Mesmerism

My commute to work lasted only fifteen minutes longer than usual on Tuesday, which is not bad for a rainy day.  I generally take the same route to work, through town instead of on the highway.  The CSX tracks limit my opportunities to cut north to avoid traffic jams so I’ve gotten accustomed to where the pain points will be when traffic builds up. 

I can usually estimate how many cycles of the light it will take for me to cross an intersection based on how far away I am from it when stopped.  However, when it rains, this estimate is much longer than on a normal day.

Some might suggest that this is because drivers are being more careful due to the conditions.  Would that it were true!  One only needs to look at any traffic app on a rainy day and count the number of incidents.  Insurance company statistics bear out that more accidents happen on rainy days than dry.  No, cautious drivers are not the cause of the delays.  This is something altogether different.

I was stopped at a red light, westbound on Memorial drive.    After sitting through a couple of reds, I felt that this next green was the one where I would get through.  The light turned green and traffic started moving.  It took some time for the pickup truck ahead of me to start moving.  Obviously everyone can’t start moving the instant the light turns green.  Also, right turners ahead of us would slow down progress more than someone going straight.  But I saw three cars which were eastbound take a left in front of this truck.  This guy left enough space between himself and the car in front of him to allow this to happen.  This could not have happened if this driver were paying attention. Needless to say we both missed the light.  Since the north-south artery of Moreland Ave. is the more major thoroughfare there, it gets a significantly longer green than the east-west of Memorial.  This driver’s gaffe cost me several minutes.

Why wasn’t this dude paying attention?  Was he texting?  Was he fiddling with his radio?  Was he reading a book?  Why wasn’t this driver paying attention to driving?

I continued on toward the next hotspot, Memorial and Boulevard.  At this intersection I saw something interesting, something that really opened my eyes.

The left turn light always gets the green before those going straight get to go.  I watched a woman, eastbound turning north, sit through much of the green turn light before starting.  She wasn’t texting.  She wasn’t playing with her radio.  She wasn’t talking to someone else in the car.  I could see no visible distractions.  She was looking forward through the windshield as she should have been.    Yet, she seemed transfixed.

I could see it in her face.  “Oh, the light just turned green.  Green…green…green…there’s something I used to do when the light turned green.”  Then, she started driving.

It finally made sense.  Drivers aren’t more careful, nor are they not paying attention during the rain.  No, drivers are being mesmerized during the rain.

What is the cause?  It could be the weather itself.  The soft light of a cloudy day combined with the sounds of the rain may lull you to sleep.  Perhaps it is your car itself.  The perfectly regular motions of your windshield wipers across your windshield may be to blame.  There is a reason why hypnotists choose to use a pocket watch to hypnotize a subject.  It’s not the watch itself that does the work; it is the regular and repeating periodic motion of a pendulum that lulls people into a suggestable state.

Now that we have an hypothesis about the problem and some possible causes, what can we do prevent or at least minimize its effects?  In the case that it is someone else who is mesmerized, the solution is simple: use your horn.  Every car in America comes equipped with a horn.  When you blow your horn, it’s your way of gently saying, “Hey, shit-cock!  Pay fucking attention while you are behind the god-damned wheel!”

But what can one do to mitigate mesmerism to one’s self?  Well, I suggest a multi-pronged approach.  First of all: coffee.  Make sure you’ve had your coffee, or whatever your morning stimulant of choice, prior to driving on a rainy morning.  This will help you to stay awake and alert during your morning commute.  To combat the rhythms of your wipers, I suggest overwhelming them with music.  You can’t just use any songs, though.  So much of music uses a constant rhythm and repeating passages that they will do nothing to counteract hypnotism.  In fact, it might enhance the effects.  Instead I would suggest trying something with odd rhythms and multiple, sometimes jarring, time signature changes.  For someone not used to this type of music I would suggest something entry-level like a Tool album or Mr. Bungle’s Disco Volante.  For the more advanced and adventurous listener, try something busy and discordant  like Cleric, Behold…The Arctopus, or anything by John Zorn.

