The Silent Popsicle
The unfortunate paradox of being too high in the mind is that thinking is overly accessible when you don’t need it and nowhere to be found when you do. Working on a new project becomes almost an impossibility, unless there’s a dopamine reward within seven seconds. That reward recently has come in the form of frozen juice on a stick, supposedly and doubtfully, without added sugar.
All those years of living in Oakland, I never knew (nor would I have cared) that the popsicle was invented in the Bay Area in 1905 by an eleven year old and sold at an amusement park in Oakland. Life is unrecognizable from previous years. Now I shop for popsicles at Target, watch old films from bed with stars like Tab Hunter and Geraldine Chaplin with the aforementioned popsicles. The only time I go out to eat is at Starbucks. Even worse, the Starbucks I dine at is inside of Target where I then shop for popsicles. I used to try new restaurants almost daily, most of what this blog was supposed to be about. Is there greater meaning, more that I could be doing, volunteer opportunities, and civic duties that could be met? Surely. But have you had those pineapple popsicles from Target?
The afternoon storms are upon us here in Florida. The most I’ve had to weather though are debates from opposing sides of the political spectrum. You never quite know where one’s opinions fall here so I tend to avoid any political conversations whatsoever. On either extreme, minds are already made up, existing on a narrow range of mostly to completely intolerant of conflicting perspectives. And here I thought that discourse could provide an opportunity to discover more than what one thought they already knew. My political and religious beliefs boil down to one semi-declarative sentence: ‘Who’s to say.’ Or, as the Great Robert Zimmerman once said, “Whatever you think could be dead wrong.”
I’m the worst kind of person to sit in on your world views. Unless it has anything to do with personal growth, emotional intelligence, empathy, or the interconnectedness of all things (or even popsicles), I’m likely to glaze over and occasionally nod politely. That might make it seem as though I’m a suitable candidate to be induced into your doctrines but I’m far from it. While you’re talking about gas prices, inflation, and real estate, I’ll be dreaming of streaming the Criterion Channel and munching on watermelon agave popsicles.
The other evening, I was watching City Lights—one of the greatest of Charlie Chaplin’s films—with family members, not all of whom speak the same language. If you have a room full of people who can’t communicate, or disagree heartily on governmental and/or public affairs, a silent film with popsicles is the way to go. Maybe all this country really needs are more screens to stare at (especially while in the company of others) and sugary snacks to keep our mouth’s shut.
