Where Do the Best Thoughts Go?

I seem to have all of my best thoughts when I’m not in a position to write them down.  Driving is a prime example.  Music blasting, the open road, surrounded on all sides by awesome cloud formations, and the ideas just come flooding in – but I’M DRIVING, so I can’t write them down.  I actually bought a mini tape recorder so that I could dictate my thoughts, but that turned out to be more trouble than it was worth.  First of all, it was a cheapo machine and didn’t have one-touch operation – I had to push one button this way and another two buttons that way, and then make sure that the reels were moving, which I couldn’t do if I was on a parkway, say, which is where the inspiration usually strikes.  Then the battery would die because I would keep the recorder poised and paused, ready for me to use as soon as an idea came upon me, and then forget to turn it off.  And then, of course, I have a whole drawer full of mini-cassettes that need to be transcribed, if there is even anything on there.  On a few occasions when I’ve tried to listen back, there was actually nothing on the tape at all, which completely defeats the purpose.

I also have great thoughts when I’m power-walking.  I’ve got the music playing on the headphones and a strong rhythm to my gait, my blood is pumping and the ideas are flowing profusely – but I’M WALKING, so I can’t write them down.  However, I do have my iPhone with me, because I use the timer and step-calculation function to keep track of my walking, and I think my iPhone does have a dictation feature.  Maybe I should try using that to record my thoughts while I’m pounding the pavement (or the boardwalk, as the case may be).

Some of my most ingenious thoughts, though, come when I’m in the dentist’s chair hooked up to the nitrous oxide, but in this circumstance, I’VE GOT SOMEONE’S HANDS IN MY MOUTH so I can’t write down the shimmering bits of perfection that ping-pong around in my brain when I’m breathing in the sweet air.  Just this past week, I had two brilliant notions:  (1) I wish I had a device like Stephen Hawking has, where a robotic voice that seems to dictate his thoughts as he’s thinking them.  Although , without doing more extensive research on the device in question, I am almost certain that what’s really happening isn’t that the machine is reading his thoughts, but rather that he’s using his optical system (actually, I think it’s his cheek muscle) to somehow type on a keyboard what he wants to say, rather than having a direct line to the thoughts from his brain.  (2) I realize there would probably have to be health code regulations in place, but why couldn’t tattooers offer nitrous to their clients who wanted it?  Used properly, it’s completely harmless and would relax the human canvas while he/she is having the painful work done, and the tattooer wouldn’t have to deal with so much movement and tapping out when the canvas can’t take the hurt.

[An aside:  A new season of “Ink Master” has begun.  This season features a competition between teams assembled by each of the tattoo artist judges, Oliver Peck and Chris Nuñez.  (Dave Navarro, host and the third judge, is merely an aficionado – his talents lie on the guitar side of art.)  I confess to having a huge crush on Oliver Peck, with his ponytail and Yosemite Sam mustache, only-top-button-done shirts and ever-present toothpick.  Every time I watch “Ink Master”, I want another tattoo.  My next piece is going to be a cover-up/modification of the laurel wreath encircling the yin-yang on my shoulder [see “Tattoo Me”, 6/10/15].  I might try a new artist this time, even though I love the pieces that Liana Joy of Empire State Tattoo in Oceanside has done for me.]

Underlying all of this lost genius, of course, is my memory (or, more accurately, the lack thereof).  If I could just REMEMBER my thoughts so I could write them down as soon as I got home, I wouldn’t have this problem.  But for whatever reason – age, prolonged marijuana use in my youth, early onset Alzheimer’s – once I’m out of the car, or across the threshold, or (unhappily) getting oxygen pumped through my nose piece – the great ideas are often gone.  Just GONE.  Poof.  Maybe they will be revived in some other context at some other time, but unless I quickly write them down at the earliest opportunity, or unless it’s a REALLY good thought and I literally can’t get it OUT of my head, the thought will be released into the ether, and whether it will return remains a mystery.

