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Musing Interruptus

Musing Interruptus

by Renée V.

Test: On Childhood Friends

April 29, 2021 We are officially in the future. Some would argue a dystopic mother-fucker of a future. I know there are people who get paid to put it in a more alluring way. But enough of the self-deprecating. There is something else to talk about today. Friends are great. I mean, all around it is great to have friends. Childhood friends are particularly special. When a child picks you, count yourself lucky. There is responsibility in that. And This is no Adam Sandler movie. I was nine, mom and dad had been divorced for a year. Enter Whitney. I was worried, mom having a new fellow could go a million ways wrong. My sister kicked him in the shins, immediately drawing blood. Always be the first to draw blood. Now that hierarchy was established we could get on with the business of getting to know this person. He was fun and funny. A seriousness interrupted by folly. If adults could be that way, count me in! Too inexperienced to realize the same made him very unreliable, among other life-threatening things. I wonder what you would say about the present state of things. I have a mind to light up to invoke you. I supposed that is where you can find friends when they are no longer around. I’m pretty sure of it. Through the eyes of a nine year old, you were like the grown-up movie kids could watch. It was funnier because you were not in fact a kid. Now Peter Pan Syndrome to start and narcissistic personality disorder to top. The guy who brought Pink Floyd and Radiohead into our lives. The signs were all there. When you found out I was smoking, I imagine you asked, what? The utter disappointment it was tobacco. Joining the circus would have been a more amusing option. What possibilities that friendship would have opened up. Not to toot my own horn, but I am something of a conversationalist. Mind you, they aren’t all winners. I imagine it would have been great to have your input on a couple of growing-up matters. I wanted this third parent. Two were already great, the prospect of a third with very cool music and the knowledge of how to grow your own stash were just too promising. How many years have passed since that sunny day, one just like today, the day I found out you had died? It had all gone down two weeks before, in Mazatlán. That is what I overheard 24 years ago. While clinging to the tree in front of my house, like a monkey, waiting for my mom to unlock the gate. I had forgotten my house keys. I believe your friend Pete was breaking the news to my mom. Talk about heartbreak. The whole situation broke her heart several times over. Irreparably I think. My mom’s face was the first crack in my heart. Those tears. Then.. Why would you go out any other way? My first friend to bite the dust. I would later learn that it was just a matter of time, that the distance from the family was purposeful. No more cheerleader on the sidelines for joining the circus. You weren’t the type we needed at home, that is for sure. It was nice knowing you were around. Now, sometimes when I need that extra push to just be me, I imagine you would have said something witty and inspirational to say. Your voice through a nine year old’s understanding. Some lessons, and especially people are never forgotten. Read

Test: James Baldwin on love, the Illusion...

