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1999-10-19 | 00:08:17

» 'the sloth song'

"You're gonna cry, cry cry cry, ninety-six tears."

I didn't intend for this entry to be about tears. It's just synchronicity I guess.

Earlier today I stumbled across 2Tears's entry in which she becomes aware of something that everyone eventually has to learn: Becoming an 'adult' is not a clear cut stage of development. The akwardness, ambiguity and uncertainty of teenhood continue well into your twenties, possibly later. No, people don't stop sending mixed signals (sorry Catherine) but eventually you learn how to interpret mixed signals a bit better. It's like watching one of those foreign language cable channels; watch long enough and you see and hear patterns develop.

But her entry also reminded me of one adulthood's greatest trade-offs: I can do anything I want, anytime I want. To prove my autonomy to myself I climbed on my bicycle at 9PM and peddled up the street to the theater, plunked down my $7.75 and caught a 9:35 showing of "American Beauty."

Yes, it's a great movie. It reminds me of Atom Egoyan's "Exotica" in that the last ten minutes of the film completely validate its importance. In both films I was somewhat apathetic towards the characters until the final scenes were played out.

As I rode home at midnight, the cold fog stung my eyes...OK, I just really started crying. It's been a long time since I've felt tears run down my face and drip on my shirt-front.

It wasn't the obvious ending of "American Beauty" that got to me, it was what 'Lester' learned about beauty and told to us: That we have to stop trying to hold on to the beauty around us. Yeah, right on, but it's a tall order. I've spent my life trying to capture the little glimpses of beauty that I see around me, either in my memory or on film. I spent many nights watching G sleep because I never wanted to forget what she looked like when she was 18 and 19 and 20 and so on...

And the last straw that really started those ninety-six tears flowing (OK, It was more like twenty-six tears, but they were big ones) was remembering the day that I was nearly killed in an auto accident when my mother fell asleep at the wheel on Interstate 80 outside of Chicago. I distinctly remember time slowing down as the car crossed the median into the oncoming traffic. I don't believe in the afterlife, but I can attest to the fact that flashes and glimpses of my life sporadically fired in my mind.

This led me to wonder what I would see, what beautiful moments from my own life I would recieve a final encore performance of, when I do die. And that question seemed to unlock all sorts of doors in my mind, and I saw just a few of the wonderful memories kept away in there.

And what's funny is that none of them were the things I photographed or concetrated on with the intent to burn the image into my brain.

P.S. For some reason, G and I used to refer to "Ninety-Six Tears" as "The Sloth Song." Not really sure why. We both really liked (like) three-toed tree sloths, and I guess the slow calliope-like beginning of this song reminded her of something sloths would dance to.

P.P.S. I have forgotten what G looks like.