I have written at least once about the childhood desire to have an infinitely long blade that can cut through anything sticking out of the side of a car while I was riding around in my parents’ station wagon as a child. I’ve seen this same thing referenced in at least three other books, and it makes me wonder if this is a common cultural anomaly, and if it existed before the invention of the automobile.
A large number of American males have developed degenerative hearing problems that are worse in the left ear. This is because in a left-hand-drive car, the driver’s left ear is more exposed to road noise, and males predominantly drove cars in the last century. I imagine this will now happen more to females, and in the right ear in countries like England and Japan. Or maybe it won’t, now that cars are quieter.
I’m slowly losing my voice, I think either to allergies or allergy medicine. I find it difficult to talk for more than twenty minutes on the phone.
The flying saucer shape is another one of those anthropologically consistent things in modern culture. I don’t know if this is considered “mass hysteria” or not. It could be some sort of lenticular hallucination.
I think if Jesus was a true conservative, he would have let the free market kill him, instead of depending on the service of the Roman government.
I’ve never been able to get those hidden posters you stare at to see an image to work. I have some eye disorder that prevents it. Astigmatism, or something. There’s some test where the optometrist moves a card and you raise your hand when the two dots touch or something, and it never works on me, either.
I wish more books didn’t have stories, and we had a better vocabulary or categorization system to describe them.
Chester Carlson, the inventor of the photocopier, used to self-publish his own hand-duplicated zine as a ten-year-old. He started experimenting with electrophotography in his kitchen, because as a poor law student, he was copying books from the library in longhand.
The first electrophotographic image was made in his lab he rented in his in-laws’ house, which was at 32-05 37th Street in Astoria, Queens. I used to live at 25-81 36th street, which is a block over and three blocks up.
On the nearest corner, Broadway and 37th, was a pizza place called Boston Pizza. I used to order there all the time, but they were always out of small pizzas, and I would have to order a large, and then I could never eat more than a few pieces and the rest would go into the fridge and rot. The pizza was also never very good. But I kept ordering it anyway. That’s sort of the metaphor for most things in my life.