19. Traffic, it is bound to happen or traffic bound, it’d better be the journey.

Welcome to Musing interruptus. Thank you for clicking, thank you for listening. There are places to be, and people to see! But first, you have to get there. Today on Musing Interruptus, Traffic, it is bound to happen or Traffic Bound, it’d better be the journey that matters most. It’s on the way there, picking you up is not a problem. Click, or beep. Whatever hanging up the godforsaken phone sounds like these days. Catching up on calls, thoughts, projects… so much you can do in traffic. I love it. Listen to music, listen to me… 50 ways to make better use of your time in traffic. Paul Simon offers 50 ways to leave your lover. 50 thoughts in 50 seconds… Sounds like a challenge. A duel! To the death! AT DAWN, NO LESS!!!! For your honor Beatrice! For. your. honor! No. Interrupt, Interrupt! The topic is traffic. The mind wonders if you are bold enough to let it. What better place than among 50 strangers, in boxes, on wheels, there may even be a fox. So these strangers in boxes, a vision of what is to come, in a more compact model. Meandering thoughts. The box with wheels comes in all sorts of colors and sizes, for the young at heart and serious in the brow, there is something for us all. Don’t you want a box with wheels? Wouldn’t you love to feel the absolute solitude of encapsulated strangerhood? On roads? It’s the best time to think, practice your English (ejem… ) or another language, listen to my podcast, listen for the hidden messages…listen to songs that remind of your freer times, outside of the capsule. But right now you are here, I guess I’m here too. Next to you, watching you drive. No! Don’t change the dial! Don’t think about that part too much. This is just another voice, part of the environment. You are alone in the box with wheels. What color is it? What make and model is your box? Do you see other’s on the road, in front of you, behind you, to your sides? Are you looking in the rearview mirror? Hey… is your seatbelt on? When was the last time you got your brakes checked? How about that oil change? Have you considered converting to the faith of UBER? Have you heard the call?  So many things to consider. How are those car payments? Fun times. All so you can sit here, with me, and pretend there is no one else around. But, you are not the only person stuck in traffic. Sucks… Can’t read while you are here, can’t paint either. Can’t really work. Would be nice to make a friend as we are semi-parked here, waiting for this agglomeration of metal boxes to move forward. Now let’s get down to this. The nitty-gritty. There is someone who obviously does not want to get home, or wherever they are going. It might even be you! You, holding up traffic, going a little slower than you should, you prick. People have places to go and people to see… Do you think we want to be in this traffic! DO YOU THINK THIS IS WHAT I WAS BORN TO DO?! What kind of cruel joke is this? 840 hours a year wasted on rush-hour! WASTED! I could have been learning something. Falling in love. Creating a masterpiece. At least one of you might have found the cure to a horrid ailment. Hey, don’t forget to use your turn signal. Don’t get me started on the strangers in boxes that don’t use their turn signals. I hate that. I also hate when drivers fail to use the roundabout or traffic circle correctly. How about Sunday drivers abusing the high-speed lane on the highway. It is for the fast and the furious baby… off, off I tell you! I blame you.. Sunday drivers who would see us all suffer the loss of precious time just to get where we are going, to whoever is waiting on the other side. They say… by the way, who is they?? Can we meet?? I’d love to hear what else they say. Anyway… They say it’s the journey that matters…  that is life. The road most traveled and the other half less traveled. It’s all the same, you are on a journey. Those hours in gridlock are part of the experience...

15. The Worlds We Visit, The Worlds We Make

Musing Interruptus is a podcast meant for sharing thoughts and stories and enjoying idiomatic phrases and words in general. You can read along; the transcription is in the description of this episode. The idiomatic expressions are in italics. Try to get the meaning from the context and then look them up to see if you were right. If you like it, share it, but more importantly, continue the conversation. The background music is called Rainday by Blue Dot Sessions Blue Dot Sessions Hello, Welcome. I’m Renée Valentina and this is Musing Interruptus. I can’t wait to close my eyes and go to sleep. It is like living twice. Something similar happens when reading a book or watching a movie. There are stories that play out in spaces and times, other planes of existence, that enrich life as we know it. The first and most obvious for me are my dreams. And more recently, the space of dreams where I feel the presence of loved ones. As if that were the place where I can be with the person or people with whom I am not with in my waking world. It is a place that feels different than a dream. Sometimes I would prefer a dream so at least I could carry out a conversation with that presence. A presence that might accompany me till the moment I wake. When I wake, I only have the memory or recollection of presence. Generally a feeling of comfort and then the reminder that they are not in the waking place. Still feels as true as any given coffee date, party, or stroll down the street. A memory without a face or actions, just presence. I have come to accept this. I wonder if this happens to you too. I also wonder, how they gained entrance to this place. Who let them past the gates? Was it the shared laughter, the memories or the stories written? It must have been the laughter. In waking life, there are parallel worlds we can experience together. People who join bookclubs are organized in their travels. Sharing the experience from the same pages can be like taking the trip more than once on the same ticket. Each reader becomes a tour guide, pointing to different scenes, alerting the rest to the words and meanings that might have not been evident. I think they are pack hunters, thirsty for blood and guts and experiences borne from imaginations and recollections of others. There are those who read up on the context of the author, searching for clues in their life and surrounding political, social, technological, musical, and cultural contexts. Whethering Hights is not the same after book club, I am not the same after either. There are more voices and dimensions of the same story after a meeting with the story hunters. I love them. In waking life, there is magic projected onto screens we congregate around in hollow rooms of darkness and overpowering loudness. As if we needed much to fall into a trance. Perhaps only 15% aware of the person in front of us because they laughed a little hard, or cheered the protagonist on. When this happens, the trance is not broken, this becomes a shared experience in which echos of laughter and grunts of indignation, shrieks from being startled, and sighs of relief constitute the stuff of group therapy. We share. And when we don’t share the same reaction, it is also significant. The most personal reactions, primal evicerations of soul happening next to complete strangers. All the while, breathing the same air, sharing the same sound waves and chemical reactions that make image. We are part of the chemistry experiment. The missing elements in the lab. We pay for this shared experience, a temporary voyeristic partnership and lift on the restrictions of the public expression of shame, sadness, pain, fear, angst, seemingly masked by the darnkess. Seemingly anonymous. It is not so dark we cannot see each others faces or hear each other’s voices. We are traveling together, we paid for our visa at the doo

