#digital memory dump

[capnmariam]

When a new thing reminds one of old things? That's what that goober lives for. That and this. (The stance was not an intentional reference: the image was for making a static solid, but the 360° preview looked bizarrely Whatsherface-tastic when quickly scanned through. Probably should've taken off the hoodie. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) …wheeeee

[capnmariam]

"I didn’t think he was gonna do 'Moon River', but then, bam!, second encore!"

[capnmariam]

You’re doing some digital footwork because of the idea of a COPSlike show that is JUST international K9 teams, and: blammo!

Why is this not on ESPN8 (the ocho!)?! [I think if it were, I would’ve seen it already.]

[capnmariam]

If I go home, boot up my G4 cube, and hunt through 1999ME’s EDM archives, then I could sit and play the whole list, and find the track that sounds like me clearing my throat, and free myself from this 4 note segment of an ear worm.

I know that eventually I will track this sound down: I remember the feeling– about a decade after I started looking–when I stumbled again onto “Don’t Deflate”, a song I heard in the middle of the night in 2001-2002 on East Seneca and could not place;  I remember the feeling not too long ago when I was able to isolate in memory that the tune that was lilting around in my mind was the abandoned jazzy original theme-song to “Monk” (and the concomitant victorious swearing that naturally occurred, to my dismay, in text as I streamed consciousness and hit send to my formal labmate); I remember when I was later able to identify as a piece of Blondie’s “Maria” which I heard for a second while scrubbing through the radio and hit a channel I could not get back to as I was in motion and on the edge of two station coverages; and I remember when I finally isolated that the song that “Pretty Pimpin’” reminded me of (the guitar bits from “Green Grass and High Tides” that I had been exposed to many many many times in the era of the popularity of game “Rock Band”. 

(Meta-remembering these things shows how exquisitely uneven my taste is, eh? Ave Mariam: virgin of the skies, thanksgiving aficionado [it’s the best holiday, my dudes], accepter of prayers received over the airwaves, etc.)

Anyhow, history shows–time and again–that this problem is solvable.  And I have been to these places in memory, and so I have hope.

It just also makes me temporarily miserable. 

EDITORIAL NOTE: IF ANGLING FOR ME TO RESPECT AND ADMIRE YOU ALWAYS, that bassline’s like F♯F♯  G♯ C♯, and so low frequency it sounds like farting, (I really do think about it most every time I clear my throat, right after thinking of the horns from “let me clear my throat”,) and either at the beginning or looped throughout.  Figure it out and you’re a hero.

[capnmariam]

The super secret director's cut apparently failed to upload earlier. Ah, well. Shh. cf. https://twitter.com/capnmariam/status/955148096605949953 I am doing one coffee pot's worth of work on site today and then off to parts elsewhere.

[capnmariam]

The 7000th image on this phone was a screen cap of what could have been a top-notch conversational mic-drop, but for our dedication to the discussion of an equally glorious moment of also top-notch reality tv-syzygy.

[capnmariam]

1MonthTapeDelay

The groom’s mother remembered me fully and without any prompting. I’d hypothesize that was partially because when we’d been introduced a decade ago, she interrogated me both as a girl (whose unspoken interests in her son beyond perhaps normal friendly levels she may have suspected,) AND as the person responsible for the safety cage her son was in, and I’d suppose to a mom that sticks.

[AND, when we met, it was at the end of derby season and my having spent time fully covered but also out in the sun for a couple consecutive weekends. Consequently, the glorious unnatural pallor of my 20s was gently mitigated by my ethnic response to sunlight and I probably had roughly the same coloring as I do now from driver-side sun-exposure. (Maybe less freckled now just because I still don’t spend too much time outside.) The previous night, I had gotten a tentative “you look different” from MDM and assume that it was because he (you, if you are him) last met me in the throes of periods of third shift work which had me on a time averaged state living 3 stories underground, so: peak molewoman. But, that is a digression about something I definitely haven’t been churning on for 4 some weeks. I AM bad at storytelling. I DO need an editor. Or at least someone to tell me to stop using the word “interrogate” so much as it seems unfriendly.]

Indeed, fully 80% of non-near friendtype people’s prior knowledge bullet point on me was “the welder!” which was honestly really well and truly nice inasmuch as it really locks in the bizarre flashdance jokes as rooted in truth and also it’s pretty cool.

[Here’s a fun thought experiment: consider all joerbs you’ve ever had. No wait, not even jobs. Consider all things you’ve ever done. Imagine if everyone JUST associated you with the best thing you’ve ever did. Isn’t that great?

I think I’m followed by a lot of dads here (I maintain that I have in spades all the traits one would wish for in a daughter; albeit, sometimes a rebellious one who would confess to some things eventually, but seldom get caught. And also, really only rebellious in the sense of a context of much more strict cultures than the greater one we live in, but if you consider the sort of microclimate of the how and when I grew up, there you go: I’m basically Pee-wee Herman, Dotty.) So odds are that “progenitor of a child” may be your great work, but any other great works are a bonus.

Anyhow, I loved those cars and, in the grand scheme, that skill is up there for me.]

Delightfully, the lunch on Saturday revealed that years of murky and confusing feelings were now clear and platonic affection and what a relief. There was an oddly unexpected comfort in a clear compartmentalization maybe that I had overlooked not having in the regard of that guy, and all that weird not-quite-hope-but-not-quite-legitimate-feeling-feelings crystalized and just all crashed out of my system. It left me feeling pretty clear. All pleasant bonhomie, no undercurrents or overtones to sweat. Hopeless, but in a good way. Aces.

(Not like in a scientologist way, but maybe? I don’t know their whole deal emperically, so: who knows, right? I am not inclined to dabble in that sense, I’ve got my own charmingly squirrelly background running sort of belief system as you may recall.)

(…Not background running like I’m some sort of robot. I am pretty sure I am not actually a robot; but who knows, right? Thomas Nagel had some ideas, I guess.)

[capnmariam]

As when I saw this I was forcing myself to try to think in French, it was only as I was flipping through memory this morning that I formally labeled the statue I saw a Pigeonnbrella. (chaos! Chaos! CHAOS!)