Consider my suggestions the next time you have a rainy day commute and let’s all work together to get to work on time.

RetroTV

I’ve been watching a lot of RetroTV lately.  I started watching it to catch classic episodes of Doctor Who during the week.  (We’re in the midst of the Tom Baker era now, travelling with Leela and K-9.)  I’ve also found myself watching MST3K on the weekends.  This past Saturday night I watched past the end of the MST3K episode.

Late night on Saturdays RetroTV runs a show called “Off Beat Cinema.”  It’s a garden variety Horror Host show but instead of some pseudo-ghoulish character hosting B movies the hosts are fake beatniks in a coffee shop.  (It’s not nearly as cool at the Satellite of Love.)  I’m sure many of you have seen this type of show before whether it was syndicated and hosted by Elvira or Joe Bob Briggs or it was hosted by your local character.  Those of us who grew up in the New Orleans area may remember Morgus the Magnificent.  (At least those of us of the “Higher Order”)

This night they were showing the 1959 version of House on Haunted Hill with Vincent Price.  It’s one of his best roles.  It was followed up by another episode of Off Beat Cinema, this time featuring the classic Mars Needs Women.  The two shows were separated by a single episode of the Harvytoon Casper the Friendly Ghost as filler.

The experience was like watching UHF, and I don’t mean the terrific Weird Al Yankovic film, I mean watching ultra-high frequency television back when that medium existed.

Ah, UHF, that treasure trove of syndicated television, old movies, and laughably low budget, locally produced television.  How I’ve missed you!  

What made the experience so great, though, were the commercials.  They were glorious.  All of the usual subjects were there:  fake jewelry (anything described as, “genuine simulated,” is a must have), reverse mortgages (“learn the facts…”), legal advice you don’t need (“have you or a loved one…”), or low end products that make a Ginsu look like a Wusthof (“act now and we’ll send you a second absolutely free!  Just pay separate shipping and handling…”).  The cherry on the top of the bad TV sundae were the local commercials which, inexplicably, were all local to Western New York.  (Apparently, Off Beat Cinema originated from WKBW-TV in Buffalo.)

I was subjected to repeated commercials from Mighty Taco (According to their website there are twenty-three locations in Western NY.), a head shop named Terrapin Station (With a name like that what else could it be, right Jer Bear?), and a Rockabilly/Pin-up clothing store called Cats Like Us (Hey ladies, do you rock a Bettie Page cut?  Have you been shopping for that perfect sweetie dress to show off your full sleeve?).

The whole thing reminded me of being a kid, regularly adjusting the TV’s antenna in order to watch a snowy picture on channel 26 or 38 on the small TV in my room.  It was really comfortable.

Movie Sequels

Hollywood usually uses the same director across all the movies in a trilogy.  Maybe it’s time for a change.

Instead of continuing to do things that way, with a single look and feel to a series, each movie could be given a different vibe by employing a different director.  Having a different director for each movie could keep a franchise from becoming stale.  Each director could explore his own interpretation of character, relationship, and events.  This could help to flesh out characters, to offer a richer, more nuanced understanding of character and motivation.  Perhaps even directors who don’t normally work within a specific genre could be given a chance to give a movie their personal touch; to employ the hallmarks of a director’s own particular idiom.  How might that look?

Wes Anderson’s Godzilla.

An aging Godzilla, portrayed by Bill Murray, stands on the beach, staring wistfully out across the Pacific.  His impossibly long, striped scarf, banded in scarlet and gold, flutters wildly in the ocean breeze.  

Minilla, Godzilla’s son, played by Owen Wilson, stands beside his father.  He is barely half his father’s height.  He wears a matching scarf which is scaled to his size.  The two strike the same pose; Minilla’s silhouette that of his father’s, but in miniature. 

The camera pans around the two, moving from behind the pair to Godzilla’s left.  As it pans, the camera slowly changes angle so that it can come to rest with both of the beasts’ faces in profile. 

