365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 180

SATURDAY, JUNE 29th, 2013  

Another month down and here we are on the eve of the eve of 50%, which means it is time for another Statistical Data Update.   Believe it or not, fifteen countries joined in on the fun since last check, a tad over twenty days ago.  I, for one, do not believe it.  There could be a technical glitch with the software's coding, a valued reader is perhaps flying around the globe to mess with me, or a conspiracy of cartographers is underway.  At any rate, the following list consists of the countries that are said to have visited these chronicles of nonsense at least once.  Many of them likely clicked, scratched head and promptly moved on...but I'm keeping score, nonetheless...even if the joke is on me.  

Our newcomers include:

South America:

Argentina

Africa:

Morocco

South Africa

Asia:

Vietnam

Philippines

Hong Kong

India

Europe:

Portugal

Czech Republic

Serbia & Montenegro

Sweden

Finland

Bulgaria

Switzerland

Hungary

Now pushing 6,000 visits, our cumulative list of nations include the following (newbies in red):

Continents (6): North America (3), South America (4), Europe (21), Asia (14), Australia (1) and Africa (3).

Countries (46): USA, Canada, Mexico, Venezuela, Colombia, Brazil, Argentina, Germany, Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, Serbia & Montenegro, Sweden, Finland, Bulgaria, Switzerland, Croatia, United Kingdom, Italy, France, Poland, Russia, Netherlands, Denmark, Ukraine, Belgium, Turkey, Hungary, Kazakhstan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Bangladesh, Nepal, China, Pakistan, Taiwan, Vietnam, Philippines, Hong Kong, South Korea, Japan, India, Australia, Ghana, Morocco and South Africa. 

You can see the alarming spread of our plague detailed on the map below.

Today's Jazz Hands salute the newcomers for joining in on the nonsense, and give praise to the regulars for coming back for more.

Day one-hundred and eighty complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 179

FRIDAY, JUNE 28th, 2013  

One anniversary celebration complete.  Now it is time for some real pomp and circumstance.  Ready the confetti.  Ready the balloons.  Ready the dancing girls, parade floats and marching band tunes!

365 Days of Jazz Hands turns 50% this coming Monday, making the forthcoming weekend our final days of steady incline.  I'm not certain what descending Jazz Hands will bring, but I happen to know one inevitable fact...all good things must come to an end.  These Jazz Hands will expire on December 31st of this year, which begs the question...how's it all going to end?

First things first, we must decide how to properly celebrate the completion of 50% (also known as the end of the beginning), and to properly usher in the second act, 50% Part Two (also known as the beginning of the end).

Obviously, some ecstatic hand jazzing will be in order.  I've mentioned the confetti, the balloons, the dancing girls, parade floats and marching band tunes...what else could there possibly be?

How about this...

I propose a toast.  Since Mondays are drab and routine commutes yank the pomp right out of circumstance, take a moment this coming weekend, raise a drink, and deploy Impaired Jazz Hands.  For those that need a refresher course on Jazz Hands terminology, Impaired Jazz Hands consists of having a foreign object in one hand while attempting to deploy two handed Jazz Hands.  Otherwise you're merely deploying singular Jazz Hand, which is likely to be mistaken as a wave hello gesture (or wave goodbye gesture, depending on which way you happen to be heading).  

Context is everything.

In this case of celebratory Impaired Jazz Hands, the foreign object should be a drink.  Deploy.  Drink.  Then enjoy the confetti.  Enjoy the balloons.  Enjoy the dancing girls, parade floats and marching band tunes!

And since we will all raise a glass to properly salute this 50% anniversary of 365 Days of Jazz Hands, it seems an appropriate to make an official announcement.

Are you ready to have your mind blown?

I have put my Gin and Tonic days firmly behind me, so I will not be raising a glass of G&T for the purposes of this toast.  No.  Instead I shall raise a glass of a drink I have dubbed the Palm Harbor!

