Reflections
Sometimes I'll be watching television. Or listening to the radio. Watching someone walking down the street. And a feeling of recognition will hit me so hard, so forcefully, that I have to hold onto the arm of the chair I'm sitting in just so I don't bend over with the power of it. I have to stop walking, standing there in front of the Gap, convinced of my recognition. But I've been fooled, every single time.
Like I've written before, the smell of Obsession for Men makes me weak. I smell it and I'm immediately transported to a living room at 2 a.m. in northern Ohio, MTV playing on the television and the sound turned off. Lightening bugs flickering outside.
When I see Eddie Murphy skits run on Comedy Central, I think of him, too. I don't know if it is because he used to run those riffs during our marathon phone calls, imitating James Brown's Celebrity Hot Tub or Velvet Jones's "I Wanna Be a Ho" routines. Or if it is because there is this native, natural confidence in both of them, simmering just below the surface. When I see Eddie Murphy move, I see pieces of him in it--the swing of the hips, the roll of the shoulders, the look over the shoulder.
I was watching, God help me, CMT this weekend. There was some guy interviewing the band Sweetwater. And I looked at him. And I listened to him. And he set that thing off in me, the recognition meter. It was as though I was looking through a glaze at someone I knew, listening to his vocal patterns, watching the way he sat in a chair, held a microphone, wore his shoes. It was rather eerie, to tell the truth. And upsetting.
Maybe the fact is that there are only so many components in people to go around. Maybe we're just all unique combinations of a set number of qualities. Brown hair, smooth skin, a hint of an accent, a broad brow, a dimple, self-confidence, a slight limp, a verbal tic. Maybe, like a deck of cards, each person gets the same number of cards--and sometimes even the same numbers on the cards--but in different combinations. Perhaps that explains the theory that somewhere in the world, someone looks just like you.
Until then, I'll just keep looking for people that I recognize in people I don't know.
Like I've written before, the smell of Obsession for Men makes me weak. I smell it and I'm immediately transported to a living room at 2 a.m. in northern Ohio, MTV playing on the television and the sound turned off. Lightening bugs flickering outside.
When I see Eddie Murphy skits run on Comedy Central, I think of him, too. I don't know if it is because he used to run those riffs during our marathon phone calls, imitating James Brown's Celebrity Hot Tub or Velvet Jones's "I Wanna Be a Ho" routines. Or if it is because there is this native, natural confidence in both of them, simmering just below the surface. When I see Eddie Murphy move, I see pieces of him in it--the swing of the hips, the roll of the shoulders, the look over the shoulder.
I was watching, God help me, CMT this weekend. There was some guy interviewing the band Sweetwater. And I looked at him. And I listened to him. And he set that thing off in me, the recognition meter. It was as though I was looking through a glaze at someone I knew, listening to his vocal patterns, watching the way he sat in a chair, held a microphone, wore his shoes. It was rather eerie, to tell the truth. And upsetting.
Maybe the fact is that there are only so many components in people to go around. Maybe we're just all unique combinations of a set number of qualities. Brown hair, smooth skin, a hint of an accent, a broad brow, a dimple, self-confidence, a slight limp, a verbal tic. Maybe, like a deck of cards, each person gets the same number of cards--and sometimes even the same numbers on the cards--but in different combinations. Perhaps that explains the theory that somewhere in the world, someone looks just like you.
Until then, I'll just keep looking for people that I recognize in people I don't know.
posted by Miss Head at
5:24 AM
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