Thursday, April 02, 2009
Thirty minutes. I have thirty minutes. There is a blog called "One Minute Writer" where they give you two things: a timer and a prompt. Then, you are supposed to write free-style about whatever the prompt is for sixty seconds. Cool idea. And it's nice. It keeps the mind and fingers and whatever lies in between lubed up and in good working order. So that's what I am like, except that my timer is thirty minutes and my prompt, well, it's non existent. Because I've got nothing. Which is not rare but I've got nothing. Usually I would go out and fetch some sort of article from the world wide web and let you know all about it. And there have been some ridiculous things going on that I have actually been saving up for the end of the birthday celebration. But I was too lazy even to go fetch those things from my Bookmarks (that's right, I have a Mac, I have "Bookmarks", not "Favorites," just deal with it) and put together cogent thought and sentences about them. So I thought I would just do this instead. Mikealicious always talks about how I "Let it happen" with my pants off, so I decided that what I would do was throw on my favorite pair of gym shorts (consider that a compromise for those of you who don't want me to be hanging around pantless and those of you who do, which is mainly me) and I am going to just let it happen. That's also the name of a great song by the band Jimmy Eat World; you should check it out. But anyway I am just lying here "letting it happen" without the benefit of paragraphs, thought structure, or anything but the most rudimentary of punctuation. It's fantastic. I am sort of looking around for inspiration at the things that adorn my walls and windowsills and whatnot and I am failing miserably. Although, the more I look at it I am really surprised by this plant I have. The two ancient stalks that have survived being moved and killed by being put outside and being thrown off a windowsill and living in a sink for like three days have essentially stopped growing. But there is this little sprout that is growing like an absolute weed. And I am starting to wonder if it actually is a weed, because the leaves just don't look the same. But it's green and it spits oxygen into my home so I guess it can't be all bad, right? Plus, the crowd I hang around generally won't be able to tell the difference. But I am not getting a whole lot from my flower pots other than the overwhelming desire to water them even though I just watered them this morning. So I am looking around at the other stuff that adorns my apartment, like the cows and maps and posters and whatnot, and I am struck by them. Literally. One of them just fell off the wall and clocked my in the abdomen. That's a lie. I just made that up because I thought it would be funny. But in retrospect it wasn't funny at all, and I apologize. So anyhow, I am thinking about the stuff on my walls, and the stuff on your walls, and the stuff on David Nathaniel's walls. Because I can't find a real reason for it to be there. I mean I can, but I am a little bit conflicted. To start with, please allow me to tell you that I am a big fan of filling my walls, shelves, tables, windowsills, and other open areas with stuff. I like having stuff surrounding me. But other than right now, I can't really tell you the last time that I really took a deep look at the things hanging on my walls. I mean, what was so important about these things that it warranted me driving a nail into the beautiful wainscoting that surrounds the inside of the Worldwide Headquarters. I mean, I know for a fact that I would go nuts if the walls and wainscoting were bare. But I know that I haven't looked at a lot of this stuff, especially in my bedroom. So what's the point? Why do we do this? Does it matter what's on the walls? I am seriously starting to wonder about this stuff. I mean, absolutely when I take a moment to look at this stuff it all has a significance to me, and just about every piece of decoration comes with a story and a memory. But in the grand scheme of things is that why they are there? Or is it just the fact that there is a different combination of color, shape, and texture to break up all the mother-of-pearl monotony? Well, good for us all, I have come to a decision. And with only four minutes left too! And you thought this wasn't going to go anywhere. You should know better than that; you should always trust the Big Dave. Of course that stuff has significance. I mean, even now it is making me think. And if I were a wealthy guy who had Picassos hanging in my foyer they would be great at expressing my wealth. But as for the cows and the pictures and the maps, they remind me of people now but at the time they first went up, they did so much more. When you first move into a new place, it's like a blank canvas that is devoid of everything you. Or me. So that's why one of the first things I do is stuck up all my knickknacks. Because they splatter me and my life all around me. They tempered the loneliness that came with starting over and beginning anew and whatnot. They help my stay connected. Just like Mikealicious has changed his as a way of cutting loose from his past. They are like clothes that cover us with whatever we choose. It's probably not a good sign though that I choose cows to an alarmingly high degree.