A lifetime of experience: of love and loss, of successes and failures, of joys and sadness can be seen etched in the lines on Godzilla’s face as his expression slowly changes from maudlin to a whimsical grin.  As he heaves a contented sigh, the opening strains of The Byrds’ “Turn! Turn! Turn!” begin to play.

On second thought, is Neill Blomkamp available?

The Gang’s Back Together

The end of the 90s and beginning of the aughts was a transitional time for me as well as for many of my friends.  Those of us who had spent our college years and our twenties in Home Park, Atlanta’s white slum, were moving on with our lives and our careers.  For many, they didn’t just move out of Home Park, but out of state and out of my day-to-day life. 

It was true for every one of us of the late 90s Home Park diaspora: as old pals moved out of our circle of friends, new ones entered.  JP, a longtime friend, ended up sharing a house in East Atlanta with Brian, one of my then new friends.  Over the years my social group slowly shifted from old friends to new as my attentions moved from Atlanta’s west side to its east.

At one point, all three of us had dogs.  Brian had Mags, a German shepherd mix.  JP had Gracie, an Aussie.  I had a Canaan Dog named Dre.  For years, as we spent time with each other, our dogs spent time together.  The younger two of the three, Gracie and Dre, would run and wrassle while the oldest, Mags, commissioner of the no fun league, laid down the law.  There was a roughly eight-year span that their lives overlapped, that they were a pack. 

A little over five years ago, we lost two of the group: one from old age and the other from disease.  Gracie was the last remaining of her peers.

Today Gracie Marie Leonard left this world.  A good dog who had a good run is finally at rest.

When I found out about this through Facebook, I felt I had to comment back to JP.  But, I also felt I had to tell Brian, who isn’t on Facebook.  During our text exchange, Brian and I both had the same though: the gang is back together.

Why did I feel that I had to contact Brian as soon as I found out?  I think information like this is best spread through the network of friends by those who understand the context and the connections among us.  It’s better to hear this information from someone who understands your relationship to people and your perspective on the situation than to just hear it through the grapevine.  That kind of understanding is only gained over time and through shared experiences.  Friendships, good friendships, last longer than a dog’s age.

JP, buddy, it’s Thursday night.  Let’s do what we’ve been doing for roughly fifteen years.  Come on over to Lynch’s.  Have a beer.  Play some foosball.  We’ll raise a glass to Gracie and another to those no longer with us.

Mags, Dre, and Gracie have all crossed the rainbow bridge.  The gang’s back together.

Spoiler Alert: The Force Awakens

In a space port on Tatooine, familiar characters are seen:  Han Solo, Luke, Leia, Chewbacca, and Lando Calrissian.  They all head toward the Millennium Falcon, all visibly older than when we last saw them.  Solo and Skywalker flank the Wookiee, each under one arm helping to support the weight of their larger friend.  Chewbacca’s muzzle is now gray and his eyes demonstrate the telltale cloudiness of forming cataracts.  It is clear from his gait that Chewbacca’s hips are degenerating and he would be in terrible pain, even more so than he is now, without the assistance of his friends.   

The two driods, C-3PO and R2D2, follow behind silently, save for a mournful hum from R2.

On board the ship, Chewie is gently lowered into a massive chair.  Lando takes the cockpit so the rest can sit with Chewbacca.  The ship takes off and once free of the port, hits hyperspace.

While in hyperspace, the crew recounts their exploits: some you have seen on-screen and others you have not.  All stories center are focused on Chewie’s involvement and end with the group roaring with laughter.  Subtle glances are shared and gazes are quickly averted to hide moistening eyes. 

After several minutes, the Falcon drops from hyperspace, approaching the planet Coruscant.  As the Falcon descends, Han Solo edges closer to Chewbacca.  As he puts his arm around the big Wookiee’s shoulders, hand resting gently on his old friend’s shoulder.  Leia is no longer able to hold back her tears. 

“We’ve had some great times there, haven’t we buddy?” Solo says with a smile.

Chewie roars in agreement as the Millennium Falcon comes to a landing in the parking lot of the Coruscant Animal Clinic.