...I think you're nice, but I saw something else that I like/ and I think I gotta make you my next ex....
Speaking to the new husband of my ex's second ex, thinking about the new husband of his first ex, and how I met him without knowing he was married to her. Later, her comment was, "Does she have to be friends with ALL of my husbands?"
Ex #2's new husband is quite charming and humorous, and we discussed Schrodinger.
We spoke of the famous imaginary cat, and the popular notion that he is either in the box, or not in the box. This is incorrect, as the cat being in the box is taken as a non-variable. Whether the cat is alive or not is at issue.
However, my friend applied the 'observation changes reality' premise to this theoretical cat, and said that the cat is either looking up or not looking up, and when we open the box to see if the cat is looking up, of course the cat is looking up, because we opened the box.
This is not Shrodinger, nor Quantum Physics. It's more like a foam marshmallow s'more snowman on a sled Christmas ornament, or a shirtless Korean Canadian in a kilt playing electric sitar. (Hi, Andrew!)
I spoke of the stepson of my cousin, trying to find a word. I decided on 'nephew', which describes the emotional connection, though on a literal level is less than accurate.
Though in conversation I refer to multiple brothers-in-law, I in fact only have one. The husbands of my two sisters-in-law have no designation in English, and calling them out-laws confuses people.
Long ago, I met the little girl who was about to become my niece by marriage. I helped her gather some food on a paper plate and we sat down together. She looked at me with her serious little face and asked, "So, are you.... in law?"
I puzzled over this, because people, even four-year-olds, rarely mistake me for a lawyer.
Then I laughed when I realized she was trying to 'place' me in the family.
Yes, I told her. I'm married to your almost step-mommie's brother. I'm an in-law.
(Beyonce; Kick Him Out)
19 November, 2011
16 November, 2011
Aborted Visit
...travel the world and the seven seas/ everybody's looking for something....
Before I woke this morning, I was in your apartment- not the house I've visited, nor the other dwelling you've described to me, but a first-floor condo unit in a large complex. I knew it was yours because it was the same apartment I'd dreamed before, which I entered, barely knocking, and walked straight into your arms as you stepped from the shower. This time, as I came in, I tripped over a red cloth shopping bag- Target, I think- which contained a pair of shoes and a sweater I'd left behind the last time.
In my dreams, you don't seem partial to locked doors.
You are not here. I can feel your absence.
A young college-aged woman moves from one room to another in the back of the apartment. The front rooms are dark. She is speaking on the phone, but eventually notices me, and asks, "May I help you?" in a slightly hostile tone. I stammer that I've accidentallly entered the wrong apartment. Her face relaxes and she agrees that the units look all alike, and, smiling at me, resumes her phone conversation as I back away towards the door. I grab my bag of clothes and exit, wondering.
Eurythmics; Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)
Before I woke this morning, I was in your apartment- not the house I've visited, nor the other dwelling you've described to me, but a first-floor condo unit in a large complex. I knew it was yours because it was the same apartment I'd dreamed before, which I entered, barely knocking, and walked straight into your arms as you stepped from the shower. This time, as I came in, I tripped over a red cloth shopping bag- Target, I think- which contained a pair of shoes and a sweater I'd left behind the last time.
In my dreams, you don't seem partial to locked doors.
You are not here. I can feel your absence.
A young college-aged woman moves from one room to another in the back of the apartment. The front rooms are dark. She is speaking on the phone, but eventually notices me, and asks, "May I help you?" in a slightly hostile tone. I stammer that I've accidentallly entered the wrong apartment. Her face relaxes and she agrees that the units look all alike, and, smiling at me, resumes her phone conversation as I back away towards the door. I grab my bag of clothes and exit, wondering.
Eurythmics; Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)
02 November, 2011
Juxtaposition, Again.
...they paved paradise/ and put up a parking lot/ they took all the trees/ and put them in a tree museum/ then they charged the people/ a dollar and a half just to see 'em...
The sun gleams blinding on the flat waters of the harbor. Beyond, twin plumes of steam rise from the stacks of Brandon Shores power plant, floating above the dinosaurian skeletal frames of mechanical monsters.
Nearby, a pair of large rocks protrude from the inlet, covered with birds. White-shirted cormorants glare at the monstrous floating city moored across the way. The lone heron among them tips his prehistoric head disdainfully and flaps away.
Marsh grasses rustle against the light breeze. Somewhere, I know there is a tent almost, but not quite entirely hidden from view. I often wonder about the tent's inhabitant: homeless, semi-homeless, or just living off the grid?
A seagull sounds as it sails overhead. I lock my car and walk into the Wal-Mart.
(Joni Mitchell; Big Yellow Taxi)
The sun gleams blinding on the flat waters of the harbor. Beyond, twin plumes of steam rise from the stacks of Brandon Shores power plant, floating above the dinosaurian skeletal frames of mechanical monsters.
Nearby, a pair of large rocks protrude from the inlet, covered with birds. White-shirted cormorants glare at the monstrous floating city moored across the way. The lone heron among them tips his prehistoric head disdainfully and flaps away.
Marsh grasses rustle against the light breeze. Somewhere, I know there is a tent almost, but not quite entirely hidden from view. I often wonder about the tent's inhabitant: homeless, semi-homeless, or just living off the grid?
A seagull sounds as it sails overhead. I lock my car and walk into the Wal-Mart.
(Joni Mitchell; Big Yellow Taxi)