Season 1

Welcome

A brief intro... Transcript: Thanks for clicking play. Welcome. My name is Renée, which means to be reborn, a concept used to excuse following your heart.  A disclaimer… serious projects need a justification, there will be no such seriousness here. It is barely a promise of a collection of short thoughts I would like to share, for no good reason at all. I’m not too sure how much I want to say about myself, other than I love teaching, writing and the plethora of skills you develop when you are having good conversations. In some cases, I will be continuing age-old conversations by myself. I might however find people who want to chime in. I don’t think I will come up with something new. I’m just being realistic. I subscribe to the Fight Club adage, we are not unique snowflakes.  So, on with it!

1. Sneezing over 30

Do you sneeze too? Transcript: Sneezing over thirty Hello and welcome, what have you been up to today? I hope nothing good, as that generally makes for the best stories. I’ve been thinking about sneezing over thirty. If there is something that irritates my husband, to no end, it is my sneezing. I pride myself on it. Seriously, I take longer strides just remembering how loudly I sneeze. Mind you, I never hid my outlandish sneezes while we were dating, I suppose he just never factored in what it meant to live with someone with chronic allergies. There are many things I learned early on that I was sure would keep me out of trouble. I have been wearing sunscreen since high school. At 16, I received my first pang of what was to come, Oprah had a segment on it. I stayed out of the sun, mostly because I lived in a concrete jungle, far, far away from the sea, the only place I associated with the sun.  But before that, came sneezing. At age 14 I was scolded a couple of times for, what I like to call, petite sneezing. Let me tell you about this. However uninteresting it may result to be, I feel committed to finishing this topic and recording this for you. Whomever you are. Is there anybody out there? Does this sneezing thing resonate with you at all? Let me know. I don’t have a landline, and this is not live,  but if I did, and it were, it would be open and I would say… I’m listening. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? Anyhow, the petite sneezing thing. A mousy-like sound squished under a pinched face while attempting to suppress any real semblance of pleasure and authority. - Yes, that is exactly where this is going. Have I lost you yet? No? This must be homework, thanks for staying. As I was saying, I was reprimanded for self-repression and what I know now, could have resulted in a ruptured eardrum, a ripped esophagus, and even, I mean, there is a remote possibility you get brain damage. I said remote… In any case, there is a reason we sneeze, that is the way the body liberates mucus and bacteria, and junk from our lungs. It gets rid of some of the toxic waste. Now to sneezing over thirty…. Wait, we are just starting to get to know each other.  Let’s keep it moving… A good sneeze reveals your true voice. Or at least a part of it.  A proper sneeze lets everything out and should be simultaneously caught in the crook of your elbow. Like a vampire. Vampires are sexy, be a sexy, loudly sneezing vampire. Strut around that home of yours, preferably with protective wear. Kegel and strut. The more you know, right? Are you still there? Do you sneeze too? How is your sneezing etiquette? Are you at all worried about brain inflammation or tears in your esophagus? I’m listening.

2. Topic Selection vis-à-vis Conversations

Transcription Hi. I was hoping you would come back. I love listening. Listening is half of the conversation, isn’t it? Getting to know the person in front of you is the most important thing happening at that moment. It might be over coffee or tea, a glass of wine, medicinally, of course, a toke, medicinally, of course. Another’s humanity in their own words can be a gift. Today, I bring you some questions and thoughts on one of my favorite conversations. Tricks and strategies don’t make for a good conversation. Good questions do. What do you like talking about? What kind of things do you like people to ask you? What you are passionate about provides for a great topic. You might say: what are you crazy about? What gets you geared up? I’ll provide a short answer. For me it's music. I get lost and overwhelmed by music. It fascinates me to no end. From the strum of Mi on my acoustic guitar to James Marshall Hendrix’s electricity. Bootsy Collin’s bass, the in-a-gadda-da vida percussion solo, Queen and Paul Simon’s storytelling, the soft romantic revolution instigating voices of the Nueva Trova Cubana and Cerati’s bout with his psychoanalytic divan. It is useless to make a list. Rolling Stones magazine has a list of the 500 greatest songs of all time. They are experts. As I turn and look to my past, my list of songs could seemingly go on infinitely, as I gaze at the future, I see that song path is closer to infinite. I’m overwhelmed again. It is music and what it makes me feel and think and imagine at the same time. I’m hooked on it.  I feel something release in my brain, which then seems to get lost in the sounds. What are you passionate about? How did you realize it? Was it love at first sense? What kind of images do you use to describe it? Is there freedom there? Do you like to talk about it? I’m listening.

