Passing the Point, Entry November 24, 2002 (but I didn't have any wi-fi
that night)
Is it possible to go past one's chuckle point? I
mean, can you literally push the outer limits of nasal decency, plummeting into
the filthy abyss of the full out
guffaw?
Well obviously that was a
leading question.
Today is a case in
point.
After starting out the day, a MONday, on an
exceptionally good note (mainly I convinced my 5 yr old that walking to school
would improve his karate, so he got to school early without incident), I decided
to tempt the Keeper of the Crossroads and RETURN along the same path, in the
same clothes, laden with equipment of all types to walk myself to my
school.
The insertion to be made here
is: my son begged me to go to school with him for the last two blocks of our
walk to serve as a classroom helper. Foolishly, I declined, forgetting about
the special mojo that all children are given at birth that they mercilessly use
on their parents whenever we have the nerve to think that we have freewill, even
though we have spawned.
My baby doctor
divine having cast his fix on the rest of my day, I made it to my office missing
one key from the ring--the key that opened my office
door.
"No matter," I said, "I'll just
go to the dance studio and rehearse, since I have on my gear." Couldn't
remember the piece, had forgotten the tripod for the camera so I couldn't record
the sections I did remember with the hope that the rest would flow
back.
After I asked my reflection for
the fifth time what happened next, I knew it was time to make my way to the
library. But what to do with all the
equipment?
So I huffed up the hill with
all my stuff. I open the library door and run into a wacky musician/grad
student, think nothing of it and make my way into the library café (yeah,
sometimes being at an ivy has its
perks).
After 20 minutes in a rather
short line filled with designer espresso drink freaks who were being served by
gals who remembered when a cup of Sanka was real brew, I find an empty table. I
notice that the musican/grad student guy had come in, and sat down with some
friends.
About 2 hours into my frantic
web search for articles on African contemporary dance, West African Pan
Africanist American dance, and other assorted bibliographic stuffers, I notice
the musician/grad student/slacker looking for me. I also notice that I've had
to pee for about an hour, but there were mitigating circumstances: the bib
wasn't finished, it had taken me all twenty minutes of my coffee order wait to
conjure this table by intense eye contact with a caring older gentleman who sat
there long enough for me to get my drug so that I could swoop on the table in
that extraordinary moment of private space collision known as change of
occupancy in the public sphere..yeah, so I have to pee, KPFK is on the Real 1,
Amy Goodman was signing off, my man Lionel Brazzil had just put on a shout out
to the Owner of the Intersection, when fool asks me for a ride to
NYC.
Right.
So
I'm left holding my pee, alphabetizing and formatting the bib, ostensibly to
send it off, but really so that I can listen to Lionel Brazzil (don't sleep!).
I'm hungry, I still need to get a book, I need to send the e-mail. The e-mail
is sent to wherever biblios go for a conference presentation proposal, weird I
know. I receive another e-mail from a friend who works in the library. I
e-mail her back, then notice that my computer is trying to tell me
something.
My G4 puts itself to sleep
one second after I get the last pane
shut.
Out of juice, but full of it
myself, I make my way the two city blocks down to the bathroom. I can barely
get into the stall. I sling my gear on the floor, miss shutting the door, put
no paper down, and sit, thankful, oh so
thankful.
I look for the book twice,
realize that I'm in the wrong library, and decide to call it a
day.
Time for lunch. At 2:30
pm.
My cell phone dies 6 minutes into a
call from a dear friend. It's my only phone. It's the middle of the day. I'm
not near an outlet. I hope it's not a terminal battery. Lunch is
served.
I finally make it back home,
thankful that snow has not hit yet.
I
lay down, and realize, "I have just hit my chuckle point." Laughing
hysterically, I finish a few more time-sensitive e-mails, set up every Sponge
Bob Square Pants game we own, put a chicken pot pie in the oven, pick up
Hanuman's child and settle into the evening, knowing that I have appeased the
gods of the Little Ones.
Mojo
broken.
Next entry: how does one check
one's chuckle point? I mean, does it have an actual corporeal location, or are
we talking strictly etheric body here?
Posted: Tue - November 25, 2003 at 01:03 PM