A Palm Harbor is not unlike a Gin and Tonic and varies slightly from a Gin Rickey.   For starters, no tonic, that stuff has a fairly strange, bitter taste, which conceals the beautiful, subtle flavors of good gin (Bombay Sapphire is my personal preference).  Plus, tonic has corn syrup, and let's face it, sweet is the new gross.

A Gin Rickey on the other hand consists of gin mixed with club soda, but adds sugar and juice of citrus, most commonly lime.  Now we're getting somewhere.  Again, sugar equals sweet equals not for me.  

Remove the sugar adding process from the gin and club soda, squeeze the juices from one fresh lime and one fresh lemon and you have yourself a refreshing Palm Harbor.  

For kicks and giggles, say it with a Boston accent (pronounced: Pawm Hobba).  Now raise your perfectly dry, adult beverage to toast these 50% festivities with what will now be considered the 365 Days of Jazz Hands official drink.  Youngsters may raise a juice box.  That will suffice.

Today's Jazz Hands are nearing the summit and are thoroughly enjoying the view from way up here.  

Day one-hundred and seventy-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 178

THURSDAY, JUNE 27th, 2013  

Affinity and communication give us reality.  

Blame not the candle for the shadows it casts.  Blame not the driver of the trolly for adhering to the tracks.  Blame not the gravity for when you fall.  

When you decide to jump, don't be surprised when you land.  We make our choices and must accept that life will run its course beyond that.  To have and to hold.  For better, or for worse.

Mistake fate for destiny at your own peril, but the two are not synonymous.  Fate, by definition, is inevitable destiny, but destiny will have nothing to do with fate. The candle needs not a shadow to exist, but the shadow can not dance without its source.  The tracks need not the trolly, but the trolly has no path without its rails.  Gravity does not need you to jump, but you need gravity to fall.

Fifteen years ago today two tracks merged into one.  Candles burned bright and two shadows danced to Van Morrison singing a song about affinity.  Call it destiny or fate, call it what you will.  Call us shadows because that day still seems surreal and dreamlike.  We do not exist but for the candle still burning brightly and it is affinity that feeds the flame.

Today's Jazz Hands look forward to another fifteen years of candles, shadows, Van Morrison, affinity and defying gravity.

Day one-hundred and seventy-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 177

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 26th, 2013  

This morning I spent a few minutes exploring dramatic Jazz Hands poses in front of the bathroom mirror.  Quite a bit of time has passed since such an attempt due to self-loathing.  Though none of said poses would ever be confused with traditional deployments, or satisfactory deployments for that matter, I find that the most effective attempts showcased my arms bent inward, crossing in front of my body, hands close in proximity, mostly obscuring my face.

I have enough experience with these hand jazzings (177 days worth and counting) to know that my facial expressions drain any potential success from these deployments.  The focus really should be on the hands anyhow, so I don't believe this deviation from the mean is completely unwarranted.  Traditionalists may argue, but it's not as if I'm out to become the next Liza Minelli, or better yet, Al Jolson.  I may have some lofty goals, but that's just not one of them.  I really thought that perhaps after 177 days of practice, I'd be well on my way to some exceptional hand jazzing, but I've come to terms with hand jazzing mediocrity (which is actually giving myself more credit than is justified). 

To wrap up this Jazz Hands progress report I can say with confidence that hand jazzing off the cuff in a moment of spontaneity is much more rewarding and much less contrived than premeditated deployments.  The mirror will confirm that for you, just ask.

Today's Jazz Hands deviated from the mean.  Day one-hundred and seventy-seven complete.    

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 176

TUESDAY, JUNE 25th, 2013  

Knowledge and Ignorance...two diametrically opposing forces competing for common space, providing the required ingredients for a good storm.

What would hand jazzing be without two hands?  

