Author Archive: Christopher Waldrop

Sometimes I Wanna Be An Anarchist.

The word “anarchy” gets used a lot to describe riots and other chaotic events but that’s not really what it means. Technically it’s not what “chaos” means either, but that’s another story. “Anarchy” comes from an ancient Greek word meaning “without a leader”. It just means a system where everyone only looks out for themselves and there are no rules.

anarchy1I’m generally a fan of rules. Without them things tend to break down and a game of Sorry! can quickly turn into a game of Sorry I Ripped Up The Carpet And Stuffed It In Your Face Until You Bled! and while this can make the game more interesting in the short term in the long term it usually results in a parental figure taking it away.

anarchy2Anyway I do think it’s good to challenge the rules sometimes, to force ourselves to think about why we have rules in the first place, and whether the rules we’re following are still useful or if they’re just something we do out of habit. Graffiti is against the law but why? I can think of a lot of reasons, starting with I don’t want somebody spray painting stuff on my house, but are there exceptions? There’s graffiti carved into the pyramids and other ancient monuments that was done thousands of years ago so it’s become history itself. And what are the rules of graffiti? Mostly people think of graffiti as painted, and that’s reflected in one of the definitions in the Oxford English Dictionary: “Words or images marked (illegally) in a public place, esp. using aerosol paint.” But that could include stickers, signs, posters…graffiti could be any kind of mark made in a public place. The problem with making the definition overly broad, though, is it then loses all meaning and spitting on the sidewalk becomes graffiti. I believe graffiti is an art form and I have a pretty broad interpretation of what art is, but there have got to be some standards and some rules or the whole thing would descend into anarchy.

Seen any graffiti? Send your pictures to freethinkers@nerosoft.com. You can be credited or remain anonymous. Whatever you want the rules to be.

Matriculating Down.

graduationIt’s graduation season which makes me think back on my high school graduation, or at least what I remember of it, which is almost nothing of the ceremony itself. It’s strange. I remember other peoples’ graduation ceremonies I’ve attended better than my own. Everything from the moment I stepped through the auditorium doors is a blank, maybe because it wasn’t that important to me. Finishing high school was important. The ceremony itself—the cap and gown, the tassel, walking across a stage to get a diploma when my name was called—wasn’t. In first through sixth grade my school had Field Day in late May, marking the beginning of the end of the school year. It was a day-long P.E., mostly races, which I hated because I was a lousy runner and always coming in last or close to it or even somewhere in the middle but nowhere near the winners just seemed to remind me of that. And there were tug-o-war competitions between classes which I kind of liked because they were my one chance to win something even if all we ever won was a lousy little ribbon: blue for first place, red for second, yellow for third. There was no ceremony of any kind. After the event a grownup just handed you your ribbon, and they weren’t always paying much attention so I got a couple of blue ribbons by saying, “Yeah, I just won the, uh, the six decibel caterwaul over there,” but that’s another story. And there was also at least one adult wandering around with a handful of green ribbons for participation. If you just showed up, if you weren’t sick that day, you got a green ribbon. And that’s what my high school diploma felt like: a green ribbon for just showing up.

What I do remember of the ceremony is getting to the arena downtown wearing my suit and tie, and getting there early enough that I wandered around the arena by myself for a while. I was there with my parents and I guess they were getting their seats while I was supposed to go downstairs and line up with my classmates, but all of my classmates were wandering around talking to each other and seeing if they could stick their arms far enough up into the machines to get a free Coke so I did that too. The school gym, which was normally used for pep rallies and basketball games and the Christmas talent show, wasn’t good enough for graduation ceremonies so the administrators rented the dilapidated downtown arena which was normally used for hockey games and wrestling events and a hideout for junkies. It’s since been demolished. When the time for the ceremony itself got close enough we all dutifully headed downstairs and were lined up. At some point we must have put on our caps and gowns. You’d think wearing a gown for two hours is something I’d remember but, no, still drawing a blank. I was placed somewhere in the middle, so I guess we were lined up by class ranking. I wasn’t valedictorian or salutatorian or stentorian. I didn’t even have perfect attendance. I was exceptionally average.

I was standing next to Sally, a girl I knew so barely I was kind of surprised to learn we were both in the same grade, and for some reason they made us go in as pairs. As we stepped up to the doors Sally grabbed my hand and said, “Oh God, this is it. Please tell me it’s going to be all right.”

I hope I told her it was going to be all right but I have no memory of any of it because we stepped through the doors and my last thought was, Well, let’s get this shit over with. No, that’s not entirely true. I remember thinking, wow, for Sally this is really a big deal, and I envied her feeling that way. Intellectually I knew this was a big deal. We’d spent more than a third of our lives in school. There’d been a lot of changes along the way. Some kids moved away and as I’d gotten older and moved through different schools my circle of classmates had gotten bigger, some had dropped out, and a few hadn’t made it, but I was still graduating with a handful of kids I’d started kindergarten with were in that auditorium graduating with me. This was a special event. I just couldn’t feel the specialness of it.

