Wednesday, September 15, 2010

The Unwrite-ables….

I love both long distance driving and cutting my grass because both are mindless activities where one’s inner voice can wander off into Camp Creative and light a fire. Concentration however must remain intact unless one becomes the subject of an unwrite-able essay. Unwrite-ables are those issues, observations or subjects that I would really like to spout off about, but a cooler head prevails and I stay on the snarky side of the line rather than going from meaningful to just plain mean. Driving and grass trimming (I hate ratty grass, the time when it gets all uneven and becomes longer than the neighbor’s) allow me the time necessary to write really long essays in my mind that will never come to fruition via the use of our alphabet. When it comes to brush strokes however, all bets are off. So what are my recent unwrite-able rants?

The first would be about those drivers (I would use the word morons but that is not very nice) who don’t know why there is a little stick on the side of the steering wheel. It is not there to balance the feng sui of the steering column. It is actually connected to a wire which is connected to a light. If one touches this stick with any force, either up or down, the little light will go on and off until the wheels of the car turn in the direction of the blinking light! Amazing!! I know that these people can’t see the little light, but people behind you can, and those who may want to pull into traffic like to see it too. It is really pretty going on and off in that flashing red color and quite useful. But alas, the purpose of the lonesome little stick is lost on most people, especially if on the phone, reading the phone, touching the phone, putting on makeup, eating, reading (really!) or are just plain dumbfounded by the complexity of cars. I cannot write about these people because I would use bad language. The same type I use when I encounter them while out driving myself.

Unwrite-able number two is about objects not normally found in certain locations but which suddenly appear, thus becoming art because somebody said it was. This phenomenon happens in all kinds of cities and towns all across our country. I like to have my picture taken next to one when I find it while on vacation in case it is something really famous and I just don’t realize it. Lots of times a plaque or a fence or some official designation will be located near the object or “thing” telling us it is an important thing. I saw a TV show where a group of artists built a cube-like thing in a park and gave it a really cool name and a big crowd came by and got the art talk. So if you see something sort of out of context someplace, and it has a sign on it, it could be art…or it could be nothing, just some stuff on the curb waiting for the garbage man. I put an old mattress out on the curb last night, and because I am an artist, and it was in front of my house, somebody asked if it was going to be an art piece. I bet that person is steering wheel stick ignorant as well.

Marching bands that don’t march are probably not a good thing to write about either. Maybe it is just me, but the word “marching” means one is moving in such a way that their feet are going up and down in a rhythmic pattern. “Band” means that a group of people are playing instruments and making music of some type. So if “marching” and “band” are next to each other in a sentence, as a modifier of course, then one probably gets the impression that those who are playing music are also moving their feet at the same time! Brilliant deduction on my part is it not?! Evidently not everybody sees it my way. Yet again I had to sit through a half time show where the “marching” band either put their instruments on the ground or at least up in the air, and then proceeded to jump up and down, flail around as if attacked by a swarm of bees, or do some kind of dance routine while not playing any music….on purpose! (They even had some guy on a ladder directing this mayhem). However, a few times this “band” did bleat out some type of sound, the louder the better evidently, while flailing madly. People applauded so I guess the “marching” routine was supposed to look like a band of raving maniacs on Red Bull. Writing about such a thing would not be very nice though because our band marches, dances and plays in tune all at the same time so I am a bit biased. Maybe their show was a performance piece of art and I just missed the message.

Oh well, since I have nothing to write about, I guess I will wind this up. Too bad the grass isn’t growing very fast anymore, I need to let off some steam about……………………………. (Go cut your own grass at this point; I am sure you will think of something to fill in the blank!)

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