The Super-Moon and Me

As I was leaving work after midnight with my coworker and all-around nice guy, Matt, we came to the alley that signifies our separation. He walks just a few blocks home to the east, and I ride my bike five miles south. Tonight, May 5th, offered us a glimpse of the super-moon, notable because it was clear skies so we could see it and that it wasn't some giant Occupy protest in which thousands of people dropped their pants in unison as I suspected the "super-moon" might be. It was nice to see, it didn't look substantially different (sadly, we didn't experience anything like this... stupid telephoto lenses that I don't have...).

We parted ways and I began a very peaceful and beautiful ride home. The super-moon guided my way south and even though there were street lights, I have little doubt it would have supplied enough light for me without them. The temperature was a brisk 49 degrees and the combination of the clear sky and crisp air drew my memories back to my years in the mid-Atlantic and New England. More specifically, the fall, my favorite time of year. I miss a lot about Boston and Harrisburg, but fall is in the top ten.

We don't get many days that feel like fall on the East Coast and my mind recalled many great moments as I rode my bike. Night baseball in September in Boston. Geology field trips to New England and New York. Cool evenings by the fire in my parents' backyard. The super-moon brought piece and reflection to me this night. Unfortunately, the spell was broken as I entered back into civilization. I approached Hawthorne and the sounds of shout-flirting echoed through the air. Cinqo de Mayo revelers were out in droves and traffic picked up substantially (many of the drivers I'm sure were tipsy, at the least). My guard went up and I couldn't recapture the serenity of my super-moon ride. I only wish I'd taken more time to enjoy it (though I'm sure Andrea is happy that I didn't as it was getting awfully late and my phone had died).

So thank you, super-moon. I had a lovely time with you while it lasted.

Super-moon. Not pictured: cape

First Memories*

Anyone claiming to be able to pinpoint their first memory is full of shit.

OK. Maybe that's a bit harsh, but I'm highly skeptical of their assertion. It appears to me that people are crafting a narrative around their first memory just to be able claim one. It's like when I default to Dr. Strangelove as my favorite movie. I don't necessarily believe it's my favorite, and it's certainly up there, but it's convenient to default to that. My experience with memory is very fluid, with bits and pieces fluttering about my brain. The only way I really differentiate my early memories is by zeroing in on a time period. In this case, it would be the time in the first house I lived in (I can't even remember the address... 215 N 25th Street?). Here's how my memories of that house breakdown:

Things My Parents Have Told Me That Feel Like Memories
These are stories that I've heard so often from my parents that they feel familiar and intimate like memories. Or things that feel familiar from looking at pictures.
-- Wandering out into the snow on in a diaper and climbing to the top of a slide in the backyard.
-- Throwing wet rags at a mirror to help clean it.
-- Sitting on a tree branch only to have it snap and me fall straight to the ground.

Things That I've Temporarily Forgotten That Will Come to Me in the Future Randomly or Being Triggered by Something Related
It's kind of like when you blank on a word or a person's name. It's in there, but it's not ready to reveal itself. Obviously, I have no examples for this category.

Things I Actually Remember But Have No Idea as to the Chronology
Truth be told, I have some idea. Like the time my older sister and I were begging to stay up to watch Roseanne. That happened towards the end of our days at that house. Not a candidate for my first memory, but...
-- Sneaking downstairs in the wee hours of Christmas morn with my older sister and seeing the knock hockey game.
-- My older sister falling down the stairs and hitting her head on the TV.
-- My younger sister falling down the basement stairs only to be saved by me because I was going down in front of her.
-- Trying to make it to a safe place to puke and throwing up while running up the basement stairs.
-- Chasing my older sister up the stairs playing "Land Shark" and her thumb getting caught in the railing and breaking.
-- Racing my sister to the bathroom, losing, being a poor loser and peeing on her.
-- Hiding my medicine under the couch cushions.
-- Climbing up my dresser to get something from on top of it only to have it fall back on me.
-- Jumping off of my top bunk with a friend and knocking the ceiling light out of its fixture and onto the dining room table.
-- My dad getting mad at me for not cleaning my stuff up and throwing my toy jeep against the wall, shattering it.
-- Being terrified of the back room in the basement but knowing dad had clay back there that I wanted to play with.

Yes, for some of these memories, I must have been older than others, but many are interchangeable (also, there's a distinct presence of "bad" things happening in these memories). So as I said, anyone claiming to pinpoint a first memory is full of shit.

*This post is only slightly an excuse to purge some childhood memories. We'll blame my son for making me think of this stuff.