It’s strange what we remember and what we don’t. I remember being outside the auditorium after everything was over, still wearing my cap and down, and laughing with a friend of mine. One of my teachers came over and told me I looked happier at that moment than she’d ever seen me. Without thinking I grinned and said, “I wonder why that is,” and then laughed even more because I felt like I’d unintentionally insulted her even though she was one of the best teachers I’d had. And then we left. It’s not surprising to me that I don’t remember the car ride home because riding in the car was something I did regularly, but I think even then I was aware that I could barely remember anything from the previous two hours.

When we got home some of my friends showed up and dragged me away to one of their houses. We spent the night watching movies and playing games and eating and being stupid and whatever else we did to have a good time. We consumed every food item in the house. Around 4:30 am we were mixing flour and generic brand soda and we all finally went home well after dawn, still strangely wide awake in spite of being up the entire night. It wasn’t that different from a lot of other weekend nights we’d spent together and yet I remember every minute of it.

Universal Transit Authority.

solarsystem1I remember it like it was more than thirty years ago. I was in sixth grade and on the bus and a friend of mine told me that very day all nine planets (at the time we still recognized Mr. Tombaugh’s discovery Pluto as a planet) were in alignment. It was staggering. I looked around wondering why everyone was so oblivious to such a monumental interplanetary event. The major bodies of our solar system were getting together and who, other than astronomers, knew when that would happen again? This should be a day set aside for recognition of universal harmony and hope for peace. At the very least we should get out of school, and not just because I had a math test that day.

I have absolutely no idea where my friend was getting his information, especially since a little bit of research shows the last time such a planetary alignment occurred was 561 BC and the next time it’ll happen will be some time during 2854 AD. I’ve made a note of it in my calendar, although I’m very bad at planning ahead so I may be somewhere else on that day.

Anyway today, May 9th, 2016, an unusual celestial event really is occurring: Mercury passing between Earth and the sun. It will last seven hours and be visible to most of the planet except the quadrant of the southern hemisphere that includes everything from a part of eastern Asia down through Indonesia, the Philippines, and Australia and New Zealand. Sorry y’all.

Mercury’s year is less than three of our months—at least as long as long as two of those months are September, April, June, or November and the third is February and it’s not a leap year. This is why to Earthbound observers it sometimes looks like it’s going backward, and people thought that’s what it was doing back when they thought the Earth was the center of the universe. So Mercury is never really in retrograde and we don’t need to destroy it. Because of its small size and proximity to the sun Mercury is usually hard to spot as it stays close to the horizon but lately it’s been rising higher in the constellation Aries, although it’s still hard to spot unless it’s performing one of its transits—and there are only about thirteen every century.

In 1609 the German astronomer Johannes Kepler determined the correct orbits of the seven visible planets—William Herschel wouldn’t inspire a million jokes with his discovery of Uranus until 172 years later—and realized he’d be able to see Mercury pass in front of the Sun on November 7, 1631. Unfortunately he died in 1630—some things you just can’t plan for—but other astronomers used Kepler’s calculations and were able to observe it. At least some things in life, or at least the universe, are predictable.

Thistle Do.

thistleWhen I was four or five years old I had a weird fascination with thistles. I even tried to grow a thistle by sticking it in a flowerpot with some dirt where it died almost immediately. I’m not sure what it was I liked about them but I think it’s because they were distinctive, easy to identify, and such a badass plant. I could almost hear them talking and they always sounded tough. Thistles, I thought, could push their way in anywhere and with those spiky leaves.

I’m talking about the American thistle, by the way, which is a little bit different from the Scottish thistle, although the same idea applies. You wouldn’t want to step on either one barefoot, although I still liked thistles even after stepping on several in my bare feet. I always figured it was my fault for intruding on their space.

When I look at thistles now I still see a badass plant. Everything will flourish under the right conditions but thistles occupy spaces other plants don’t want. And I see something that keeps coming back regardless of what anyone else thinks. And I see something that from a distance might seem ugly because some people don’t want it there but that when examined closely has profound beauty.

That metaphor may be a bit of a stretch, but then beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

thistle1

Inspiration, of course, takes many forms.

thistle2

 

Signing In.

nautilusWelcome! We’re so glad to have you come and stay at our charming beach house. We purchased Hippocampus, as we like to call it, in 1998 and have tried to make regular improvements and updates based on guest feedback. Please sign our guestbook and let us know if there’s anything you’d like to see on return visits!

 

 

March 23

The views are wonderful. Tom and I came here to get away and really love the place. We’ve even spent some time on the beach. The only problem is the satellite TV keeps going out. We can get some of the local channels but we’re missing our cable shows. A couple of times it’s been out for over an hour. This really needs to be fixed. Thank you!

April 24

The views are wonderful. I love the layout of the place. Everything is easy to find and I have no trouble getting around. The jigsaw puzzles have really helped me pass the time, and so has the selection of books you have in the front room. The weather hasn’t been so good but I don’t think you can do anything about that. I haven’t been able to go outside or explore the area anyway. Why don’t the bathroom windows open?

P.S. Please send help. I’ve been kidnapped and am being held here.

