Connecting invisible dots

Good morning and welcome, my homepeople from across the land. I've had a bunch of random crap clogged up in the pipes of my mind lately, and I'd like to flush a lot of it out. Damn, that's one beautiful metaphor.

Speaking of metaphors and well-placed transition clauses, I often look way too much into the significance of things and attempt to make connections where they might not exist. I realize that, and I can only blame so much of it on my training as an English major. Sure, my classes taught me to really read into things and make arguments that might actually not have any bearing, but I'm pretty sure I did that stuff before college too. Maybe that's why I selected that major, thereby making it almost a chicken/egg conundrum thingy.

Let me give you some examples. In a recent song by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, there's a line in the chorus that says, "Running through the field/where all my tracks will be concealed." It might sound fairly straight-forward, but I hear that and make a connection that might not really be there. Who hides their tracks? On one level, it's criminals or just people who don't want to be successfully followed. On a completely different level, it's heroin users, hiding the tracks on their arms that would give away their habit. Do the Chili Peppers intend to have that double-meaning in there? I have no idea and may just be giving them too much credit, but that's how my mind works.

(Of course, my next thought is usually something along the lines of, "Well, if that's not what they meant, it's a pretty powerful juxtaposition there that maybe I should include in some writing. Hmmm, something about hiding my tracks with sleeves and...leaves! Yeah, that's it. I could use both meaning of 'tracks' in one sentence and make a rhyme somewhere in there too. That would kick ass. Wait, am I writing anything in which someone will be using heroin? Am I writing anything at all besides my blog? Hmmm, let's store this one away for possible use later.")

Here's another example (that might make me seem less crazy): Recently, someone told me that baby rattlesnakes are born with all of their venom and that it dissipates as they age. I didn't bother to look it up and see if that was true or not or even ask how the person came about that knowledge. Instead, I thought, "Wow, that would be a very powerful metaphor if I could find the right thing to pair it with." I wondered if storytelling could apply, and whether stories about real events are most potent shortly after they take place and slowly lose their force after time. But no, that didn't make enough sense. Maybe anger is like a baby rattlesnake. Ooh, I think I found it: wheatgrass is like a baby rattlesnake. If it really loses 50% of its healthfulness just a few minutes after being processed, then I might be onto something.

Completely ignoring the whole thing about seeming less crazy, another similar metaphor just came to me that fits in nicely with this conversation: Phlegm. Yes, check this out: Having a good story to tell is a lot like having phlegm in your mouth. The longer you hold onto it, the more watered down it becomes. Eventually, it's mostly just water sitting there in your mouth waiting for you to find an opportune time to spit it out, and you might end up just swallowing it again and waiting for the next time it arises. Damn, it's hard being this profound sometimes.

Instead of waxing even more poetically on phlegm and its one-vowelness, I wanted to tell a story about storytelling. (Wow, I've never written that sentence before.) In high school, I spent my first three years taking Honors English classes that taught me how to do everything properly. We learned to diagram sentences, construct sound thesis statements, and actually support our theses with correctly-cited references. My senior year though, I switched out of my Advanced Placement English course and joined something called Expository Composition. (The teacher often referred to it as "Suppository Composition," which I think was particularly inspired.) It was basically a class for people who needed something from the English family of courses but didn't want to do much...work. I loved it.

Our teacher didn't care about thesis sentences or the structure of a paper. He just wanted us to write, and I had no problem translating thoughts to words on a page when not bound by the rules that I'd been force-fed for years. One day, he had us do an exercise that I'll always remember. We formed two circles with our desks, the inner circle facing outward so everyone was paired up. He told us to tell our partner the story of the greatest meal we'd ever eaten. I told my partner a rambling tale about being stuck on a bus for four hours more than I should've been while on a class trip and our eventual stopping point at In N Out Burger. I order two Double-Doubles and wolfed them down with the gusto of a lion snacking on a wounded gazelle. (They eat gazelles, right?) He then had everyone in the outer circle move one seat to their right and tell the new partners the same story. Then a third time with a new partner. After that, he asked us what we noticed about the evolution of our stories from the first time we told it to the third and final one. I thought about it and realized how much tighter and...better my story got. I took out all of the superfluous details, learned to build to the climax of the tale better, and had a clear beginning, middle, and end. It was amazing, and easily the most memorable lesson I had in four years of English classes (that didn't involve a teacher yelling "Bananas!" and throwing a stack of papers into the air). Now if I could only tie that lesson in with heroin, rattlesnakes, and phlegm...

And now, for the penultimate time in June 2008, it's time for Car Watch.

My Aunt Lynn saw a car with a license plate reading, "LILGASY." She wondered if that car only needs a little fuel to motor about the city, or if it's in reference to the minor occurrence of its driver's flatulence. Unless it's a big Emeril fan who doesn't know how to spell his last name, I've gotta go with the flatulence. That said, who in their right mind puts that on his or her plate? Almost more importantly to me, if the person is truly just a little gassy, why does that warrant a message on his or her car? Surely the person has to have some other distinguishing characteristic, right?

My homey Rockabye saw a bumper sticker that is quite timely: "Beer: Now cheaper than gasoline. So drink...not drive." What a unique perspective on the insanely high gas prices. Sure, it's a very random comparison, but that makes it all the more fun. Let's try one: "Pizza: Always costs less than a tank of gas. So eat up, and while you're at it, try carpooling every once in a while or maybe taking an alternate form of transportation. If you're close enough to walk, it's a great way to get some exercise without being too strenuous. Do you have a good public transportation system in your city? You might want to look into that and see if it's a viable option. Even once a week would make a big difference for the roads...and your wallet." While that may be a smidge too long for a normal car, at least it's a little more socially responsible than the other one.

Lastly, I was behind a truck yesterday. At first, I just saw the words, "WITHIN SOFT" on the back. "Hmm," I thought, "Maybe that's a moving van for fragile items." Then I noticed that it said, "NO SMOKING" above "WITHIN SOFT." That left me more confused for a brief moment until I saw, "Flammable liquids" on the other side of the large rear doors. "Yeah, that's probably supposed to be 50 ft.," I said aloud to myself. That makes much more sense.

Ok I have a large signing-off paragraph here, so let's get right into it. So long, Lakers, and thank you for a wonderful season and post-season. I would've loved two more wins, but I see this team being a force in the West for years to come, so this will just be a blip on their radar when we look back through the annals. Next, so long to living in L.A. to my Bratty Kid Sister, who got a new job and is moving up north. I congratulated her but told her that she was abandoning me. "Yeah it's too bad all you have down here is your family, your wife and your friends," she replied. Touche, BKS. Happy half-birthday today to my favorite brother and my buddy Jon. Happy half-birthday tomorrow to my homey Rockabye , and later this week, to Jesus. Happy full birthday to my friend Jason next Thursday. And before my eyes fully close, I'm outa here. Have a great weekend and week, and please remember to write to ptklein@gmail.com with anything at all. Shaloha, friends.