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Pavlovian response (a) and (b)
Sep. 15th, 2006 12:17 pmMorbidity of the day: I've always had a thing about bridges, since I was a little kid. I have no idea where it comes from, but every time I'm stuck on one in traffic (or under one) I can't help thinking about it collapsing. I don't generally get morbid like that, but I have this one stupid thing that's become something of a Pavlovian response after all this time. I pass over and under a bridge every day to and from work and inevitably on the homeward journey I get stuck in the middle of the one over Ballona Creek. Press the button, chirp collapse? and move on with my life. The good thing about having a Pavlovian response like that is that it's difficult to take seriously. It's just a thing, not much basis in reality, familiarity breeds contempt, all that.
Last night a pelican flew over just as the traffic slowed, and the car pulling up beside me said, "Coroner" on the side. My Pavlovian response went something like this: "Pelican!" "Collapse?" "Corpsemobile!" (At least I didn't moo.)
Fortunately, it wasn't a corpse wagon with a body inside, but one of those cars like the CSI dudes drive. I wondered if he was coming from an investigation or going to one. When traffic cleared he turned down Culver towards Playa del Rey and the beach, and I proceeded up the hill on Lincoln, musing on death until some jacka** cut me off, then I mused on death in a different vein.
And then I got home and my kitty was glad to see me and hugged me back when I picked her up...and I didn't care about any of that stuff any more.
Quote of the day:
"He who angers you, controls you."
—Elizabeth Kenny
The implication here, for me, is that George W. Bush and his posse control me—and in a way I believe they do. By keeping me and people like me in a constant state of fury over what he says and does he manages to set the agenda each and every time he opens his mouth. Those of us enraged by his callousness and utter disregard of the Constitution and Bill of Rights are constantly on the ropes, arms up to protect ourselves and just hold onto the tentative ground we're standing on. We rarely get in a counter punch. And the cracker is too thick skulled to feel it, anyway.
Last night a pelican flew over just as the traffic slowed, and the car pulling up beside me said, "Coroner" on the side. My Pavlovian response went something like this: "Pelican!" "Collapse?" "Corpsemobile!" (At least I didn't moo.)
Fortunately, it wasn't a corpse wagon with a body inside, but one of those cars like the CSI dudes drive. I wondered if he was coming from an investigation or going to one. When traffic cleared he turned down Culver towards Playa del Rey and the beach, and I proceeded up the hill on Lincoln, musing on death until some jacka** cut me off, then I mused on death in a different vein.
And then I got home and my kitty was glad to see me and hugged me back when I picked her up...and I didn't care about any of that stuff any more.
Quote of the day:
"He who angers you, controls you."
—Elizabeth Kenny
The implication here, for me, is that George W. Bush and his posse control me—and in a way I believe they do. By keeping me and people like me in a constant state of fury over what he says and does he manages to set the agenda each and every time he opens his mouth. Those of us enraged by his callousness and utter disregard of the Constitution and Bill of Rights are constantly on the ropes, arms up to protect ourselves and just hold onto the tentative ground we're standing on. We rarely get in a counter punch. And the cracker is too thick skulled to feel it, anyway.