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Posts Tagged ‘friends’

Ha, oh millions.  I really would.  Who wouldn’t?  Okay, well what busy adult wouldn’t?  It reminds me of this article I once read in the New Yorker…you know how kids can’t sit still and they fidget and whine about an hour taking f o r e v e r. . . there is a thought about time that explains why every year seems to pass by faster and faster: If you look at one year as a fraction of your life, then the older you get, each year the denominator gets bigger.  Thus, the fraction gets smaller; meaning that year is a smaller length of your relative experience of time.  So truly, time goes by faster as we age.  For example, a toddler feels like waiting for school to end is eternity because a year is 1/4th of his life. So according to his mom’s age, it’s as if one year is nine years.  One hour in waiting room is nine hours, one more day until Disneyland is nine days!  It makes so much sense.  And most people I know would say I would LOVE to have time work out that way for me.  A weekend becomes a week and lunch breaks last all day.   So maybe the question is not so much changing time, but our perception of it.  Or just becoming kids again. Although to be honest, I wouldn’t want to be a kid again.  I’d take an automatic coffee maker and a fresh martini over toys any day.  When I was growing up, my parent’s always said I was too serious.  I didn’t really like playing with other kids on the playground, I would have rather sat on the park bench and talked about books or what I wanted to be when I grew up.  At birthday parties I had an easier time talking with the moms than their children my age.  And it drove my brother and sister wild that I liked to clean my room.  At that point in my life, I couldn’t wait to be an adult, to complain about not having enough time, to say things like Let’s do lunch and I’ll look at my calendar and see if I can fit it in.  And years later, here I am, just as I had hoped and dreamed.  It is one of my biggest strengths- to be able to measure time.  Where others are late or waste the day, I can tell you:  Lunch can be as quick as 14 minutes if you eat something that doesn’t require a spoon, which leaves 36 minutes to run some errands.  Things like this mean I am terrific at quantifying my day- breaking it into squares of minutes and hours and then re-packing it in like tetris blocks stacked solid.  Maybe that’s what this all really comes down to: I always would have rather played tetris than let’s-pretend-to-be-princesses.   Funny, I haven’t thought of my younger self in a long time.  It’s nice to know I gave myself what I wanted.  And you know, I wouldn’t trade it.  I see all those girls I knew; the ones who played dolls and house now really do have babies and make dinner all day.  The ones who dreamed of princes and heart-throb boyfriends do spend all their time gushing and blushing about how beautiful love is, ignoring the idea that there could be anything else in the world besides one person.  No wonder they say “What a small world!”

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Yes!  It’s a celebration that doesn’t really make sense anymore, and  I revel in the senselessness of it- the disconnect from our daily identities, the impossible amounts of sweets, a night when it’s not only acceptable but demanded that we walk the streets in large loud groups, passing through the amber circles of street and porch lights. Finally, we all get together and party, like Dia de los Muertos in Mexico, where neighbors are family and everyone walking by your door is a close friend.  But of course, here it’s much better than there- we’ve got warehouses of costumes and entire buildings devoted to liquor.  Two essential ingredients to my night last weekend.  Actually, I usually find a party is best described by the state of the house the morning after.  
Red plastic cups populate the living room in crumpled quiet.  A light bulb burns hot, forgotten even with the sunlight streaming in. The couch trades a rigid upright posture for sagging tired springs, and a crisp white towel for a limp leopard print bowtie.  It served guests with silent stoicism, but is now generally regarded with disgust.  What is under those cushions and smeared into the material- no one wants to know.  Three high heels, all unmatching, have flung themselves into various corners of the house.  The owners have not searched for them.  The kitchen is devoid of any space on a horizontal plane- the counters, the sink, the stove, even the shelves in the fridge are hidden beneath half-filled cups of mystery liquids, empty bottles of cheap vodka and cheaper beer, pizza slices and cupcakes stripped of their toppings.  A group of us gathers sometime late in the morning and a decision is made: we need food and coffee.  Stat.  So we find something decent to wear (Kat proudly keeps her lion tamer top hat on) and head to the diner.  Robbie’s got the hood of his sweatshirt up, a couple of us have sunglasses on to keep the morning-after headaches at bay, I toss back a few aspirin with my coffee.  And we re-live the night.  Reminding each other of our follies and victories.  Poking fun at connections made, commiserating over drinks lost to belligerence, glorifying the events before they can hardly be considered history.  Dude, it was awesome to watch whatever it was you were doing on the stairs… Did I really say that? … Girl, you looked like a super star wearing those suspenders and I know that Jake noticed…  By the time we are done eating, every single scene from the party has paraded in front of us again, even brighter and more clearly than in actuality.  For a moment, everything is so fun and young and alive, we don’t even think about the work it will take to get the sofa back to normal.  
(Haha! Sounds like college.  So, here’s a question for you: You mention “glorifying the events before they can even be considered history,” and with today’s social networking and picture sharing, it’s easy to re-live events and experience nostalgia at a much faster pace than ever before.  Do you think this affects the way you see your experiences?  Do you think it will ultimately be a good or bad thing?)
Well, for now, I think it’s great.  It’s like intentionally creating permanent memories- you can’t really forget what is fresh in your mind.  So replaying the party in our minds, cemented by the pictures put online the next day, help us maintain a really vivid experience.  It’s like in my English classes, where if you just read something, you get some percentage of the information in your brain.  But after to talk about it in class or ask a question, a higher percentage sticks in there.  Like experience is strengthened by keeping it active in our brains, or something. You know how you look at baby pictures and suddenly you “remember” that day you first rode your bike down the neighborhood sidewalk?  Well, what do you think are the odds you would have remembered that without the aid of the picture? How many details do you remember from college, and how much is just a hazy blend of everything?  I’m not saying that it’s good to remember everything…(We’ve all got memories we’d rather have buried…), and I’m not saying I have any idea of how this will affect us in the long run.  I just think that, for now, it’s pretty awesome.

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