Hello, everyone- OR - the few who decided to waste a few moments reading my words. Spring is less than a week away.
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Every once in a while I am struck with some personal revelation. For instance, at age 24 I remember being struck with the disappointing lightening of the realization that I'll never be a rock star. Shortly thereafter, it was the idea that I'll never be a great painter. Not all of my revelatory moments are so upsetting, fortunately. I have had the great fortune of growing up in extreme exposure to the Simpsons. My mom, as I recall, had tried to ban the animation from our home in the early 90's. She feared that I would take cues from Bart. This is the same woman that threw away my complete first issue collection of Garbage Pail Kids- probably worth God knows how much, now- having done so under the impression that they were "of the Devil". She's not even a Christian! Anyway, despite my mother's concerns, I am aware that the net effect of living in a Simpsons saturated world has been that I have developed an amazing sense of humor (from my point of view, at least). Sure, negative side effects include a never ending supply of in-jokes, references, and Simpson related tics- verbal and manneristic. I have long concluded that I owe part of who I am to this cartoon. That's fine.
I was on my way to school the other morning, taking the same route, the only sensible route, that I take every damn morning when I decided to make a phone call to drive away monotony. Some months ago, the drive past the bay and convergence of estuaries became routine, no longer holding the picturesque qualities they once had. I suppose it's not unlike becoming accustomed to dating the outrageously beautiful woman.
On this morning, I decided to return a call a call to a friend who is having some trouble making his way toward Wyoming. Apparently the trouble is that his truck keeps breaking down. I was going to call him to check on his progress. After some ring cycles, I was met by his voicemail message. A short one. "This is Jake, please leave a message." I begin to go into my standard "Jake" voicemail. Try to be funny, but informative. Not too long, but long enough to be just a touch of annoying. I must have left him hundreds of voicemail messages in our ten year friendship.
On this morning I really didn't have much to say, so I went right on into a ramble. Maybe ten or twenty seconds in, it occurred to me that my voice was gone. I was no longer speaking. I had dissociated. I was sitting in the passenger seat. I was eavesdropping on myself, but I wasn't hearing my voice. Indeed, I was hearing the voice of Bill Murray. I cannot remember anything specific about the content of the one-sided conversation. I do remember being struck by a familiar cadence of speech, tone of voice, and a somewhat flat affect. Again, I was hearing the voice of Bill Murray. How in the Hell did this happen? As mentioned above, the Simpsons influence in my life is somewhat obvious. What I experienced during that phone call was more subtle. It seems I have underestimated the impact of the years of watching Stripes, Ghostbusters, Scrooged, Groundhog's Day, Rushmore, Lost In Translation, and so on. Is Bill Murray ultimately viral? Has he entered my brain over the years, taking up some of the "other 90%", with the outcome making me run mildly verbally amok?
Sometimes there are horrors and surprises in self-reflection.