May 25

Once Conseil and I settled in we quickly became accustomed to our quarters. It took our companion Ned Land some time longer; for three days he paced back and forth across the deck, harpoon in hand. This behaviour struck Conseil and I as odd but Mr. Land’s continued readiness turned fortunate on our eighth day. During a predawn high tide the house was attacked by a giant squid. It wrapped its tentacles around the lower pilings and threated to drag our Toyota into the waves. It might have succeeded had not the dealer, a certain Captain Nemo, convinced us to buy an anti-theft measure. With a hand-held device Conseil could remotely electrify the car’s exterior. This caused the beast to release our vehicle. We were then able to use hatchets, Mr. Land’s harpoon, and the broken coffee maker to drive the beast back whence it came. I must also concur with previous occupants: the views are indeed wonderful.

June 26

Cor blimey, we fought we ‘ad enough quid ter last the ‘ole recce but one night s’them pinya colliders down the local left us near skint. Still it were nice ter sit out on the veranda and ‘ave a cuppa and watch the pretty birds. Dem pelicans and gulls and wot was int’resting too. Know what I mean, squire?

-Sincerely,

Lord Hallstingchumsworthington, O.D.B.

July 27

Love the place. Great swimming. Easy access to beach. Lots to do in town. Nice shopping. Surfing is good. Restaurants are clean. Enjoyed ice cream. Historic sites very educational. Even good for kids. Tried parasailing. Fun! Lighthouse. Birds. Very warm. Not much nightlife. Will definitely. Wonderful views!

August 28

DIDN’T EXPECT THE BEACH WOULD HAVE SO MUCH SAND

In The Event Of An Emergency, Please Call…

"Sarah, can you get me Mount Pilot?"

“Sarah, can you get me Mount Pilot?”

Sitting in the back of the bus has its advantages. I could see the guy coming from almost the front, stopping to say something to every person he passed. As he got closer I could hear what he was saying: “Can I use your phone?”

Please, I thought, please let someone before me say yes. If he got to me I’d feel awkward because there was no one behind me and while I didn’t recognize the guy there was a chance he’d become a regular rider. If I saw him every day, or even a few times a week, there’d be the same awkwardness and I’d have trouble explaining to my wife that we had to move so I could start taking a different bus route.

And then someone right in front of me said, “Sure” and handed the guy their phone. Lucky break. But, I thought, if he’d gotten to me I would have lent him my phone. If I didn’t have a phone and needed to make a quick call to someone I’d hope for a kind stranger, and let me emphasize I’d make the call as quick as possible.

The guy dialed and sat down.

“Hey, is Gary there? He’s not? Is this Bianca? Hey, how are you doing? Yeah, I’ve been at the public library all day. Let me tell you what I read…”

The guy had been reading some really interesting stuff at the library, and it sounded like Bianca had some lengthy opinions of her own about it.

“Is Dave around? Oh, yeah, let me talk to him.”

Dave had a surprising amount to say.

“That’s great. Thanks Dave! Put Bianca back on.”

I listened with eager anticipation wondering if Gary would arrive in the midst of this conversation.

“Well listen, I’ve enjoyed talking to y’all but my bus stop is coming up. Yeah, I’ve gotta get going. Tell Gary I called if he comes in.”

The total conversation clocked in at over fourteen minutes. I wonder what would have happened if the person who lent their phone had wanted to get off before the guy got to his stop. Or, for that matter, how Gary was supposed to call someone who didn’t have his own phone.

If someone ever asks to borrow my phone I’ll only let them on the condition that Gary is there to answer.

Everybody’s A Critic.

junkIn many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.

If you’ve seen the film Ratatouille you recognize those lines spoken by the appropriately named critic Anton Ego. I think about them sometimes when I write about graffiti. I’ve been writing about it for a year now. That seems like a long time even though the older I get the faster years go by, but that’s another story. I didn’t think I’d write this much, but I’ve found a lot to write about, and I’m especially grateful to those who’ve sent me their pictures (side note: please send your graffiti pictures to freethinkers@nerosoft.com!). Sometimes I’ve had to fudge it and write about things that aren’t graffiti, but when I started I really had no idea how much there was out there.

Even though I’m not a professional critic–just a guy who knows a little bit about art–it’s made me think a lot about what it means to be a critic. And I’ve thought about why I skip over some graffiti I see. Some of it I just don’t like, and even though I’m a critic I try to take the if-you-can’t-say-something-nice-keep-your-big-bazoo-shut approach. Something Anton Ego doesn’t say is that professional critics often move in the same circles as the artists, musicians, cooks, et al they criticize. Sometimes they know each other. If criticism–especially negative criticism–seems personal it’s because it likely is personal. It’s the critic’s way of saying, “You can do better.” Criticism, even professional criticism, is just an opinion, but at best it’s an informed opinion, and its purpose should be to either enlighten the audience or to push the artists to be better.

At least that’s my opinion. What do you think?

Source: Disney Wiki

Surprise me.

Anyway I plan to keep writing about graffiti, and, by the way, if you see any please send your graffiti pictures to freethinkers@nerosoft.com. And I’ll try to keep these words of Anton Ego in mind:

Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere.