I’m
sitting here sipping coffee from a mug that I picked up at a gift shop a few
years ago. I’m supposed to be writing
a serious essay, one that I’m to submit next month, but I’m instead distracted
by this coffee mug. The fact of the matter is I don’t quite remember buying it.
The mug is worn-white and slightly discolored from years of holding various
colors of various liquids from coffee to, on a couple of occasions, piña coladas.
On the front of the mug, (if you are right-handed, which I am not, so I will
say on the back) it shows a shark
with its blood red maw agape. Next to the shark are the words “Send us more
tourists. The last ones were delicious! FLORIDA.”
I remember the reason for buying the mug; it was for my wife. We sort of
collect coffee mugs and she’s sort of full-blown addicted to drinking coffee. Therefore
I am an enabler, so what?
Nonetheless, I don’t exactly remember where the mug
came from, though I’ve narrowed it down to a gift shop located somewhere in the
lower droop of Florida. And, of course, like every other non-event in my life
this lack of a memory got me to thinking about other memories.
So,
I’ve been told by some of my friends and relatives that reading my essays can
be difficult at times, which is a commentary on my inability to express clearly
that-which-I-am-trying-to-convey. In my defense, the sentiments that I feel are
often inexpressible: to confine them within a system such as language would be
to pollute them; it would be to do them a great disservice. So, in short, it
will be my task in this essay to write clearly and to modify (and reject if necessary)
my urge to unravel (or weave) the structure that imprisons such inexpressible
ideas.
Here
we go:
The
blinking cursor is taunting me. Blink. Blink. Blink. It’s waiting for me to
write something, anything, and I’m just sitting here sipping coffee from my discolored
Florida shark-mug and counting the incessant blinks. 137 is as far as I got
before I typed “The blinking cursor is taunting me”.
I’m
thinking about television for some reason. I’m thinking about Steven King’s
alien clown, Pennywise. I’m thinking about its dead lights, that horrid luminescent
distraction causing an ancient and hypnotic stillness. I’m thinking about David
Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest and
the similarity that must exist between the weapon and the dead lights. Distracters.
Immobilizers.
Florida
is known for Sharks. I learned this by watching the television. The mug that
has so effortlessly distracted its possessor symbolizes this knowledge in at
least two ways: 1) with an image of
a shark in general, let alone one with a blood red mouth[1],
and 2) with a facetious quip about a
shark’s culinary turn-ons, that is, that humans, particularly the tourist version of humans, are “delicious.”
According
to the television, sharks are capable of blood frenzied trances and tonic
immobility. Most of us tourists know that sharks go crazy at the scent of
blood. But tonic immobility? Just flip them over, bellies pointed toward the
heavens, and they will become hypnotically still. The television says this in
between commercials.
Blink.
Blink. Blink. 43.
Various
manifestations of the media unwillingly participate in the dialectic between parents
and the purported cause of A.D.D/A.D.H.D., which, simply put, means that some parents
blame their kid’s erratic behavior and strobe-light attention span on a
collection of decadent byproducts of a progressing technological age, (T.V.,
video games, smart phones, et cetera).
Various mediums are, on the one hand, merely expressions of technology. Such
mediums, on the other hand, are being weaponized by hypercapitalism on the
order of influence, further persuading mass culture to consume mass quantities
(and qualities) of meaninglessness[2].
Not too serious now. Stay focused. No weaving, though in this[3]
I am a willing participant. After all, I’ve seen sharks on television, and I’ve
swam with them in virtual ocean video games. These are compelling
distractions, so much so that I felt the need to no doubt overpay for a Florida
shark-mug to remember the fact that I spent some iota of time playing with my
smart phone in the state of Florida, which, according to the television, is
known for sharks, which are known for blood-frenzied trances and tonic immobility,
in other words, distractions, (which
is not to say that the blood frenzied trance and tonic immobility as components of a shark’s instinct is not
the antithesis of such a concept as distraction,
for what is instinct if not the purest form of will?) but I cannot for the life
of me remember precisely when or where in Florida I bought this symbolic mug.
Easy
now.
On
a side note, I hate revision. I hate it
because it shows its reviser how much time is wasted revising. You spend time writing, and then you spend time erasing
what you’ve already spent a great deal of time writing. Though revision is necessary,
it’s wasteful; it’s creation by deletion, by the destruction of those tiny
little moments when you thought you were creating something permanent, permanence
being the grandest of all illusions. There is no such thing as an ancient beach,
only in concept is this symbol aged. Consider the relocative power of the
ocean.Distractions
come in waves. Magnificent ocean waves.
So, speaking of waves, I lost a pair of
my most treasured ten dollar sunglasses while swimming in Punta Cana, Dominican
Republic. They fit my face in the most perfect of ways, these black and neon
green plastic sunglasses, like an angel massaging my temples. As I was wading
chest deep into a red flag of an ocean, no doubt catching the eye of the resort’s
lifeguard on duty, a giant’s fist of a wave reared back, curled, fired, and caught
me square on the cheek. The force of the wave knocked me off of my feet, nearly
taking my bathing suit with it. My sunglasses and hat flew in two different
directions and I, no longer perpendicular to the packed sand beneath the
aforementioned ocean, struggled mightily to right myself.
I saw
my hat immediately. It was headed for the beach, floating upside down
dead-jellyfish-like towards piña coladas and their possessors, both things of
which relied on teak furniture and thatched roofs for protection from the sand
and the sun. It took me a few eternal seconds to find my footing and adjust my
shorts. The sunlight was much brighter than it had been thirty seconds prior,
which made the already turquoise ocean even more ridiculous. My glasses were
gone. My wife, after hearing my plea for assistance in locating my favorite convenience
store eye protection, tried to console me. She noted that I had just made a
sacrifice to Poseidon. Clever though the statement certainly was, it was not clever enough to comfort my now soggy,
exposed, and throbbing cabeza. Besides,
sacrifice connotes at least somewhat willing
participants, and I wasn’t willing. My wife, then, and in not so many words,
intimated something to the effect of you
were willing enough to risk losing them by swimming with them in the first
place! I think she said this with her eyes, which was what distracted me in the “first place.” Her
eyes are the first thing that I noticed about her about a decade ago and they
still hypnotize me.
Yes,
the previous sentence is as soggy as my hat was when I placed it back atop my
crown, but it’s true. My point is that I was watching my wife’s face; she was
exuding sheer joy while swimming in the ocean. So what can I say? I got
distracted, and I lost my sunglasses as a result. I will say, however, that this
is a memory that I will never forget, for 1)
I’ve written it down, and 2) I bought
a coffee mug with a ridiculous turquoise ocean on the back.
[1] In
other words, the shark is a symbol which has imbedded within itself a distinct
attractive quality (i.e., the color of the blood red mouth). Therefore, many
associations are made as the bright colored maw catches the eye of a particular
tourist, that is, me.
[2]
See footnote “3”.
[3]
See footnote “2”.
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