(no subject)
Get this. For class next week, my homework is to do an interview/oral history of somebody--anybody, as long as I don't know them and they're not a student or professor who has passed through the warp-pipe bubble-enclave that is Swarthmore College.
The guy who sells boxes of old LPs near South Street, the lady re-stocking the Wawa shelves, one of the bike repairmen down Chester, a Happy Wok waiter, some random-ass dermatologist, some warm body standing along the side of the road... anybody.
Talk, flesh out the understanding of 'who' beyond just the 'warm body' piece. Find out their story, their dreams. Do it unobtrusively, but get somewhere. Understand at least a bit of them. Poke around subjects and wait for their words and memories to flow once you've hit the right sort of thing, like a dental hygenist with the plaque-scraper, lightly prodding in the dark and hoping to get something.
Ask them about what they eat and do on lazy Sundays; the kind of fireworks they set off on the Fourth of July and how they keep them from exploding or setting the neighbors' fence on fire; their kid-dreams; the music that makes them cringe or dance or draw in a few low deep breaths from that sad-yearning-place somewhere between the diaphragm and heaven; what they value and what makes their skin crawl; how the sticky summer air feels on those too-hot-to-move Philly afternoons when all you can do is lie draped out on the cement porch like pieces of the laundry and hum to yourself; what makes them grossly, seethingly mad; how they feel about neighbors, co-workers, babysitters, the dentist; what, if any, is best brand of ciggies.
Finally, a class that believes in Real Life.
I may become addicted to this assigment- start carrying a tape recorder with me and getting to know somebody interesting, new, different--somebody's story--every few days. After the first one, I'll just keep saying it's a class assignment, not daring to reveal that I just love collecting/experiencing others' insights and stories/spirits/lives, and need a pretense to do it. Kind of devious, tricking people into revealing themselves like that. But in the end, the joke is on both of us, I guess.
*
Alternately, I've got orgo coming out my ears.
The guy who sells boxes of old LPs near South Street, the lady re-stocking the Wawa shelves, one of the bike repairmen down Chester, a Happy Wok waiter, some random-ass dermatologist, some warm body standing along the side of the road... anybody.
Talk, flesh out the understanding of 'who' beyond just the 'warm body' piece. Find out their story, their dreams. Do it unobtrusively, but get somewhere. Understand at least a bit of them. Poke around subjects and wait for their words and memories to flow once you've hit the right sort of thing, like a dental hygenist with the plaque-scraper, lightly prodding in the dark and hoping to get something.
Ask them about what they eat and do on lazy Sundays; the kind of fireworks they set off on the Fourth of July and how they keep them from exploding or setting the neighbors' fence on fire; their kid-dreams; the music that makes them cringe or dance or draw in a few low deep breaths from that sad-yearning-place somewhere between the diaphragm and heaven; what they value and what makes their skin crawl; how the sticky summer air feels on those too-hot-to-move Philly afternoons when all you can do is lie draped out on the cement porch like pieces of the laundry and hum to yourself; what makes them grossly, seethingly mad; how they feel about neighbors, co-workers, babysitters, the dentist; what, if any, is best brand of ciggies.
Finally, a class that believes in Real Life.
I may become addicted to this assigment- start carrying a tape recorder with me and getting to know somebody interesting, new, different--somebody's story--every few days. After the first one, I'll just keep saying it's a class assignment, not daring to reveal that I just love collecting/experiencing others' insights and stories/spirits/lives, and need a pretense to do it. Kind of devious, tricking people into revealing themselves like that. But in the end, the joke is on both of us, I guess.
*
Alternately, I've got orgo coming out my ears.