Just read that one of my favorite movies from the 80’s is being made into a television show.

St. Elmo’s Fire.

Here is what I say:
NOOOOOOOOOooooooooooo!
(more…)

Michael Jackson died.

Since I’m in shock, I’ll do this:

and one of my favorite videos of all time:

just learned about this woman in my psych. class…

(from npr article)

Blessed and Cursed by an Extraordinary Memory

Jill Price can recall every detail of the last three decades of her life — whether she wants to or not. A rare memory condition causes Price to experience continuous, automatic playback of events.

“My memories are like scenes from home movies of every day of my life,” she writes, “constantly playing in my head, flashing forward and backward through the years relentlessly, taking me to any given moment, entirely of their own volition.”

Price talks about her new memoir, The Woman Who Can’t Forget, and Dr. James McGaugh, professor of neurobiology and behavior at the University of California talks about treating her rare hyperthymestic syndrome.

an excerpt from the prologue in her book, “The Woman Who Can’t Forget”

I know very well how tyrannical the memory can be. I have the first diagnosed case of a memory condition that the scientists who have studied me termed hyperthymestic syndrome — the continuous, automatic autobiographical recall of every day of my life from when I was age fourteen on. My memory started to become shockingly complete in 1974, when I was eight years old. From 1980 on, it is near perfect. Give me a date from that year forward and I can instantly tell you what day of the week it was, what I did on that day, and any major event that took place — or even minor events — as long as I heard about them on that day.

My memories are like scenes from home movies of every day of my life, constantly playing in my head, flashing forward and backward through the years relentlessly, taking me to any given moment, entirely of their own volition. Imagine if someone had made videos of you from the time you were a child, following you around all day, day by day, and then combined them all onto one DVD, and you sat in a room and watched that DVD on a machine set to shuffle randomly through all the tracks. There you are as a ten-year-old in your family room watching The Brady Bunch; then you’re whisked off to a scene of you at seventeen driving around town with your best friends; and before long you’re on the beach during a family vacation when you were three. That’s how I experience my memories. I never know what I might remember next, and my recall is so vivid and true to life that it’s as though I’m actually reliving the days, for good and for bad.

I can recall memories at will when I’m asked to, but on a regular basis my remembering is automatic. I don’t make any effort to call memories up; they just fill my mind. In fact, they’re not under my conscious control, and much as I’d like to, I can’t stop them. They will pop into my head, maybe triggered by someone mentioning a date or a name, or I’ll hear a song on the radio, and whether I want to return to a particular time or not, my mind is off and running right to that moment. My recall doesn’t stop there, with one memory; it rushes from one to a next and a next, flipping wildly through days as though they’re cards in a Rolodex.

her interview with Sawyer:

I mean…could you imagine remembering things this way? Truly fascinating to me…

You know what I’m thinking about right now? Certain/not-so-certain questions about the self, usually found on Meyers Briggs-type tests. Such as: are you more spontaneous, or a planner? Do you function better with routine, or when the weeks ahead look like a row of question marks? Do you prefer roots, or uprooting?

Those are, undoubtedly, the questions that stump me. Part of me says, “well yes–I adore the spontaneous and want nothing less from my life.” And then there is a part of me that packs my messenger bag the same way every morning for my ride into work. The part that feels like a castaway the minute a normal day goes awry with a cancelled class or abbreviated work day. I guess I can only say I’m split, somewhat jagged and only slightly near the middle, on the subject.

Why am I even wondering this? First of all, I feel like I’m wondering about everything right now. Second, I think taking a six week college course is messing with my head. I have zero plans to be somewhere other than “here” during the week, yet here I am worrying about the idea that I could have somewhere to be/go and now I can’t because I have class twice a week. The commitment is freaking me out a bit. I have no idea why, or where this is coming from. It’s sudden that I feel so concerned about this new thumb on my neck. And it is a thumb! It isn’t that big of a deal, really.

Because of this new temporary routine I’m finding myself aching for the spontaneous. The on-a-whim, the never-planned. I’m giddy about the prospect of getting rid of half of my things(at least). On my way home I ride the bike past my street just to have somewhere different to go. I feel hungry for something different, and at the same time I kind of long to disappear. I’m tired yet feel a twinge of the crazy eye(from running on fumes/too much coffee/too many thoughts). My bones want sleep but the dermis boasts mad stacks of matchsticks, and it’s only a matter of time before something rubs hard enough to spark it. An odd mess.