Okay, it seems we've covered that some time ago...I believe it's considered Jazz Hand.  We can term it any which way we choose, but the fact of the matter is that one handed jazz handing comes off as more of a wave and nobody in their right mind would blame you for mistaking a one handed hand jazzing as such.  May I recommend to all one handed readers to give one handed spirit fingers a go, as that may reflect your intentions more accurately, and is much less likely to be mistaken for a nonverbal hello gesture from afar.  Of course, you'll look ridiculous as a result, but that's half of the point, is it not?

Tuesday's are ripe with tense opposition.  It's by far the worst day of the week, also covered previously...I won't get into the thick, nasty details of Tuesday's dark matter.  To contrast this shroud of Tuesday mourning negative energy, one must navigate blindly through the dark room to find a switch.  

Jazz Hands are my guide, my candle.  

There is but one good detail regarding Tuesdays.  If you find yourself milling around a record store on a Tuesday (in the United States), you'll find that all new releases appear on Tuesdays (UK and France on Mondays, Germany on Fridays).  There are a lot of theories as to why this is the case, Billboard charts released on Wednesdays being one of them, shipping logistics being another.  I prefer to believe that somebody, somewhere in the music industry, long ago understood Tuesday's bleak dynamic and decided to inject some much needed life into it.  Whatever the actual reason is, my guess is the version in my head is much more interesting...perhaps its better if the truth remains hidden.

I'd like to take this opportunity to point out to the younger reader that a record store is an actual place, commonly made of brick and mortar, that houses and sells music albums.  Musicians record their music and have the ability to physically adhere the sound to a CD made of plastic, or a record made of vinyl, put some fancy drawings and photographs on the cover and market them to people.  In the old days one could spend an afternoon browsing through hundreds, if not thousands of releases, physically hold them in their hands, potentially interact with other music lovers and have a social chat about art and culture.  This may sound strange in this era of digital downloads and message boards...but imagine the exact same thing but with tangible people and things.  I know...GROSS!  

Anyways...

To celebrate this antiquated process, I'd like to point out that an album from the early nineteen-nineties has been reissued and made available today for our re-appreciation of its relative greatness and cultural relevance within the historical context of its original release, way back when (also a Tuesday).  

To turn this Tuesday mourning back into a Tuesday morning, do yourself a favor and check out Digable Planets' 1994 release, "Blowout Comb."  Your instant gratification download awaits you...no human interaction required (whew).

Also deploy some Jazz Hands, that's usually a pretty good remedy as well.  Music and Jazz Hands, what a great combo to combat Tuesday's stink.  

Two opposing forces competing for common space.  A classic battle of good (music/Jazz Hands) versus evil (Tuesdays).  Let the storm rage on.

Today's Jazz Hands are enjoying a nice blend of Hip Hop and Jazz.

Day one-hundred and seventy-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 175

MONDAY, JUNE 24th, 2013  

Knowledge is power and Ignorance is bliss.  

Knowing is, after all, half the battle.  The other half is recognizing the freedom in not knowing.  Perhaps we'd all be much better off with a clinical understanding of every little thing around us.  Perhaps a good mystery is just as beneficial to our well being.

Scrutinize.  Debate.  Look behind the curtain if you will.  Just remember that the curiosity and wonder that drove you to pull that curtain back in the first place is a potent commodity, which is likely more fascinating than whatever is revealed. 

Those chirping birds and buzzing insects...that Sunday morning chorus.  What was all the fuss about?  Like an Italian opera, I'm not really sure I care what they're singing about.  It can't possibly be more interesting than what I imagine they're going on about.  The clucking chickens are likely pushing large eggs out of tiny holes...nothing overly romantic or mysterious about that.  Nothing in my imagination to make it a fascinating process either.  

Moving on.

Today's Jazz Hands were imagined (not really, I just thought that to be an appropriate thing to write).

Day one-hundred and seventy-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 174

SUNDAY, JUNE 23rd, 2013  

Deploying Jazz Hands lying down is a rarity, but on this particular quiet Sunday morning I find myself floating around the pool, and can not think of a better place for a bit of peaceful, understated hand jazzing.

