already called a step-father(?) for help, but found none.  She seemed kind of desperate and not sure what to do, so I was listening to see if there was some opportunity I could help out.  After the conversation, she proceeded to somewhat frantically browse the store for Tums.  As my gaze naturally swept the store, our eyes locked.  It was beautiful, in a sense.  Not in some hokey romantic way or anything (she was anywhere from 12-16 or 17) but in the fact that here were two humans, complete strangers, unabashedly confirming the other's existence.  The moment passed not with an embarrassed glance-away, but with the kind of gracefully slide that happens when you find that exact moment that you're done looking at a painting.  And that was that.  I got my gum, and walked just slow enough to be sure she had the money to pay for her Tums.

     Inspired by this event, I conducted a little social experiment on the jetway as I waited for my parents gate-checked bags to be returned.  I turned myself naturally towards the plane's exit, and comfortable watched each and every person's after mine's eyes.  I was fairly far forward, so a good number of folks passed under my gaze.  Let's say about forty-five, if you'd like a number.  I resolved myself not to look away if anybody made eye contact.  Two did.  Two.  Maybe three, but I think it was pure happenstance that his sweeping gaze met with my unmoving one.  But two.  The majority kept their eyes to the floor, seemingly avoiding any sort of possibility of connecting with a single soul on that jetway.  Two.  One glanced up into my eyes at the last instant, almost puzzled by our connection.  The second - whom I had already determined was a sadistic fellow, who still picked on his brother and who's father I like to believe for little reason had Nazi tendencies in the forties (all three were on the plane) - seemed to do so almost in a challenge, as if he was ready to fight because some stranger dared intrude upon his mind.

   Backing up slightly chronologically, but moving forward logically, when we had landed all the cell phones flew out.  Being the aforementioned curious eavesdropper that I am, I was naturally found out what my fellow flyers had to say.  Firstly, the sadistic fellow was asking about a football game, his father was talking about who knows what, and his brother (my seatmate) only snapped "What do you want?" at the first call he received.  The woman across the aisle clumsily dialed and talked to some girlfriend, and the man behind me had an obnoxiously long power up sound.   They all jabbered away, never talking to each other (even though three family members sat within just as many feet of one another) but only at the poor souls on the other end of the line.  And here's the kicker: all their conversations were completely self-absorbed.


I don't mean to pull a Holden and condemn all my fellow human beings.  Nor do I want to descend to the level of hypocriticality and say I'm above any of this (though I'd like to strive to be and believe I am).  I'm just noting it.





P.S. "Those with carry on items" when slurred over a P.A. sounds like "Those with carinatums".  I got excited and thought they had special baggage claiming instructions just for me.

I'm trying to get more and more in the habit of writing in here.  So here goes.

I've already established I don't believe in coincidences.  I hope we can agree on that.  My logic is about the same as Einstein's, and he seems like a credible source: God doesn't believe in coincidence, therefore neither do I.  But what about luck?  Does God believe in luck?  What is luck?
I think we can agree (stop me if you don't (metaphorically of course, you aren't going to stop me)) that luck is purely a branch of chance.  When probably odds are denied, and they tend to our good fortune, it is "good luck".  I can flip a coin over and over and, in theory, it could be heads each time.  It's doubtful, but it could.  That'd be luck.  I think.  But good fortune on the behalf of a purpose, is that luck?  I don't think so.  Same thing for bad luck/bad fortune/sufferings.

On the subject of chance and oddity, how self-taught can somebody be?  If you filled a room with enough monkeys and enough typewriters for long enough, one (in theory again) would eventually have typed the Constitution, or Romeo and Juliet, or something.  How about for us humans?  Could we, through pondering or meditation or whatnot, ever transcend to high truth with no outside aid?  It's unlikely, but could we just stumble upon some great philosophical truth?  And then, would it really be so accidental, or divinely inspired?  I don't think we could even fathom that.  Back to the monkeys, they may write some great literary work, but they wouldn't understand it.  But that's were we're different: when the divine forces itself upon our minds we understand it.  Or....do we?  Our wisdom and knowledge and enlightenment are probably just the surface.  


But how to plunge?

 Music, like love, is a topic I sometimes try to avoid writing about.  Everybody does, and there's so much to say.  And I find both, in their purest forms, to be as close to true holiness on earth as we can get.  And both are frequently desecrated.


There was something about this guy tonight that blew me away.  I was moderately annoyed at first, because he showed up late and I had already introduced the act before him as the last act.  But he got up, set up his o-so-simple guitar and mic, and amazed me.  He captured the essence of being purely genuine.  Not performing, but playing.  He had a folksy twang to his voice, but the simplicity was the beauty.  Then he ventured into my childhood, and played a James Taylor bit.  Since I can remember I've always been a sucker for James Taylor.

There were two moments in the Arcade Fire set that I don't think I'll ever forget.  The first (not really first in importance, beauty, or chronology) was at the end of Ocean Of Noise, when those two violins were playing that pattern, and they not only sounded but moved so hypnotically.  Their first draw would be in perfect unison, and then one would break off and they'd be in perfect opposite unison somehow.  When they would repeat they would almost magically switch from drawing in the opposite direction to the same one.  It was so smooth, and the music was the kind that you seem to move with, and not physically.  The second moment - which I'm almost fearful of disclosing as it is very dear to me, but as I already have to some, I will - was not meant to be seen.  In the instants when darkness was engulfing the stage, at the moment of one of that most dangerous line, he crossed himself.  It was only for him.  I just happened to witness it.  If any doubt about showmanship permeate their act, fair enough, but this wasn't.