Digging Through My Past

Yesterday, I posted an artifact from my archives, which basically means that I found it in a box of my junk still being stored at my parents' house. I doubt that I'm alone in utilizing my former residence as current storage (at least all of my junk is relegated to my old bedroom, unlike someone else I know), but as a approach 30, it's starting to feel pathetic. Also, my parents came up with a plan to drive my junk out to me if I purchase a home before my wedding in July. The fear of filling my potential home, which will be much smaller than my parents' place I can assure you, with my excess garbage (which doesn't even count my fiancee's stuff at her parents' place) was enough to compel me to dig out the non-essentials (surprisingly little. I'm a sentimental man. What can I say?).

I did a modest version of this years ago that apparently got rid of all of my high school memorabilia (oh! the lost love notes!) and some undergrad stuff, but this more thorough pass was kind of enlightening. Firstly, having a child on the way helps to justify keeping all of those toys and stuffed animals that have been sitting around in a closet for 15+ years. I liked them when I was a kid! Plus, nothing quite matches the awkwardness of digging out old, framed pictures of myself with ex-girlfriends while my pregnant fiancee is lying on the bed behind me (that goes doubly for the mug that features a picture of myself and my undergrad girlfriend at Madrigal together). Fortunately, finds that stuff amusing (as well she better since I hang out with some of her exes now and then! Don't worry Ian... you're top-notch!).

A lot of time was spent reading old comments on college papers and, if the paper wasn't too long, re-reading that. Dear lord, I was a bad writer as a freshman (I know, I know... WAS?). I was tasked with writing "journal" entries for an Extended Orientation class on supplied topics and every one reads like Ralphie's Red Rider BB Gun report in A Christmas Story.


I'm scrapping most of those old papers (unless my mom decides to see what kind of student I really was in college), but hopefully there will be some more golden nuggets from my past when I finally have to unpack those boxes. Of course, a friend of mine has the Holy Grail of personal memorabilia: an apology note for knocking her down written on awesome dinosaur paper.

As I already mentioned, I'm very sentimental. I have a difficult time getting rid of inanimate objects (and animate objects, for that matter). It's even more of a struggle if the person who gave me said object is important to me. That's partially why I hate getting cards. They're just pieces of folded paper, but some people take a fair amount of time picking out an appropriate card and they kind of stand as a representation that someone was thinking about you in their spare time even if cards are generally saved for special occasions. I tend to have to blindly grab a pile and throw them out (generally after a few years of piling up and going through each of them first because you never know when you'll find money stashed in one!). This last experience doing this was relatively painless until I found two that made me balk at tossing them. They were cards of condolence from when my dog, Farley (the best dog ever), died. To top it off, one was from an ex-girlfriend. So many emotions. Ultimately, I tossed them with only a slight tinge of remorse, but mostly because it reminded me of how much I miss my puppy (hell, all of my dogs that have died).

Going through my boxed up history was an exciting, surprising, amusing, and emotional experience. It's kind of a shame that we get rid of so much of our history in the process of condensing our lives and joining lives with another. As someone who spends a lot of time thinking about posterity (I keep a journal and wonder what future generations will think about it), I feel like each item I throw out throws a shadow on who I am in regards to the future. As someone who tries to be practical, I know it's necessary. I just hope I don't get rid of too much that rediscovering my past is no longer exciting (I hope I don't sound too narcissistic, I'd go through all of your stuff to learn about you in a heartbeat. What do you say? Tomorrow at 3?).

The Real Ending to Little Shop of Horrors

I'm not a musical fan. There are plenty of exceptions (most of them containing Muppets), but I generally find the genre tedious and overlong. But the first musical I remember loving was Little Shop of Horrors (and of course, it's directed by Frank Oz who was a puppeteer and voice of many Muppets). It's got an amazing cast -- Rick Moranis, Steve Martin, Bill Murray, John Candy, Levi Stubbs, Christopher Guest -- incredible songs (Martin's being my favorite), and ambitious puppet work. In high school, a classmate and I did a report on the movie for music class and built our own little Audrey II.

It wasn't until I was in college (or thereabouts) that I learned of an original ending that wasn't used. I've always wanted to see it, hearing that it dealt with worldwide annihilation. I never bought the DVD, holding out for the super deluxe edition (come on Criterion!) with the original ending. Not the happy, piece of shit that exists now (actually, the ending is very satisfying as it stands). As luck would have it, IFC.com just put out a small list of movies that had the endings tampered with by studios and it directed me to the following series of videos of the original Little Shop of Horros ending! With commentary from Frank Oz!

I almost can't believe the studio didn't use this stuff because it looks amazing and must have cost a fortune. Oz gives a fair amount of interesting info about what it took to operate Audrey II, as well. Enjoy!