Quiet save for little winged creatures singing a territorial opera chorus of who belongs where.  And the leaf blowers staking their claim on my eardrums.  And the neighbor's clucking chickens.  It seems the most quiet moments are provided by roaring jets overhead, bleating out the abundance of chirpy buzzed clucking.

Watching silver bullets find purchase into big pieces of floating popcorn, I stretch my arms out on either side of me, barely contacting the water, and deploy a relaxed, fluid form of Jazz Hands.  The turbulence cause tiny ripples of pool water to dance around my fingers, disfiguring the reflection of the clouds.

In a few short hours, afternoon storms will drown the chorus of this quiet summer morning.  Until then there is a 100% chance I will embrace the sun, the noisy winged creatures, the reflections and refractions of the billowing clouds and my hands dangling in the cool water.  But not the leaf blowers staking their claim on my eardrums.  I could live without that for the time being.

Today's Jazz Hands made waves.  Day one-hundred and seventy-four complete.

  

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 173

SATURDAY, JUNE 22nd, 2013  

Spring has officially given way to summer.  Today promises to be sunny and warm, right up until it is not.  The Saturday morning air is filled with the natural sounds of table saws and lawnmowers as the typical office dwellers have been released into the outdoors to manicure lawns and cut things with sharp, spinning blades.  

I too will participate in this weekend ritual, minus cutting things with sharp, spinning blades.  I will also put in my time as a weekend shopper, as I need approximately six bottles of red wine (no, not for the sole purpose of this weekend's potential inebriation...I like to think of it as a rotating collection).

This is what the domestic weekend has come to...manicure the lawn, fix things, cut things, buy things.  Daughter needs a bathing sit, Son needs shoes.  Dad needs antioxidants.

And a boat...

...but seriously, who's got time for a boat when all the free time is used up making the lawn look pretty and cutting large pieces of wood into smaller ones?  If I were blessed with boat ownership, the lawn would get neglected...and that development would likely be frowned upon by the neighbors, feverishly competing for the neighborhood's best lawn award.  Of course, I could invite said neighbors to go on the boat, offer up a glass of antioxidants and introduce them to the Royal Jazz Hands...neglected lawns and large pieces of wood staying intact, forgiven.

Image all the hand jazzing over the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico!  Jazz Hands fishing.  Jazz Hands sunset cruise.  Jazz Hands island hopping.  Of course, there's always a 30% chance of Jazz Hands thunderstorms developing, which would give way to a Jazz Hands mad dash to port.  It's all part of the hand jazzing fun.

The summer months bring with them a 30% chance of storms on a daily basis.  Distant rumbles will turn to louder ones and about one-third of the time we'll get a good tropical swamping.  Today promises to be sunny and warm, right up until it is not.  I will be manicuring the lawn.  I will be doing my share of weekend shopping.  I will not be hand be jazzing my hands over the open waters of the Gulf, but that doesn't mean I can't embrace what today has in store (subtle pun there), and some antioxidants.

Today's Jazz Hands want to be a captain.  

Day one-hundred and seventy-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 172

FRIDAY, JUNE 21st, 2013  

Opposing forces competing for the same space creates contrast and tension.  The beauty of anything is found in possibility.  In potential.  In anticipation.  All words synonymous with hope.

On any given day there are approximately 42,000 thunderstorms that occur on our planet.  If you've ever viewed an image of one of them from satellite photography, you've probably been unimpressed.  The system seems so tiny and insignificant.  

The force of that same storm has the potential to cause flash floods, obliterate communities and leave a path of thorough destruction in its wake.  From the ground view this insignificant blip on the radar screen represents catastrophe and raw, relentless power.  Albeit a highly refined and organized form of raw, relentless power.

What is fear without anticipation?  

That tense moment right before the nurse pricks your arm with the needle is the most anxious moment of giving blood, and likely the cause for 97% of our population to abstain from participation.  But that brief moment of tension carries with it hope.  Hope that a life may be spared.