3. What do you do when you are blue?

3. What do you do when you are blue? Are you down in the dumps (feeling sad), do you have the blues (feeling sad)? There is comfort in sadness. A childhood friend, a familiar place. A place where you can let it all out (to behave freely). It’s ok to be sad. This past year has had heaps (many) of sad occurrences for all; a sad set of affairs indeed (an unfortunate situation). Although there are many, many happy ones, we aren’t going to visit those just yet. It is said that the saddest day of the year is in January. This year it was January 18th, next year it will be January 17th. I was curious about Blue Monday and, as it turns out, it was just part of a publicity stunt (BBC News). There is even an equation. Whether it's a blue Monday, once a year, or dark Mondays in general,  feeling the blues can take its toll (have a serious effect). When it comes to mental health, I am a proponent of getting down to business (do what needs to be done), of reaching out (getting in touch) for professional help and talking about it. It’s real and we all need to take care of it. I do. That said, I’ll describe my perspective. Sadness comes with a certain modesty, it serves as a refuge to process and feel. You could say it is more than a feeling, it’s a place, a state of mind, and a haven (a safe place). I like to write there, read, and reflect. It’s a place of softness and dim (low) light. It is also a place where kindness can move me to tears. I know I shouldn’t stay too long. It’s not really a decision. It is not always comfortable either. Leaving sadness has many approaches.  One of my father’s catchphrases includes - Everything in life is work, happiness requires work.- In certain cases and to a certain extent, I believe that it is true. The decisions we make, starting with how we view life’s slings and arrows (Hamlet uses this phrase to talk about the difficult things in life) and including the will to work towards our fulfillment count towards experiencing happiness. Others might propose working through the sadness, transforming it into art, gardening, painting, dancing. A  melancholic garden might provide the sweetest strawberries and plumpest tomatoes. Talking is a classic way through. But… What is on the other side of sadness? I don’t believe happiness is the opposite of sadness. The pendulum doesn’t swing from sadness to happiness, there are feelings that knock the pendulum in other directions. Anyway, there is no pendulum.  I started writing on a Monday, a dark Monday… I am wrapping this up (finishing) on a Thursday afternoon. Not happy, not sad, not angry. Contemplative and full of wonder. Wonder should be a more commonly felt and expressed feeling. Well, there you have it, a few idioms to express sadness and other ideas and an invitation to share how you experience sadness. I’m listening. Before I go… The happiest day of this year was June 20th  according to those calculations I mentioned earlier and Google. Did you feel it? BBC News, Blue Monday, Why its a Load of Rubbish https://www.bbc.com/news/newsbeat-51173730

