I’m having one of those “small cog in an infinite universe” kind of days. I remember when i was younger i fancied the Earth as a single cell in a body, with all of us reduced to that stuff that floats around the nucleus – and we could barely even comprehend the sum total of our own cell let alone the entirety of our body or beyond. Of course, i eventually learned what all that stuff around the nucleus was called. As my plane came in from Florida i glanced out of the window and saw the entirety of Philadelphia laid out all in the yellow glow of street lamps and the tiny winking brake lights of hundreds of cars. It felt as though i could snap a photo of it all and load it into SimCity… replacing my apartment building with a lush condominium and widening all of the streets in South Philly so there would be room to park.
I’m nothing but a single Sim in my city. I never played any of the newer versions of SimCity, but i remember the original clearly from way-back. Imagine just a single person in that city. Would they visit every building? On any given day would they even waste a thought on the outlying suburbs or the densely packed inner-city streets? My range within Philadelphia is so very limited, and as the plane descended and i could make out distinctive landmarks it was as if my daily path was highlighted especially in the wash of all of those orangey street lamps, and it was as tiny and restricted as those country roads that i claim to despise so much. Maybe what i like about the city is the illusion of options, and not the option themselves. Or maybe i should go to sleep on long plane rides. Any thoughts?
Philly
The apartment is so deceptively warm that i was a bit shocked by the chill in the air when i finally managed to exit the building this morning. It’s not much of a shock, seeing as fall was getting rather cold for a while there, but after my illustrious Floridian flirtation with retirement and being holed up in the apartment for the weekend it served as a noticeable mark of a new year arrived. I made it to my first class on time, which probably bodes well for the semester as a whole (especially considering that i didn’t make it to my first class on time last semester). Also, there’s nothing quite like getting to class on your first day and having a big fat A handed back to you. Handed back? Wondering how it’s possible? Well, the class happened to be Advanced Recording Techniques, with the same instructor i had for Basic last semester. If only every class were to start with something as positive….
The majority of that prolonged absence was taken up by a lot of traipsing around with Amy & Liz that involved one snowed in basketball court, two trips to 7-11, three slip and fall accidents, and a host of other fun events like Amy kicking snow in my face after i fell on the ground. Afterwards we repaired to Amy’s to eat nachos and watch her Ben Folds Five video, which we do every time i’m over there. There’s so much liquor lying around in her kitchen waiting for tomorrow night i almost got drunk looking at it. She bought this enormous jug of SkyVodka just for us to do shots of, or something. Obviously i won’t be blogging much tomorrow night…
So, my mother doesn’t share stories from her youth too often, but there are three very infamous tales from when she was my age about David Bowie. You see, my mother used to be obsessed with Mr. Bowie. If you were to take my fanatical worship of Peter Mulvey, combine it with the awe in which i regard Tori Amos, and then send that all through my nearly frightening dedication to the cast of Friends, you might get to somewhere near how my mother felt about David Bowie.
Her one claim to fame is that she met Bowie in the Sigma Sound studio while he was recording Young Americans here in Philadelphia. At first this story was simple… her friend knew the percussionist, so they got into the studio and then Bowie came out and motioned vaguely in their direction. Over the years i managed to eek some more details from her, like the fact that Bowie was discussion a saxophone passage with David Sanborn (who played on the record). Then i learned (from VH1, which never lies) that David Bowie was on so much cocaine when he recorded in Philly that some of it is actually a blur to him now. I made sure to rub this in my mom’s face at every opportunity, but she’s trumped my coked-up-Bowie with a brand new detail divulged this weekend. Apparently, she got into the studio not because her friend knew the percussionist, but because the percussionist stepped outside for a smoke and asked if anyone had any rolling papers. Of course, my mother’s friend did have them, and somehow they got them into the studio, where her paper-possessing friend proceeded to vainly attempt to make conversation with a surely glazed-over Bowie.
Isn’t she a fun gal? I’m starting to have suspicions about why she doesn’t recall the experience too well…
That’s the longest period of time i ever spent away from a computer. My brain aches for all the little blog-able things i experienced in Florida that went to waste. Since you asked, Florida was horrid and dull and i’m never ever going back. When the below freezing air hit me as i stepped off the plane in Philly i practically let out a war whoop (to which my grandmother replied “Yeah, it is very cold”).