That’s certainly something I value about my journals:  They are literally the repositories of my thoughts, a hard copy of my memory.  If I had the time (or, I should say, WHEN I have the time), I could pick a journal from any year, from 1979 through today, open it up, and know exactly what I was thinking on that day.  I’ve written about my journals previously on this blog (“My Life in Journals”, 8/17/16), and I long for the day when I can just lazily pore over every word, looking for those golden thoughts and brilliant (if I say so myself!) ideas that I managed to commit to paper before losing them.  I’ll then use them as fodder for future essays or articles or stories or even poems (although my poetry has always been pedestrian, at best).

A random sample, grabbed from my “Small Notebooks” collector box, from March 15, 2008, while attending my firm’s All Lawyers’ Meeting in Florida:  “(later, at a ‘speed networking’ event) One beer goes straight to my head, even on ice.  I’m very bad at standing and holding a drink.  I’m much better off when I can sit down at a table, or at least stand next to a table where I can set my drink when my hand gets cold and wet.”  I could maybe turn that into a whole blog post about my social awkwardness, how I’m so friendly and comfortable one-on-one but when you throw me into a group setting, I turn into a shy wallflower.

Ah, someday, I’ll have the luxury of recapturing my memories and using them to create art.  But until then, I’ll just have to figure out better ways to memorialize them, using mnemonics or technology or the discipline to hold them in my head until I can get to pen and paper (or fingers to keyboard, but I tend to scribble my thoughts rather than type them, even though I am a pretty fast typist).

* * ** *

A couple of thoughts about this week’s presidential debate, because it’s been heavy on my mind.  I knew Hillary would be better prepared, but for some inexplicable reason, I dreaded it, because Trump gets away with figurative murder and no one calls him out on it except left-leaning comedians.  And even when his lies and inadequacies are exposed, his supporters seem not to care.  Damn the “facts” and what they’ve seen with their own eyes and heard with their own ears!!  They just have a “feeling” about him or, more commonly, about how horrible Hillary is, which is another thing I do not understand.  I’ve read a number of think pieces on it, and I do think her femaleness is at the root (for a good analysis of this, see Larry Womack, “Stop Pretending You Don’t Know Why People Hate Hillary Clinton”, The Blog, The Huffington Post, 9/26/16 [http://www.huffingtonpost.com/larry-womack/stop-pretending-you-dont-_b_12191766.html]).  Don’t these Trump supporters realize they’re being played??  Trump doesn’t even WANT to be president.  He just wants to WIN.

But in the end, reason prevailed.  By every measure (despite the seemingly intelligent woman interviewed post-debate who believed it was a “draw” and that Trump showed himself to be a “man of action, an agent of change”; how any sane person could say that Trump performed well in this debate is incomprehensible to me), Hillary was the big victor in the much-anticipated showdown.  The man was unhinged!  He couldn’t put together a coherent sentence or thought.  Bragging, complaining, doom-and-glooming (“inner cities are hell”, our airports are “worse than the ones in third world countries”, he said, among many other things that he called “terrible” or “bad”), with nary a constructive suggestion to fix any of it, apart from his tax cut for the rich.

Whoopi Goldberg called Trump out on his inability to complete a sentence this morning on “The View”, which I caught for a brief moment while looking to see if pre-season Rangers hockey was on TV tonight – which it was!  It’s so great to watch Rangers hockey again and get excited about the coming season!  The NHL’s exhibition World Cup of Hockey was a tease, especially that exciting Team North America overtime win over Sweden last weekend, but now it’s time for REAL hockey.  And I’m also overjoyed that Optimum, my cable TV provider, has restored the real-time pause and rewind functions.  Now if they could just come up with the technology to link the DVR recording to the actual TV show so it never cuts off early and you don’t have to manually add 2, 5, 15, or 30 minutes to the “ending time” of a show, or when football games go long and delay the start time of shows.  But I can’t get greedy.  I’m certainly grateful for the improvements thus far.  I love having the ability to rewind and re-watch a good goal, and then be able to skip the inevitable car commercial — live!!

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