This morning I found myself awake long before it was necessary.  All quiet on the southern front, I yawn and stretch my arms out wide.  

Today is ripe with potential.  

More promise than my average day as it will have a couple of additional hours tacked on the front end.  With my arms stretched out wide I give my hands a bit of a wiggle.  

Yes.  This counts as today's deployment.  

This may appear insignificant from outer space, but from where I sit, this little act carries a lot of weight.  It reminds me how to anticipate the power and beauty of everything from this moment forward.  In approximately eighteen hours I will find myself back in this exact same spot, anticipating a good night's sleep.  What happens between then and now is totally up for grabs and at least 65% up to me.  There may be tension, contrast waterspouts, thunderstorms and needle pricks.  However, there is also an abundance of opportunity.  With every thunderstorm and needle prick there is beauty and hope.  

Approximately eighteen hours from now I will lay back down, exhausted from seizing opportunities and appreciating the significance of the insignificance of all the tiny moments this day will consist of.  Moments are but a collection of many components creating a whole.  Remove just one and the entire system falls apart.

And also it's Friday.  Which means I am highly anticipating another adventurous weekend.  But first, I must go participate in my daily sparring match with Mitch.

Today's Jazz Hands burn eternal.  Day one-hundred and seventy-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 171

THURSDAY, JUNE 20th, 2013  

And the storm rages on.

I prefer to sit back and watch a storm simmer, seethe and boil over than bask in the sunshine on a hot, summer day.  There is nuance, subtlety and unpredictability hidden in those dark, brooding clouds.  So much more so than a sunburn.  "Hell breaking loose" is a common phrase referring to the unleashed power of a weather system, but a good storm requires a considerable amount of highly energized organization.  

It takes many components and the right conditions to thrive.  Take one of the elements away and the whole thing falls apart.  Warmth, humidity, upper atmospheric disturbances and violent convections all must be present to sustain the life of a thunderstorm.  

These numerous conditions have to work in conjunction to enable just one storm, yet there is an estimated 42,000 thunderstorms around the world every single day.  Go figure.  

Today's Jazz Hands deployment was a system of convecting, hot blooded energy.  

Day one-hundred and seventy-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 170

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19th, 2013  

Confirmed:  Blood can be stored, unfrozen, for forty-two days.  

Confirmed:  The preferred temperature for storing blood for forty-two days is forty-two degrees, fahrenheit.  

Newly attained and noteworthy information part one:  Only 3% of the population donates blood.

Newly attained and noteworthy information part two:  The components that make up blood can be separated and each can be stored for different amounts of time.  Platelets, for example, can be isolated and stored for four to five days maximum while plasma may be isolated and stored much longer...potentially years due to developing technologies.

Newly attained and noteworthy information part three:  Me giving blood causes waterspouts in the Gulf of Mexico, unless the two events occurring at the same time were coincidental and unrelated, which does not seem likely.

Newly attained and noteworthy information part four:  My blood is obsessed with escape and escapes in record time.

Newly attained and noteworthy information part five:  Every single drop of blood that the blood bus extracts is recycled into another person in a matter of a very brief period of time.  

Newly attained but not so noteworthy information part one:  One out of every four (roughly 25%) blood bus staff members obsess about dogs and talks about them relentlessly and with conviction.

Newly attained but not so noteworthy information part two:  Blood bus staff members offer beverages, but do not serve gin and tonics.  Also, blood busses do not have suggestion boxes.

With blood flowing out of my body, the storm raged on.  I earned my sticker and enjoyed snack time.  I jazz my hands for a successful, waterspout inducing donation.  Guess how long I spent on the blood bus, from the moment I signed in to stepping back out into the world minus approximately one pint of blood.  

Give up?

It took forty-two minutes to sign in, fill out a questionnaire regarding sexual promiscuity and drug abuse, pry medical information out of the nurses, listen to dog stories, give away some blood, and pick out a tasty snack.  

