I realize I am late to the party, but here is my obligatory David Lynch-related post.
I think that Blue Velvet is the only one of his films that I’d seen, so I’m not as knowledgeable about him as many people are. Though his work intersected with my work in the 20th century.
In 1991, I had a walk-on (uncredited) role in the Human Genome Project when a DC-area temp agency assigned me to Craig Venter’s NIH lab.
A protein chemist–who also oversaw the health and well-being of all the lab’s computers– tasked me with finding clip art that matched the names of the Macs that controlled the sequencers.
The computers were named for characters and landmarks in the “Twin Peaks” series. I didn’t recognize any of the names because I’d only seen a few minutes of the show.
After some inquiry (“Who is Dale?”) I was able to find icons browsing Apple’s Hypercard stacks (showing my age, I know.)
Occasionally, one of the scientists would pour themselves a cuppa joe near my desk and comment “Damn good coffee.” I had no idea that was a Twin Peaks reference until just a few years ago.
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(Bad Word Alert! Though it’s part of a quoted sentence…therefore even my mother would forgive its use in this case).
During my time on Facebook, a comment on a friend’s wall appeared in my feed to which I responded. In the post, some of my friend’s friends–were singingthe praises of the football coach at their alma mater, the University of South Carolina.
I believe I was the only interloper in the conversation, when I offered an unfavorable opinion about the coach.
What followed were several replies like this:“Of course you do. People hate Steve Spurrier just because he wins!”
Hmmmm. It’s not like that at all.
My response was this, “When he became the head coach at my school it had never won a conference championship in its history thoughhis teamswon six during his tenure, as well as a national championship.He also won the Heisman Trophy when he was a student many years before. I don’t care how many games, awards, or championships he wins. I can’t stand Steve Spurrier because he’s an asshole.”
(OK, I quoted myself….sorry, Mom).
Over the years, I have had similar exchanges with friends, acquaintances, and relative strangers (and strange relatives)if I express a negative (or even a tepid) opinion about a politician, a CEO, an athlete, or a comedian they are fond of.
People often conclude–prematurely and incorrectly– that my disdain for anypublic figure must berooted in my jealousy of: championship rings, company’s market capitalization, an election victory.
Not at all, my disdain is most likely because that public figure is a total asshole, or even a fractional asshole.
In a work conversation a several months ago, I used the term “Popeye Moments” to describe feelings of exasperation, where screaming Popeye the Sailor’s catchphrase “That’s all I can stands and I can’t stands no more,” seems like an appropriate next step.
Often this is a precursor to a vigorous, occasionally uncharacteristic, response to a stressful situation. Fittingly, one of my earliest Popeye moments that I can recall was directed at a member of Popeye’s family.
Actually it was an actor who portrayed a live-action version of Poopdeck Pappy (Popeye’s dad in the cartoons) on a Norfolk, Virginia-area television station.
We left that area when I was quite young, though Poopdeck Pappy was one of two children’s show hosts that I remember from that market. I didn’t mind Pappy, though the other host I recall was a man in clown makeup (oh for fuck’s sake!), I used to run from the TV when “Bungles” came on.
When I was not yet 3 years old, and seated in a shopping cart in a store–the Commissary (grocery), or the Exchange (department store)–on the naval base in Norfolk, when a man with a white beard, clad in dress blues, approached my father with a microphone and asked him a few questions.
I recognized that it was Pappy from (black and white) TV, but seeing him in three dimensions, and in color, were a bit unsettling for my young mind.
I stared at him as he and my father chatted for a few moments, then he asked me: “Hey son, how’d ya like to meet Bungles?” and he tipped the microphone toward my tiny mouth.
And then I saw him, that gawdamn TV clown, and he was approaching me, doing his trademark, pinky finger-only wave…it might as well have been Pennywise, from “It” crawling from the sewer with a knife. My thoughts were much like Tracy Morgan’s:
I’d had all I could stands and I couldn’t stands no more.
My mouth–tiny no longer– screamed (“bloody murder” according to family lore) into the microphone. I take it Bungles was accustomed to this reaction, because he did a smooth and prompt about-face and (I assume) went off to terrorize another toddler somewhere in the television market.
My father matter-of-factly informed Pappy “He’s scared of clowns.”
Though I am fairly confident that Pappy had already reached that conclusion.
For the past few years, most of my work has been with students having special needs, many of whom are non-verbal communicators.
Earlier this year, I worked in a special education classroom at a West Michigan elementary school. It was my very first time in the school, thus I was not at all familiar with the students.
Before the first bell, one of the administrators asked me a question from the hallway, and I walked out to speak to them. I saw there was a young man sitting outside the door, and I asked him if he was in my class andif he wanted to come in. He sprung up and walked briskly into the room and chilled on a beanbag chair, about as far as he could get from my desk.
I asked him an occasionalquestion for the first hour or so to which he responded with either a nod, a head-shake, or a quizzical look that suggested, “I don’t know.”
His participation in the class’s morning meeting, was limited to pointing at objects on the projection screen.
About two, three hours into the school day, I was chatting with the classroom’s paraprofessional about: the students in the class, our own children, travel and eventually current events.
I was startled when the young man jumped up and said, “I know about Kim Jung Un. Have you been to North Korea? There’s two Koreas, right?!?”He then mentioned several countries from around the world as well as a few other topics that interested him.
For the rest of school day, he peppered me with questions and comments, about countries around the world, science, and he even wanted to mix it up with me about whether Michael Jordan was a better basketball player than Wilt Chamberlain.
That day ranks as one of my favorite experiences I’ve had working in schools, primarily because of how entertaining and engaged that young many suddenly, and unexpectedly became. I’m glad that I had stumbled upon something he’d wanted to talk about. There’s no way I could have planned that.