It’s all okay and everything’s functioning, except for the block. The big b-l-o-c-k still putting a big ol’ dent in my general creative well-being. If you are the creative type you might know how this is–the world can present itself as your brilliant oyster but if the creative pistons aren’t firing right then none of it feels far from falling apart. This too shall pass. It will. I have faith in that, above all else. I’m slowly, sloooowly winding down a piece for a good friend and every line added to it is like another deep breath. I’m working through.

And thank goodness for friends. Tait and I met up at the coffee shop yesterday and talked for a bit. His energy and spirit as a writer is so contagious and refreshing. Plus he’s so open and willing to discuss the process. That means a lot right now. I walked away making a promise to myself to journal more, take more time to sit with the thoughts and form ideas, instead of just attacking the page in short bursts of no-direction.

And so I’m babbling. I’m also incredibly exhausted. More tired this week than I have been in some time. I’m staying very active–in body and mind, so I suppose it’s an exhaustion that I can enjoy.

Homunculus - the mapping of the body surfaces in the brain. Latin for “little human.” Commonly used to describe distorted human figure drawn to reflect relative space human body parts occupy on the motor and somatosensory cortex. In the field of neurology, commonly called “the little man inside the brain.”

diagram showing regions of the human cortex corresponding to the respective nerve region - size depicts most sensitive areas(large = more sensitivity/nerve endings)

homunculus model

i guess
they call it
grey matter
for a reason—

So I’m on my way to work this morning, and a song comes on the ipod–a song I used to listen to eight years ago, on the radio while driving to Dayton. The song reminds me of poets in bars and the interstate at night. Everything hit me all at once. Then, now, the time in between it(as in the actual time…not in a metaphorical sense but in a minutes-hours-days-years sense). So much.

I must admit this: such a thing seemed to turn my vision back to wrong-side up, as if nothing no longer there to correct it. To feel so elated about growing up, yet so sad and humbled by the fact that it’s gone. To be simultaneously confused and thrilled by habits and lessons and what experience has colored the air with. It’s so strange to think: you cannot have it back even though it grows to be in everything. I’m not sure how to say it. All I know is that if I had not been sitting when that song hit my ears this morning, I would have fallen over, leaned against a building. Slid down a wall. Cracked my coffee cup on the hardwood below me. A feather could’ve flattened me.

SpaceX has made history. Its privately developed rocket has made it into space.

“I don’t know what to say… because my mind is just blown,” said Musk, during a brief address to his staff after the successful launch. “This is just the first step of many.”

so this is what it looks like to leave earth…

source

this is just insane…

Portland police arrested a 21-year-old man suspected of chasing down a cyclist Sunday and driving off at a high rate of speed — with the cyclist hanging onto the hood.

James F. Millican was arrested on attempted second-degree assault, driving under the influence of intoxicants, third-degree criminal mischief and reckless driving.

According to a police account, the incident began when the cyclist, Jason Scott Rehnberg, 37, yelled at Millican to slow down as they were traveling near Southeast 58th Avenue and Washington Street, police said. Rehnberg told police that “his remarks may have included profanity,” according to a news release.

Millican, angered by the cyclist’s remarks, started to chase Rehnberg in his car, police said. Rehnberg biked into the neighborhood to avoid him. After waiting, he returned to Southeast 58th Avenue, police said.

Millican saw the cyclist and allegedly backed his car up to hit Rehnberg, who jumped off the bike just before it was struck by the car, police said.

Rehnberg and two other witnesses tried to block the car, saying they wanted to get the license plate. Millican allegedly drove at the three and struck Rehnberg, who was thrown onto the hood. Rehnberg held onto the windshield wipers as the car traveled at a high rate of speed and took a turn.

The rest of the story, and video, is located here. Pretty crazy.

My lamp flickered and I thought: hmm. Maybe my light bulb needs replaced? Finished this thought, and boom–all power goes out. Grabbed my phone, called Katie, hung out on the porch. Thank goodness for a bright moon. I watched the spots of flashlights swing wildly around in the neighbor’s house, bouncing off the closed curtains. Others came out with candles and speculation. Our block in darkness, but not completely–the West Penn parking garage across the street stayed illuminated.

Took my contacts out by candlelight and set three different alarms on my cell phone, since the clocks were out. Then, witnessed a robbery bust from my bedroom window. At first I thought the aggressive voices were just people in the alley, but the shouts belonged to cops demanding hands where they could see them.

What a strange, strange night. Right before the power went POOF I was feeling pretty overwhelmed emotionally. I was sitting on my bed writing about it. Then circumstance brought me back to the basics, no light/no power, watching candles shake in the breeze on porches, lighting my own. Squinting at the moon. You tend to forget how little it takes, to change everything.