Chadwick's Blog

I really like Air. The band, not the greek element. I borrowed Nicole's stolen copy of "Moon Safari" a couple of weeks ago, and I just got around to listening to it today, on my headphones, on my way to work, on the bus, and on the sidewalk. I've heard the album before, but never had the distinct pleasure of listening to it on headphones, which is always better, except for the "booty" genre. That's always better in a club. But I digress...

I love square wave basslines with a nice lowpass filter. I like it when the instruments sound like they're talking. And I enjoy the vocoder to no end. I've never connected with anyone on that level. I know that others enjoy these things, but perhaps they don't describe them the same ways as I do, or perhaps they have just been too shy to talk to me about it. Or I too shy to speak with them of it. Maybe if/when I move to France I will meet this soulmate.

I'd love to be at a party where everyone was dancing to Air and really getting into it. That would be a hot, hot, hot night. The night would end with "Remember" and everyone would hold back the tears that come with the realization that some experiences can never be repeated. People would be making out on pillow chairs along walls being traced with spiral light patterns. Everyone would be wearing bellbottoms except for one guy in the corner. His bellbottoms are caught in the ceiling fan and he doesn't care because he doesn't speak English and no one takes him seriously in the first place. I would leave the party, walking home, watching the bright stars with shades on, feeling like a sexy boy. Oh la la...

Today, I had an eye exam for contact lenses. This event has excited me to no end. Before today, I had had one eye exam ever, and that was the beginning of my senior year of high school (Fall '97). Since then, I've had the same pair of glasses. I have astigmatism (not to mention red-green colorblindness!) and my vision has deteriorated in the past six years. I was giddy during my eye exam. The optometrist flipped around the lenses in front of my eyes in succession, asking me step by step which was better. At the end of it, he asked me to read the bottom line of the eye chart across the room, as I peered through the eye machine. And you know what? I read that little line at the bottom, no problems, no doubts. I am ecstatic at the thought of the quality of vision once I pop those little lenses into my eyeballs. Those lenses will be nothing short of a revolution. Finally, I can look across the room and know a) whether that girl is smiling at me and b) whether I want to smile back. Hallelujah. Praise Yahweh. I will be given the gift of sight.

As part of the exam, the doctor had to dilate my pupils. I did not enjoy that part of the process. Or, should I say, I disliked the after-effects. Three hours of having 98% pupil, 2% iris. They gave me some cheap shades to protect me from the sunlight. I took them off after Nicole picked me up from the doctor and Nicole shrieked. I looked like an alien, or a monster, or a cartoon character, or some combination thereof. And, it left me with a headache, and worse vision than usual.

I feel stupid for having put this exam off for so long. I have squinted in a blurry haze for years. No more. Now, I will walk into a room, strike up a conversation with a compatriot, see an insect on the far wall and say, "Hey compatriot, see that bug over there? Well, I do. Victory is mine. But first, sweet slumber.

p.s. Last night was the most insane experience, ever. My friends were transmogrified into beasts, and I danced in awe.

I got picked on a good deal when I was younger. I'm not sure if it was more than most kids experienced, I think it was, or maybe I just didn't take it well. Tonight, again, I realized that it's left a residue that still hasn't gone away. Ridiculous, huh?

Today, walking to the bus stop from work, a man asked me for something. I'm not sure what it was he wanted, but nevertheless I said something to the effect of "no, sorry." He said "please, sir" at least 4 times, and the way he said it made me feel horrible. About a block later I wished I had given him whatever he wanted. Change, my shirt, anything. It's naivete, perhaps, but doesn't so much of it come down to our parents? They mold us. They can make us into whatever they want to. I just can't believe that any of the people I see on sixth street in a given weekday, looking wild-eyed and begging, had parents that really took care of them. If they did, then what happened? "Drugs"?

At some point tonight I started thinking about my future children. I'm not sure that I'll ever have them, it's really inconceivable to me. But, I felt tonight like I got a glimpse into parenthood. Or, I got a glimpse into what parenthood will mean to me if and when I have a child. In an attempt to express that glimpse, I would type the most hackneyed phrases. So, I won't try. I will just give thanks for insight; thanks to my parents, to the homeless men on the street, to my friends, when they know how to treat me and when they can't understand me. I've always thought that a cool name for a kid would be "Mellow". Mellow Wood. I am the only person I've ever met that thinks that's a good name. 'Night.