Mind Like a Sieve
Names escape me. I recognize faces, usually, after a few moments thought, but the names associated with them are usually lost irretrievably, or occluded with other potential but uncertain candidates. It's always unnerved me how others seem to be able to recall my name immediately, even after long periods of non-contact, or, in occasional cases, a total lack of ever having met. My name has been guessed correctly by strangers occasionally, leaving me confused, or I've been mistaken for people of the same name, or I've been told I "look like" my name, and sometimes people have recognized me as my brother's sibling due to a resemblence of features and known his brother's name. At least once, years ago, was mistaken for my brother, and the mistaker had misremembered his name as mine (our names are frequently confused anyways). It's always somewhat of a relief when someone doesn't recall my name, or calls me by the wrong one. It reminds me that my problem with names isn't unique. At my uncle's funeral, an Indian fellow I didn't recall ever meeting before seemed to know me, but called me "Steve".
This bit of musing is brought on by the random meeting of two people today who I had in classes once, and barely knew, but who called me by name in greeting as we passed. I, as I often do, simply said "Hey" or "Hi" for my half of the exchange. I have never been in the habit of using people's names when talking with them, though I am well aware that it is a recommended behavior, causing people to be more at ease in discussion with me, making me seem more friendly, and acting as a reenforcing mnemonic to help me remember their names. But through my life I've had to speak so often with people who's names I've forgotten, and been too embarassed by their ability to retain my name to ask, that I am uncomfortable using names in greeting, even when I am (rarely) confident in the identity and label of the target of conversation. It feels... formal, stilted... and unnatural. I should work on it...
My brother needs to dye his hair a different color than black. There is a skinny, short-haired Asian fellow with a similar height and a coat of the same color as his walking around campus, and I keep mistaking him for mon frere.
I finished reading the "Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath" again... it is easily one of my favorite stories. Lovecraft is so much more than just Cthulhu. The portrayal of the dreamland, and the themes of nostalgia... childhood... like Kafka's "The Trial" it strikes close to home. I've read communication described as the attempt to recreate in the mind of the audience thoughts as close to possible as the thoughts of the author. But for these books, it's not the thougths that grip and hold me, but the emotions they construct...
My outlook on the world is not as bleak as an affinity for Kafka and Lovecraft might suggest. I swear.
This bit of musing is brought on by the random meeting of two people today who I had in classes once, and barely knew, but who called me by name in greeting as we passed. I, as I often do, simply said "Hey" or "Hi" for my half of the exchange. I have never been in the habit of using people's names when talking with them, though I am well aware that it is a recommended behavior, causing people to be more at ease in discussion with me, making me seem more friendly, and acting as a reenforcing mnemonic to help me remember their names. But through my life I've had to speak so often with people who's names I've forgotten, and been too embarassed by their ability to retain my name to ask, that I am uncomfortable using names in greeting, even when I am (rarely) confident in the identity and label of the target of conversation. It feels... formal, stilted... and unnatural. I should work on it...
My brother needs to dye his hair a different color than black. There is a skinny, short-haired Asian fellow with a similar height and a coat of the same color as his walking around campus, and I keep mistaking him for mon frere.
I finished reading the "Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath" again... it is easily one of my favorite stories. Lovecraft is so much more than just Cthulhu. The portrayal of the dreamland, and the themes of nostalgia... childhood... like Kafka's "The Trial" it strikes close to home. I've read communication described as the attempt to recreate in the mind of the audience thoughts as close to possible as the thoughts of the author. But for these books, it's not the thougths that grip and hold me, but the emotions they construct...
My outlook on the world is not as bleak as an affinity for Kafka and Lovecraft might suggest. I swear.