Do They Still Have Raves?

"I told you he's here."

"Who?"

"Him."

"Oh yeah. See, if we wait long enough, things happen. We don't have to go to our school's football game."

"Do you think he ever went to football games when he was in school?"

"I don't know. Let's pretend to ask him? Hey, did you go to football games when you were in school? Isn't going to the movies just as cool or even more fun on a Friday night?"

I had returned to the car to get our tickets to Inglourious Basterds, my brain in my back pocket as usual. On my way back to the theatre, I heard a cough. Now, there's a certain kind of cough that you know is meant to get your attention. You weigh the choices against one another. On this side, looking down at pavement that you've seen many times before, gravel, tar, and all that other stuff that makes parking your vehicle a lot more organized, your feet propelling you along like a Segway on rails. On the other side of the decision scales, looking up to see who wants your attention, caught out in the open like a chewed-up piece of gum in the heat, knowing you're not at your best, no longer fresh and clean and tucked neatly into a cellophane wrapper and hidden in a tight, sharply-designed encasing.

[COUGH!]

Amazing what a voice gives away in an artificially-induced rush of air out of one's lungs. A person indicates one's gender and one's age, give or take a decade or two. You can hear a smile or a laugh, a gesture, an attitude, a dare, nervousness, humor, playfulness. A cough also tells you when you want to cover your mouth and run for the nearest bar, a shot of whiskey the best cure for "I heard an H1N1-type cough on the other side of town and better coat my throat with 'cough medicine' before we all get contagious."

I've been walking a lot in my life. I consider it a miracle that my brain and my body can move me across surfaces - paved, rocky or carpeted - without my thoughts getting in the way. When I was a teenager, I could walk, talk, and ride roller skates on dates going backwards, and chew gum when I wanted to. In the dark. Holding hands while the disco balls projected colored dots on our romantic conversations literally going around in circles (ovals, actually, but who's worried about radii or major and minor axes when you're trying to kiss on wheels?).

I look up. Two young women. One clearly holding out her camera phone. I mean, at a moment like that, why worry about being obvious?

Can I describe them to you? Sure I can. But I'd rather let their identities remain their secret with their friends. After all, did they ask me any questions or get my permission to take my photograph? Or course not. It's a free world. We're all out in the open, walking on privately-owned property, the property owners running their own set of security cameras filming us without our permission. It's a dance party of filmmakers, amateur and professional, low-res and hi-res, HD and digital 3D.

As the young women passed by, I heard the raised voice of one say the word "Daddy." If you had just taken my photo or filmed me for a short bit, this blog entry wouldn't exist. It was your throwback, your shoutout, that got you this little gig.

We live in a funny universe, where comets hang out in Oort Clouds looking for something to do, hoping to catch the next gravity wave and surf into our zone of the solar system. Thousands of people were involved in vehicle smashups today, some not living to see this blog entry. Others scored for their team, breaking bones, scraping knees, and making themselves heroes for a day. Humans do not control the universe but we contribute to the conditions of this planet, making tiny ripples in our orbit, our figure skater of an elliptical body changing shape as its polar caps melt and mountains rise due to glacier runoff. We wobble but we keep on spinning.

Hey, gals! Thanks for spinning by me. Next time, say "Cheese!" and ask me a good question. I might give you a video answer worth playing back, maybe not as catchy as a Tarantino homage but who knows if you don't ask? Ever heard of "Ghost World?"