4. It’s People, Stupid!

Oh the types of people you will find. Those that love living far away, from the hustle and bustle (lots of activity, movement, and noise), the homebodies (unadventurous) that survive on books and music, keeping people at arm's length (avoiding intimacy or contact). They are characteristically quiet, introverted, with a very full inner life. Some might be called worrywarts (a person who overthinks troubles); what a horrible thing to be called. To be compared to a wart. People get those removed. I highly recommend not removing these people. Some are highly interesting. There are people who travel great distances, who enjoy going out, they might be outdoorsy (fond of/liking outside activities and natural places) and breathe in life, colors, and fresh air, all at once. I imagine them adventurous, curious about the sights and smells in the first person. A literary description could never satisfy (be enough) their curiosity. I would hope this person has the gift of storytelling, I would hope this person finds their way to my side and tells me all about these adventures. I would go on those adventures too, if invited, of course. Then you have your wise guys (people who wish to appear intelligent), your smart alecs (they feel they need to demonstrate they are smarter than others), and half-wits (basically idiots), they seem to be on opposite sides, but actually, they have one thing in common, they aren’t really intelligent, some will own it (accept), the others will try to convince you otherwise. I like to stay away from these and the know-it-alls; they are just annoying. I am more drawn to an intelligent, curious, and humble mind, mixed with a touch (just a little bit) of bravado. Beware of the two-faced people of the world, slimeballs (unpleasant person, liar), and parasites. Identify those, stay away. Learn your lesson once and for all. If they are capable of striking once, they will strike twice. They will strike against you. Just because they haven’t doesn’t mean they won’t. Every party has a party pooper! (a negative person who does not want to participate and actively ruins get-togethers) I suppose they just need someone to teach them to enjoy life, live in the moment, and not fear being silly. You can spot (identify) them a mile away. Gold diggers want a sugar daddy, and who might as well be a fuddy-duddy (having old-fashioned ideas). This is a love story as old as time. I don’t know if they actually have love for each other… but there is love of other things in the equation. Cheapskates and penny pinchers (repudiate spending money) need not apply to the sugar daddy/mommy position. I’m not dissing (criticizing) it, just making an observation. One of my personal favorites is teacher’s pet. Some may say it is a negative; not if you are the teacher. Have I told you I am a teacher? I also liked being the teacher's pet. Hell, I have had more crushes on teachers than I can count. I’m really bad at numbers. There are traits (characteristics) more important than intelligence, much more important than any number in a bank, it's about integrity. A man or woman of his/her word. She is a great person to know and to be friends with. He does what he says, she keeps promises. It’s a great characteristic. An all-around good egg (a good person). They may not be good at numbers, … but they may be a smart cookie (good a problem solving). Life seems to present all sorts of obstacles. A Jack-of-all-trades (has many abilities) could be the cherry on the cake. I would be remiss if I didn’t add the following to the list: the person who films garbage bags, the guy sticking his head out of the sunroof, the girl who listens to music in the supermarket and dances in the aisles, and the ever so faithful person who will burn your favorite pan. Nobody is just one type of person, thank goodness. That is part of the beauty of humanity. So, there are many types of people. These are just some. Which are your favorite types? I'm listening.

5. I Almost Forgot to Remember

Greetings. Thank you for clicking and listening. Welcome to Musing Interruptus, where you can listen and read along to random thoughts on random situations. You can also send your answers in on Anchor… I’d love to hear them. Today… I almost forgot to remember. Do you ever swear (undeniably confirm) that you remember things one way, only to realize or be told that you are undeniably mistaken? Childhood memories, discussions, who said what. Things that may have never been said. Sometimes my memory is like a photograph, others, I can hear the words, I see the placement of things and words on a page. It can be uncanny (causing anxiety). Memories are fickle (changing), unworthy of trust. Wait, is that right? Is this a selective memory? Memories. Am I right? Or am I right? The light and colors in memories can be so luminous (bright), full of color, and sometimes feeling. Other times, the intensity of the feelings might be lost. Faded. Which is a good thing. Think about it, the end of a love affair, the death of a loved one, an embarrassing moment at school. These are not things I care to remember in full detail and intensity. Speaking of school… remember exams? Ahhh I hated the jitters (nerves) during exams. Watching the seconds and minutes rush to the end of class, knowing the answer was on the tip of my tongue (almost able to remember), regretting not paying a bit more attention in class. The information came in one ear and out the other. Ahhh, I lost my train of thought (line of reasoning). I was talking about memories and our capacity to remember. It can be frustrating to see someone from the past and have the feeling (to believe something) you know them and not be able to place them (identify where you know them from) or what feels worse, not be able to remember their name. Having to say, could you please repeat your name or admit their name has just slipped your mind (forgot completely). Wait, the worst situation has to be when a person or a situation simply does not ring a bell (to have no idea or memory). That is crazy town. It could also be a con (persuasion used to take advantage or abuse you). Anyway, honesty remains the best policy, there is no real harm in asking that person to refresh your memory (help you remember). Train sounds… The train. I remember! I remember what I was doing here in the first place. I was making a shopping list. I have to go shopping. Right! Anyway, what was I talking about? Ah yes, my shopping list. Do you ever come home and realize you didn’t buy the one thing you actually needed? I’m listening.

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