Homo Septans

New Slang
I spent part of my last weekend on a beer tour in the city. We visited Yards Brewery, drank free samples, toured the brewery, and crushed $3 grilled cheese. After that, we went to south street and drank 190 Octanes at Fat Tuesdays.
Although I had an awesome time enjoying the city I call home with some of the best friends I could ask for, perhaps the most interesting part was the trip to and from. Like when you're a kid and the best part of any present is the box it comes in. Public transportation always send my mind into a kind of analytic overload. There are few other places where you can just sit and watch people go through the daily routine of their life. Sidewalks and boardwalks are great for people watching, but they can be more like runways. Trolleys, trains, and airplane seats are the places where people lose pretense.
The Septa line we took down exposed us to some of the very best in people watching- the quiet girl who let smile after smile play out lightly over her lips as she read her book, the 16 year old boy with more tattoos squeezed onto his face than I have on my entire body, the horribly un-self aware woman who shoved all 280 lbs into 'Pink' short shorts, the young boy, desperate for attention, and living on a diet of chips and soda. As I sit and watch these people, I can't help but begin to dissect their lives in my mind.  How does a girl have a child that young? How hard is this man working that he has to nap on the ride between job 2 and 3? Who's more dangerous- the older man with the look in his eye, or the tall black kid with cut off dickies and converse sneakers?
This environment seems to provide a sliding door of anonymity. Every few blocks, you're a stranger all over again. No one wants to look, no one wants to know, no one wants to get too close. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.  Get on, get off, get on with your life.
The ride home wasn't without entertainment either. None of us had exact change, and the attendant got so fed up watching us try to figure it out, he just let us on for whatever amount we had. Ant, Bub, and Brian started singing Lion King songs in doo wop, and I got to pull the chain with the bell on it to let the trolley operator know we were ready to get off. Three times.

Avada Kedavra

I can't think of any music to put with this.

I spent this morning watching the 7th film of the Harry Potter franchise: the Deathly Hallows part 1, and my afternoon in the theater watching the 8th and final film.

I didn't care for the first couple films in this series, but I've heard such positive reviews of the most recent couple that I decided to give it a shot.

I read the series at least twice, and because I connected so deeply with the books, I became frustrated with the visualization of these stories. How dare they do that to my characters, my landscape, my imagery? I supposed I should have expected this, because I've only seen a few films that lived up to the book - LOTR, To Kill a Mockingbird, and Of Mice and Men.

As I sat in the cold, dark theater with a whole row to myself, I couldn't help but marvel at the scope and intricacy of such a wonderful story line. I thought back to grade school English classes in which we would plot out story lines, characters, antiheroes and denouements. In school, we would use notebooks and chalkboards. I can't imagine how J.K. plotted and kept track of such an intricate storyline.

As the flashes of wand fights flared across the screen, I imagined these as story arcs and events. One green flash aims high, and continues off screen. A red flash combines with a green one, and veers off into a column, taking out statues and lives. Orbs fly and circle, forwards and back, up and down.

Like neurons firing in the brilliant mind of Ms. Rowling, these lights dance across the screen to form beauty and destruction. Eros and Thanatos.

So how do you graph out a story as spanning and twisting as the Harry Potter series? I don't think you do. I think that the only way this story was ever fully realized was not on a chalkboard, but in the mind of J.K. (before the story was written, she told Alan Rickman about his past with Lilly and his pact with Dumbledore). Each character like a neuron, and each story arc like a synapse. Because some things are much too beautiful and complicated to be confined to something as worldly as a chalkboard or notepad.

As I left the theater, and walked into the offensive sunlight, I was overcome with the same feeling I was upon completing the books. Loss.

Rowling had the ability to not only tell a remarkable story, but to couple it with remarkable characters. Part of being human, I think, is to project our thoughts and feelings onto things that may not be capable of thoughts or feelings- think feeling sorry for the last stuffed bear at a carnival. The one that no one is taking home. This bear has no feelings, but we feel for it.

I think this overabundance of empathy is one of the greatest things about being human. We have so much empathy, that we can spare some for something as silly as a stuffed animal.

Similarly, the characters in HP are not really people. They're a figment of J.K.'s imagination. They're a literary device, and nothing more- a vehicle for a story.

But still, we; the audience, connect with these characters as if they're part of us. We associate with their feelings, and troubles, and excitement. Perhaps we're just desperate for connection of any kind.

I remember, as a child, thinking that I would meet these characters in Heaven. That we would finally meet as old friends, and pick up right where we left off- at the end of their story. Our story. Because we took that journey together.

Give me liberty, or give me freedom.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4WFfmE73Sw
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8a4iiOnzsc
The 4th has fizzled out, like so many fireworks in the night sky. This year was different than most of my Independence days' past. Because of a variety of reasons, I spent much of this weekend alone- either hiking through the woods with my girls, or sitting by the pool, drink in hand, finding new music and thinking.
This was a departure from most of our past 4ths.
There was the year I met Andrew Patrick. We split a fifth of Bacardi in the back of Adam's car on the way to go see fireworks at Scum Valley. Then we came home and emptied half the pool having a cannonball contest.
There was the year I spent the weekend sleeping in a closet down the shore. At night, I would slug Captain and Gatorade fruit punch- then throw it all up before going to sleep.
There was the year David got severe burns on his stomach when he caught a Roman candle ball during a Roman candle fight- that was the year we got to trash talk 'the bastard' because Sha Sha had found out he'd been cheating.
There were the years we spent here, with a few hundred dollars worth of illegal fireworks. Drinking beers and trying to get a lit firecracker out from between your fingers before the fuse burned out. Shooting bottle rockets into glass bottles and Roman candle wars. Chicken fights and Two Sticks.
This year was good for me though. There wasn't the hooplah from years past, but it was freeing.
For me, freedom doesn't need to be barbecues and fireworks and chasing girls on the boardwalk.
This year, freedom was a 2 hour hike through the woods with the dogs, and reading by the pool until the fireflies came out.
Sometimes, freedom is just spending time by yourself.