Stuck In Traffic, Not

This installment is specially designed to convince people that I'm out to impress them with my zany quality of applying wishful thinking to reality, or perhaps a desire to seem like I would say anything to get ahead by being impressive. Or else this blog might be an important historical document for those who will someday come along in the future and want to reinvestigate our lives because they found out the mainstream media didn't have the whole story and basically they're left out of the real loop without these little fragments of information.

On Friday I sent someone a message regarding one of my important videos, which I made at CalArts years ago (1978), "How Did The Future Learn To Play Monopoly?". You may want to research mention of this video in my previous blogs, by going to Archive.Org where I occasionally publish accumulations of my blogs, so that you can do a nice, simple word search on that one. I describe how there is a specific basis (involving filmmaker Robert Zemeckis) for concluding that its title led to the movie title, "Back To The Future". I also describe how my video was a HUGE influence on some important Paul McCartney stuff, particularly his movie, "Give My Regards To Broad Street".

Because this video was a HUGE influence on some important Paul McCartney stuff, and because the communication I sent someone Friday was of a special nature, I expected to see some acknowledgment of my message occurring while I was out for a drive on Saturday. This expectation I had came out of there being a certain strange tradition, though not one experienced by most. So I expected to see something, I don't know, a personalized license plate that read, "PM", perhaps. And while "PM" can mean afternoon as opposed to "AM", I would know the secret meaning (oh yes I would).

So I'm driving along a road that strongly resembles a road in the above-referenced movie, which appears at the beginning of the movie, which is right after a part of the movie upon which I was a HUGE influence. And I had stopped thinking about expecting to see some form of acknowledgment for quite some time by now, because it isn't the kind of thought that lodges in my brain excessively, it merely crossed my mind.

At this point, on this road, I was on my way to the nut house - and a funny thing happened. Actually, I was on my way to the Somis Nut House (located in Somis, California), one of my regular journeys that comes up periodically whenever I need to replenish my bad cholesterol remedy, walnuts and almonds. But let's stick with my original wording: "I was on my way to the nut house". I have a whole subset of followers whose primary enjoyment of me comes from the fact that I will occasionally say something that sounds like I know I'm crazy. Opportunities to play to them are rarely so perfect as this.

So a funny thing happened (I may be making a play-on-words reference to the movie title, "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum," that Zero Mostel movie Richard Lester made around the same time he made Help!" and "A Hard Day's Night"). And if it seems like I'm taking a little too long to get to the point, there's a special reason. I was always brought up to avoid saying things that make me sound REALLY, REALLY crazy. Crazy's okay, really crazy I'll do, we all have to make sacrifices, besides, I already mentioned that subset of followers. But this will downright alienate the few people I haven't alienated already.

Paul McCartney drives by, looking at me very happily. One rarely sees him looking this happy, and we've all seen images of him looking extremely happy, so in other words, here was a person who was conspicuous in his happy appearance. It was contagious - I'm still happy.

I went home and checked to make sure Paul McCartney is on the other side of the world so that I know I need not feel any obligation to anyone to mention it, because it was an illusion. He had a concert the next day in Canada. Not good enough. In fact, the personalized license plate I saw at a certain point that day regarding jet lag was now hammering in my head, a horrible reminder that airplanes really do exist. I was still in the world of serious ambiguity, that place where one cannot really be certain in relation to a matter of considerable significance. Okay, but then I saw that an interview he had given to a Canadian owing to the upcoming concert there had aired the day before. Yet the article about the interview somehow carefully avoided stating when the interview itself took place. And then there's airplanes again. But airplanes have such uncomfortable seats. Though it is in truth fun when you have a billion to suddenly say to yourself, "I'm going to scoot way over there and then scoot way back here!" How many movies are there where the guy with the private airplane shocks someone by saying, "Hey, let's have dinner in Chicago!"

I seem to be dwelling on a part of the story that some people wouldn't. While others wouldn't see any story, just someone who thought he saw someone he didn't, and if he did, what does it have to do with that person, because that part about "How Did The Future Learn To Play Monopoly?" doesn't sound right to me, does it sound right to you, etc., etc. Well, I hope those people and also those other people and let's not forgot those other other people realize, that some of us like to address more than one frame of mind simultaneously.

So long story short, Paul McCartney has yet again found a way to trick me into feeling he has no further obligations where I'm concerned. Like it would matter if I thought he did. That's right, I'm talking about making it possible for me to go further than the nut house should I feel the inclination.