A Day I Needed

This is not a complaint, but rather just a brief consideration of the contrasts between stress and reward, constant work and the payoff.

Change is hard, and I've been doing a lot of it lately, most notably getting settled into a new state, career, job, office, apartment, health plan, retirement plan, e-mail account, class schedule, syllabus to teach, &c. &c. &c. I had maybe a little bit taken for granted how much work this would be.

But!

Today was one of those "this is why I do this" days, which are in many ways the dry rocks in the rushing river that allow us to hop from one side to the other, enjoying the view along the way.

I just taught Hamlet to two groups of absurdly bright-eyed and engaging eighteen-year-olds, and damn was it fantastic. Thoughtful discussion, new discoveries about the play that I hadn't considered, hilarious side comments by students, a student-generated modern-day American English translation of the "To be, or not to be" speech that included a certain twelve-letter word that begins with "m" and ends with "r", and a five minute chat after class with a student who was asking if an interpretation of the play might be staged in which Gertrude knows she's drinking poison at the end. (Sorry for the plot spoiler.)

It's not that life has been unbearably hard, because it hasn't. It's just that when things seem a little stretched, a little tense, a little run-down, it is good to have days that remind you that the choices you've made are great ones. A big damn boulder of Hamlet to stand on.

Oh yeah? Well here's another one for you...

Proposed:

The level of complexity and enthusiasm with which two strangers performing an activity in public acknowledge one another nonverbally is inversely proportional to the total number of people who engage in that activity.

Examples:

Two strangers pass on a crowded street in a big city. There is nothing special about this, as millions of passings are happening in that city every second, so no acknowledgment is necessary. In fact, nonverbal acknowlegement of the strangers who share the commonality of walking on a sidewalk in a big city would drive everyone insane and basically shut down society.

Two strangers pass on a sparsely populated street in a small town. They exchange a very brief, almost imperceptible nod, possibly involving a millisecond of eye contact. This is because they share the somewhat distinctive quality of being one of the few people on the street, and this mildly unusual commonality must be acknowledged.

Two strangers pass each other while riding bikes on a public path at high speed for exercise purposes. They exchange a visible nod. These individuals do not nod to any of the walkers, roller-bladers, or casual bikers out on the path, but only to the sweaty, windblown minority who exercise they way they do.

Two strangers pass each other riding motorcycles. They exchange a nod and a half wave, the arm typically coming straight out from the body rather than being extended upwards. Not a lot of people are insane enough to pilot an engine loosely associated with two wheels and a handlebar, so when these individuals pass, they must do a bit more than most people acknowledge the eliteness of their biking fraternity.

Two strangers pass each other piloting boats. They exchange the classic "boat wave." Less low-key than the motorcycle wave, the boat wave is a raised arm and hand with, depending on the dorkiness of the driver, a little bit of wrist action. Simplified, this means: "Hey, I have a boat." The reply wave, identical, means, "Hey, me too." Boat waves are more vigorous than motorcycle waves because there are more motorcycle owners than their are boat owners (source: it's late and I said so).

Two strangers pass each other driving 1973 Chevrolet CanAms. They both drop their pants, stick their bare asses out the window, and spank themselves with one hand while giving each other a rotating rock/paper/scissors gesture with the other hand. The demonstrative nature of the gesture is necessitated by the rarity of the automobile, and also possibly because of its hideous appearance.

Here endeth the lesson.

All right, all right...

A few small items that have been rattling around in my brain as I unpack boxes boxes boxes, and also unpack boxes, and shop for a bed and revel in the size of the window in my new office, and revel in the fact that like many other grown-ups worldwide, I actually have an office:

1. There actually are some possible excuses for not posting for six weeks, including directing a play (woo hoo!) + carrying hod (refreshingly, brutally hard, more on this in the future) + painting your father's house (boo, painting! hooray, results of painting!) + moving to a new state (specifically to a city with a hilarious name). So there.

2. What if, in some dystopian Orwellian/Huxleyan future, the entire world were on one time? As in: no time zones. When it's seven p.m., it's seven p.m. everywhere. And of course, through force or social engineering, everyone would have to keep their day based on time rather than daylight. If something's on TV, everyone who is watching it will be watching it at the same time. When it's between six and nine a.m., everyone in the whole world will be eating breakfast. When the sun comes up, it might be two a.m. or noon or six p.m. where you are, but everyone will be on the same wake/sleep cycle. This is of course impossible, but that's what sci-fi is all about. The social and cultural ramifications would be fascinating.

3. Regarding the (Super) Mario Brothers: These guys, Luigi and Mario, are referred to as The Mario Brothers. This means that either the two brothers are referred to by the first name of one of them (which has really got to bug Luigi), or their last name is Mario, so they are Mario Mario and Luigi Mario. These are the only two options.

4. Ummmm, maybe I should go to bed now. Or rather, couch, since I haven't bought a bed. Maybe I should go to couch.

More ramblings soon-like. Maybe.