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.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 163

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 12th, 2013  

“We do on stage things that are supposed to happen off. Which is a kind of integrity, if you look on every exit as being an entrance somewhere else.” 

               ― Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

I wonder what pretend projects will be thrown my way today.  I wonder how many of the people around me are actors.  I wonder if anyone knows that I am on to their little charade.

I will not spoil their fun.  I will play along.  I will pretend as though I am an important part of the workday process proving my relevance within the context of their storyline.  When the final whistle blows, I can feel proud of my efforts, regardless of how phony the tasks may have been.  

At times, the actors on the other end of the conference calls are quite compelling.  Their characters have been developed fully with depth, having not just one motivation for their actions, but several pulling them in all different sorts of interesting directions.  I even find myself emotionally connecting and sympathizing with some of them...a well crafted play, indeed.  

Some of them need work, though.  Conveniently neglecting to mute their phone while typing loudly...anyone can tell the difference from real typing and pretend.  If you're going to pretend type, at least pretend type something real rather than pecking random characters on the keypad.  I understand the necessity of including these rather subtle details into the plot for authenticity.  By God, do it some justice for crying out loud.

The pointless typing is but one of the obvious giveaways.  

Phony foreign accents are another.  When you ask where they're from because you can't quite pinpoint the dialect, a mishmash of an answer ensues.  "Oh, I was born in Pretendland but moved to New Fakeshire, spent a lot of time doting about in and around Fauxville, and of course me mum is from West Lessismore, and that's why I talk the way I do." 

Right.  Or maybe you just need to hone your wee little craft.

I can see those writers now, sitting around their brainstorming table, discussing what fun obstacles they can throw my way.  I can't say I blame them, for they are tasked with creating a compelling story with substance and drama complete with heroes and villains, trials and challenges, crossroads and plot points.  But like every well told story, a fitting end game is required.  Writers often know their results prior to writing the first page which begs the question...what do they have in store for me?  How is this going to end?  Are they building a mystery that I have to solve?  Am I protagonist or antagonist?  Am I the main character or am I merely playing a bit part?  Am I more Hamlet or Rosencrantz?  

Is this a satire?  Is this a tragedy?

All characters found within today's Jazz Hands are fictional.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.  

Day one-hundred and sixty-three complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 162

TUESDAY, JUNE 11th, 2013  

Among the chaos of this nontraditional Tuesday, amidst the torrential storms this sticky afternoon has produced, today's Jazz Hands made nothing out of something.  Today's Jazz Hands were quiet, introspective and peaceful.  Today's Jazz Hands even took a short nap.

And the lawn got mowed because it's nice feel a shred of accomplishment.

Today's Jazz Hands will continue to keep things short and simple until the evening has had enough of me.  Day one-hundred and sixty-two complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 161

MONDAY, JUNE 10th, 2013  

Daughter is compelled to contribute to this Jazz Hands post.  Contribute she shall.

The following is a collection of cats deploying Jazz Hands.  For those of you curious about copyright infringements, I am not making a dime off of any of this...I'm not certain if that exonerates me of any wrongdoing, but I thought it worth mentioning.

Without further ado, here is a post containing images of cats deploying Jazz Hands, as per Daughter's wishes:

Here is the original image that Daughter requested to be included in today's post.

Here is the same image, before photomanipulation.  Just thought it interesting enough to include.

Apparently, kittens deploying Jazz Hands is somewhat of an internet sensation.

Who knew?

Seeing a kitten deploy Jazz Hands may be one of the cutest things likely in existence.

Especially this little fella.  I say fella, but I have no idea what the gender is.  Even trained vets have a hard time telling what the gender of a kitten is.  I'm not making that up.  I know way too much about cats.

This kitten also thinks the above kitten is really cute.

They all do apparently.

This one's just coo coo for Jazz Hands.

This cat has webbed feet.  Although the authenticity of this particular cat deploying Jazz Hands is in serious question.  The cat looks manipulated into deploying Jazz Hands.  If you're going to manipulate your cat into deploying Jazz Hands, at least make an attempt to capture an image that does not look like a desperate ploy for attention.  This one just seems forced.  All that being said, I bet this cat is a strong swimmer.

This kitten isn't even remotely cute.

This cat isn't sold on the whole hand jazzing thing.  Give it time little guy.

I have no idea what this picture is supposed to be of.  Is the cat flying with its legs and paws tucked for optimal aerodynamics, or is he missing his legs and paws?  Is he floating?  He looks determined, I'll give him that.

This is a picture of frogs hugging.  

Today's Jazz Hands fulfilled a wish...and then ran with the idea...and then deviated from the idea.  At any rate, day one-hundred and sixty-one complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 160

SUNDAY, JUNE 9th, 2013  

Two posts filled with cliché time related metaphors in a row is way too many.  

It is time to move on.  

We all enjoy the escaping.  We all have fun on the vacations.  We all return and wish we could go back.  That longing fades soon enough, though.  To the grid we shall return.  Welcome back.

Today's Jazz Hands fought against the clock, but quickly realized that time is not the enemy.  Time is not out to get me or my flailing hands and time does not pick sides.  There's a pretty good argument out there that suggests time doesn't even exist.  My guess, which has a fairly low percentage chance of being accurate, is that time is something we try to define and understand, control even...but it's something that we can not truly know or harness.  Our grasp on the concept of time is out of our cerebral reach.  

As stated, I'm likely wrong.  Time will tell.

Day one-hundred and sixty complete.

365 Days of Jazz Hands - Day 159

SATURDAY, JUNE 8th, 2013  

What is that?

It makes sense to ask the question in present tense even if you are looking at objects in your rearview mirror, regardless of the obscured shape and context contained therein.  Just don't linger there too long as it is vital to keep your primary focus on what lies directly ahead of you.  Especially if you like to drive in the fast lane.

Of course the emphasis here is the thing that you are looking at, somewhere behind you.  

What is that?

You can see this questions the specific time frame and the things contained within that moment, not the subject matter itself...it's all about the context.

People that ask these questions live in the now.  Good for you...just don't completely ignore those echoes residing in those familiar, well informed places.

Today's Jazz Hands appear smaller than they are.  Day one-hundred and fifty-nine complete.