78uuu lumière des étoiles

Dusty:Starlight:Culture



time time time, see what's become of me?
2006-03-14   1:52 p.m.

I was thinking last week, when I was so busy and running on such little sleep that I actually cried in the bathroom at Rutgers out of sheer frustration for the volume of work that had to get done before 4 pm, that what attracts me so much to these ridiculously far away places each year is the timelessness or place-lessness of them (to me). Michael Stipe made a good analogy once in some interview about his constant traveling. He said particularly of being on an airplane: you’re no place, yet have specific memories of your experience at that moment in time. But time is passing, and you’re powerless and along for the ride – unable to change anything. I got a major head rush when I read that, cause I knew what he meant; too bad he can’t write lyrics that profound anymore. But anyway – I dig that about planes, too; the sort of being no place and yet having a specific memory of it all. But I relate that more to, say, the jungle, to the timelessness of swinging on a hammock for two hours straight when there is no one around, when everyone is either asleep, hiking, or off planting or painting something somewhere on the grounds. There is absolutely nothing to do there, you’re immobile. Where we stayed, for example, somewhere around an offshoot of the Rio Tambopata (in Peru), there was no road access, no phone, no TV, no neighbors, even. We had to take a put-put leaky boat 10k upriver just to play soccer one night with a bunch of day laborers from some nearby tourist resort. It was unbelievably stifling after about four days, when the thrill of Macaws and Howler Monkeys wore off.

It was a place where I forced myself to understand how time functions so differently, and my memories of frustration at having that time stretch on endlessly for those two weeks are very important to me. The memory of wanting desperately to do something that didn’t involve outdoor jungle activities, alone time, or the same five faces we’d already spent mucho time with is truly priceless. These memories are especially important when I feel overwhelmed in this busy, busy culture, where you’re life slips away and before you know it, you’re nearly thirty years old (not old, I know!) and multi-tasking your little bum off. Last night, I met Kris and Tara for drinks in Nutley, but Steve couldn’t come. He has an exam in his Grad class tonight, he had to work out something for the play he’s directing, and he needed to develop lesson plans on weather patterns for the Kindergarten class. On top of that, he has a project due for another Grad class on Wednesday, and had to report early today to proctor for some testing thing going on at this school. He looked absolutely spent when I got home, just muddling through how to get it all done in time. Time seems ominous and looming here, like our worst enemy. It seems to bear down on us and to constantly fight us, to be unforgiving in it’s passing. But then oddly, I found when I was in the jungle in South America (or in the desert or in the veldt in Africa) that the passing of time would often be a relief, for it meant we were growing closer to familiarity. That break from familiarity, that feeling of being in a place so alien to you that you don’t know what to do with yourself is both rewarding and powerfully distressing; it’s a life-altering experience that’s best in small doses. That time passing in those places means some rest from that alien state, and it’s really important to touch base with familiarity – even if it’s as simple as a can of coke or a phone you at least know is there and working should you need it.

I felt for Steve when I returned home and found him still bent over our coffee table, with various things spread out around him; I sympathized with the look in his eyes that said how can I get it all done? Why can’t I have three extra days for all this stuff? but couldn’t articulate what I’m explaining now – that it helps to remove yourself and understand time as something that passes heavily and can be our worst enemy, but also as something that is tied so closely to culture and perception that it is easily manipulated. It is all in how you look at things, sometimes – at the angle with which you choose to enter a problem. Looks like Buddha was right after all.

But will I remember this when I’m frustrated again next week and have papers, colloquiums, curriculum meetings and new GREs to think about? Hopefully. I have my eye set on a desert trek in Tunisia, finally, and that monumental amount of time in a desert day will be quite a relief. Well, for the first three days, anyway.

Indeed – maybe I’m starting to appreciate and long for “Africa time”, where things happen only when they can, and there’s a sort of chaos to time because it’s pointless to try and measure, time, and appoint events or deadlines when Murphy’s Law is so directly applicable and random occurrences rule the day. And speaking of Africa time/service oddities: a package we sent our friend Alfred last year seemed to travel around the world (stopping in Guam, apparently) and come back to us after sitting in a Benoni post office for a month or so. Did Alfred move? Did he finally get arrested for growing marijuana in his backyard? Did he die? Is the South African postal service really really lazy, only attempting to deliver it to our friend’s house once? Did the mail-carrier forget to leave a note about where he could get the package? One may never know. Alfred doesn’t have email, and I don’t have his phone number. Indeed, it’s one for the Kwazulu-Natal Scooby Gang. Big sigh! Now who are we going to stay with next time we’re in Benoni? (Benoni is not a place one would travel to. Sorry for the inside-inside joke)

I guess I’m thinking about time passing a lot because I noticed while at the infamous Maxwell’s this weekend that two bands I used to adore seeing – Avail and The Pietasters – are playing there sometime soon. Thomas took several of us out for dinner on Friday to celebrate his promotion, and we wound up going to Maxwell’s after for drinks. It was odd to be with my adult-friends, some of them with teenage children, and read a name on a flyer that brought my 18 year old, Coney Island High(RIP) hangin’ self rushing back to me. It was odd, too, to walk past where Coney Island High used to be on St. Mark’s Place the very next night and see that it’s now some chain sandwich shop. Steve and I were trolling for wine bars with my friend Irene and when I passed the building, I got upset. The club, which was a great haven for those of us seeking out hard-to-find reggae and punk bands and ran sets for the likes of the Ramones and Operation Ivy, shut down years ago, but the building stood stagnant for years. I knew it was being replaced with a Quizznos or something, I just hadn’t been to that particular corner of St. Mark’s (& E 3rd?) in a while. I’d first seen both Avail and the Pietasters there years ago, then went back to see both again and again. It was thrilling and felt like a secret experience just for me, since the duds in my high school were still stuck on Hootie and the Blowfish or Amy Grant or something. A girl doesn’t forget empowerment like that easily.

So I will see Avail and The Pietasters (on two separate dates, by the way, it would be hi-larious and surreal if they played together, given one is a punk band and one is a nouveau-ska band) at Maxwell’s in Hoboken, NJ in April and early May. I will see how much they’ve aged in ten years and whether or not the crowd will be people my age, older than me, or people who still can’t buy beer legally in this country. I suppose this is what my brother went through when I told him Blondie and The Cars were playing this summer, together. He was excited, but seemed to take some pause. I sorta kinda think I know what he’s thinking. That was a mouthful – it’s time for lunch.

xoxo

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