Today's Jazz Hands had the requisite amount of iron content.  Day one-hundred and seventy complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 169

TUESDAY, JUNE 18th, 2013  

Contrary to what you may now believe, based on previous posts, I respond to the sight of blood with unease.  Especially my own.  Especially when there is an abundance of it.

I can say with complete confidence that, for the most part, it is my intention to prevent blood from escaping my body.  If I choose to bleed it must be for a good cause, and in a supremely controlled environment.

That is not to say that the process is any less fascinating.  As a contributor to the medical science world (as yet to be fully realized, accepted and appreciated), I value the knowledge and technology that makes blood extraction a routinely safe procedure.

Even if the ritual takes place on a bus.

But that's tomorrow.  Let's embrace today and not get too far ahead of ourselves.  Today I must navigate through a complex system made up of many components that combine to make but one, finely tuned machine.  Today I am but one small bit of an equation that is meaningless without the network.

I am a thrombocyte.  A platelete.  A fragment.  A mere constituent.  

Today's Jazz Hands facilitated clotting to prevent the loss of fluids.

Day one-hundred and sixty-nine complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 168

MONDAY, JUNE 17th, 2013  

Today's hand jazzing deployment was administered in such vigorous fashion that all of the blood supply in my arms rushed straight to their corresponding fingertips to the point that it became mildly painful.  It was the good variety of pain, though, like how eating hot sauce makes your tongue tingle, or how ice cream gives you a temporary headache.  Like how a quick prick of a needle in the arm is followed by a subtle cool sensation.  Which brings me to the following announcement.  

Brace yourself...

The Blood Bus is coming!  The Blood Bus is coming!!!

Donating blood is a lot like recycling.  Well, it is a literal form of recycling, actually, but that's not quite what I mean.  The intended message here is that blood donation must be made abundantly convenient for the general public to participate.  If that statement is regarded as a scathing indictment of mankind, I'm guilty as charged.

I actually prefer to think of the statement as praise for those that make blood donation accessible to people like me.  Traveling nurses need not offer free t-shirts or steak dinners for me to partake, I must add...all they need to do is drive up to my place of business at a convenient time that works for me, announce their arrival and I'm there, ready to bleed, so long as I'm not on a scheduled conference call with phony accented colleagues (also known as actors).

Ready for selfish reasons, that is, as I am morbidly curious about the process of blood extraction.  Of course I relish the thought of attaining a new shirt for Pops and steak dinners are quite nice, both offerings are appreciated...it is the procedure and the sociological dynamic that takes place within a blood bus that lures me in.  I highly regard the idea that my actions may lead to some handy life saving, so there's that as well.  And the juice.  And cookie.  And sticker.  Any old excuse to wear a sticker with a cartoon drop of blood.  

Wednesday can not come quickly enough!

Today's Jazz Hands urge you to B Positive.  Day one-hundred and sixty-eight complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 167

SUNDAY, JUNE 16th, 2013  

"Peculiar travel suggestions are dancing lessons from God."

  -Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. - Cat's Cradle

Everyone has a father of some sort.  Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. most certainly did, his name reminded him of that on a daily basis.  I most certainly do as well, and am reminded of that on a daily basis if not by my namesake, but by the institution of my upbringing.  I find myself average, at best, at almost everything I do.  Every accomplishment I have ever had, currently have or will one day have I earned, am earning and will earn with effort and hard work.  My moderate skills in life are not the fault of parenting, but the resiliency and work ethic that has made it possible for me to achieve success, in any capacity, is a direct result of my father's guidance.  

I am now a father of two amazing children.  They can be a great source of frustration at times, but I now see how they are merely returning the favor to me that I once afforded my parents.  I was merely an average pain in the ass, but I worked exceptionally hard at it.  My kids are paying the favor forward.

My hope is that I can instill strength in my children as my father did me.  If I have anything to do with it (and I should since I am their father), they will not fail for lack of effort.  I have lofty expectations of myself, of most of the people around me, of humanity as a whole, but especially of my children.  They likely consider it a thorn now, but one day my hope is that they appreciate this guidance that they are receiving, just as I received once upon a time from my father.

I believe Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.'s quote from the book "Cat's Cradle" is a statement regarding a philosophy in life.  The spontaneous diversions can be fruitful, they take you out of your comfort zone and thrust you into a world of unknown adventure.  Blazing a new trail, you may find yourself in peculiar predicaments that challenge your equilibrium, but the experiences will no doubt make you a better person.  The unexpected can be rewarding, in other words.

When I uprooted the wife and kids to move far from home it was the most difficult decision I've ever had to make.  The comfort of familiarity and the safety net of friends and family was challenging to walk away from and still is to a great extent.  I wish that it was possible to visit my dad today and wish him a happy Father's Day in person, but a card with well wishes and a phone call will have to do.  

If it is any consolation, the approach that I have had on this journey far from home, the sense of adventure, experiencing challenges head on and making oranges out of clocks, etc...comes from my upbringing.  I embrace the Royal Jazz Hands because of my dad and the attributes that he has instilled in me.

Thank you, Dad.

Today's Jazz Hands go out to all of the fathers out there.  Building foundations is a hard job...you've earned this day...embrace it!

Day one-hundred and sixty-seven complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 166

SATURDAY, JUNE 15th, 2013  

If all of our assumptions were true regarding their kind and what their existence stands for, it stands to reason that they'd all discard their signs, utter one last prayer, close their eyes and step out into moving traffic to put an end to the suffering once and for all.  Something tells me we've got it all wrong.  Something tells me there are those we regard as much more privileged that are suffering much more than they.  

My $5 dollars will not save Pops, nor will it restore his faith in mankind.  Not likely anyhow.  The money means more to me than it does to him is my guess.  Not necessarily in its intrinsic value, but the implied weight that is lifted when I hand it to him.  My guess is that finances, of any sum, burden the homeless more than we imagine.  Sure, they are begging for that money, but that seems to make my case stronger.  

I suppose that the disposable camera, if returned, could very well contain captured moments of misery.  Imprisoned within each snapshot will be pain, suffering and despair.  

If I never get that camera back, which is a reasonable expectation, I imagine that the images contained within will be suffering's antithesis.  Only a man that has been through Hell and back can truly know the brilliant promise of Heaven.  I imagine the photographs Pops takes will exhibit the potential of that promise if nothing else.  When there is nothing else, perhaps hope is what you cling to the most.  

Is it possible to photograph hope?

Or maybe the pictures will be of homeless people's butts and penises.  Also a reasonable expectation, all things considered.

Today's Jazz Hands hope for the former, not the latter.  Tonight's Jazz Hands are going to go and enjoy a cold pint.  Or two...etc...

Day one-hundred and sixty-six complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 165

FRIDAY, JUNE 14th, 2013  

I'm not certain what my particular fascination with Pops is, exactly.  I've known him since he was a young man (due to time travel), I've seen him live, die, come back as a ghost, become a zombie, and have indirectly cured him of the latter malady.  The man can barely talk.  Barely walk.  Does not work.  But I can tell you one thing...he appreciates the offerings afforded to him.

I do not know what his back story is, and there's likely a complicated back story.  One ripe with turmoil and defeat.  I'd rather focus on the now.  

Mostly, people cruise past Pops and his little sign and pretend he's not there.  He's invisible as a ghost to them.  Some won't go near him as if he's got some sort of disease...as if they might become infected with homelessness.  To them he's a monster.  I assume there are monsters walking about, and some of them may be homeless and some of them may beg for handouts.  So trepidation isn't an unreasonable response. 

My newly formed care package is called the "Bribe Pops In Hopes Of Him Extending Me A Favor In The Name Of Art And Sociology Kit" and consists of the following inventory:

1 bottle of water.

1 brand new t-shirt which was offered as a bribe for me to give blood (how appropriate).

1 oats and chocolate chewy granola bar. 

1 $5 bill.

1 unused disposable camera.

Not much sodium to speak of, I've already given him enough to last a lifetime.

The idea is to shower him with gifts and in return he fills the disposable camera with beautiful photography.  My only request is that he captures images that are meaningful to him.  These can be places, people, objects...whatever he interprets as "meaningful" in his world.  Then, once the camera is full, return it back to me, at which point I will have the photos developed and report the findings.  Of course, I will give Pops a copy of the pictures to keep as well.

Maybe this experiment will shed some light on his life.  Perhaps this experiment will prove fruitless.  Perhaps I will never see this camera again.  But it's worth a shot and the results, if I receive any, should be interesting in some sort of sociological aspect nonetheless.

Photos taken by a resurrected time traveling ghost zombie homeless man have to yield something worth while, don't they?

 

Today's Jazz Hands forge a new brand of photojournalism.  Day one-hundred and sixty-five complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 164

THURSDAY, JUNE 13th, 2013  

Not necessarily Cabaret style, but Mitch and I have been dancing around each other for quite some time.  Inevitably, opposing forces are meant to collide.

I approach to discuss a very important professional matter, one that, if handled appropriately, has the potential to increase efficiencies, create continuities and solidify our relevance in this world of commerce (or our relevance in this scripted reality show about commerce).

The one thing I can say about Mitch is that I trust he is not in on this scheme.  He is not an actor but a pawn in their game just like me.  I know this for a certainty because, if you recall, this coworker of mine used to be inside my head.  I cast him out into the world, for better or worse, and now must deal with him and his antics in the physical realm.  Of course, this revelation is a difficult pill to swallow.  This arch rival, this antagonist, this obstacle of a human being is meant to be my fiercest competitor.  As it turns out he may also be my closest ally.

As stated, I approach Mitch to discuss what the writers of this program would likely describe as a very important, professional matter.  Frederick Fucking Chopin fills his airspace, possibly a little too much volume for the work environment.  I recognize the melody immediately as Prelude No. 15, one of my favorites as it turns out.  This piece of music is wrought with tension, foreboding at its core, yet floods the listener with a calming sense of freedom.  Chopin knew a little something about balance.

Perhaps Mitch and I can come to terms after all.  Perhaps we can use the competitive nature of our relationship to reach new heights in solidarity.  We share a lot, the two of us.  Similar tastes in music for starters, B positive blood types, and the same size feet.  Hell, we even buy the same types of shoes.  I once likened our opposing personalities to oil and water but we are in the same boat, fighting the same current.

We shall continue to compete and put on a good show.  We may not always see eye to eye and eventually one of us will have to take a fall.  Until then we shall reap the benefits of our game of tug of war.  Each of us will master our hiding skills and become more diligent seekers.  

I do not have to agree with him...I merely have to respect that we need each other to survive.  So, an alliance it is.  Albeit a fragile one.  

I know full well that Mitch will not jazz his hands, so I do not ask, nor will I request him to embrace the Royal Jazz Hands.  I will quietly deploy once safe within the confines of my office.  We share similar tastes and to a certain extent the same desires.  Jazz Hands we will never have in common which is why Mitch is no longer my voice of reason and the reason we will never become B.F.F.s.

Mitch turns the music off and we discuss operational procedures, protocols, theories of professionalism, points and counterpoints of fundamentals, agree to disagree, decide to circle back later on and at the end of the day we will ultimately conclude that it is what it is...I'm so glad we had this chat.

As I turn to walk away, Chopin commences.  The song now is Piano Sonata No. 2.  Also known as Chopin's Funeral March.

Today's Jazz Hands unnecessarily used an expletive while quoting the character, Doc Holliday, from a great scene in the mediocre 1993 film Tombstone without you realizing it.  Or maybe you did.  

Day one-hundred and sixty-four complete.