Hindsight

I was just driving through Huntington Beach with Linda, on the way to a friend’s. Mid conversation, and at a stoplight, something hit the driver’s side window. Water balloon, thrown from a grey, flatbed truck that was making its left turn.

I thought to myself, “This is how mature people are.”

These were taken in July of last year and elsewhen. The coincidence: a year prior, July 2003, my friends took me out bowling in Kitakyushu.

This weekend I stayed at my parents’ for the night and caught up with packages and junk mail that was mailed to me over the weeks. Since I find myself still trying to find permanence, the only “permanent” address I have is that of my mother and father.

I received a book from France. It took me a brief moment to recall why it was sent to me.

Months ago one of the book’s staffers found my weblog and a mention of the Lomo ActionSampler I was using. Through e-mail, and with no intention of making profit and a simple wish to see my creative bits go somewhere, I signed and mailed a release form to the publisher and the author.

I believe this is the first instance of my work in a print publication.

It was a nice feeling. It is a nice feeling…. to imagine that someone in a bookstore might flip through this book by chance. They’ll turn to page 105, read the tidbit about Lomo’s “toy” type cameras and find a picture of a San Diego house on page 106. Namely, one I took while in the back seat of my friend’s car.

When I saw the house up ahead, I liked how it’s color stood out. So I decided to take a snapshot of it.

Later, after a great breakfast, I took a picture of my friend and his girl walking. I thought it would be interesting. I never thought someone would want it in a book.

It’s a nice feeling. This afternoon I talked to my friend Mari about it and showed her the pages. She said it’s a sign. Maybe it is…

I just got here and I don’t know where I’ll be.

A private sale.

It’s technically the bank’s for the next four years until I pay it off. A used 2001 Honda Civic DX, the most basic model. Thanks to my nephew’s memory and my sister’s friend, I was able to find something in great condition. Just around 60,000 miles on it. I took it for a small test drive and was pleased. Compared to the onslaught of car salesmen I dealt with the four days prior, I was in heaven.

I missed several days of work in a mad search for a car. The search has ended and I am now driving a little coupe around. I like it.

Corolla, you served me well. I drove you for ten years. Now I pass the torch onto Little Red here.

I drove to a co-op, credit union ATM not far from work. On my drive back, to return to the freeway, my car overheated and I pulled aside. I could hear boiling that sounded like a kettle. I still lifted the hood and let the thing cool off. The smell of oil and water. Tow truck courtesy of AAA came around a half hour later. Got them to tow it to work. Friend picked me up soon after.

The Corolla served me well. Ten years of driving it around. I guess it was time. Car’s gone.

On the drive back to my parents’ this evening I was listening to a discussion about historical artifacts. It was an NPR (National Public Radio) feature on letters that were preserved from centuries ago. The interviewer began to ask about the codings, readings and implications of the letters.

The curator made an interesting point about letters in general, and about e-mail. He mentioned that, in the now, we may be endangering our past. He added that he deletes his e-mail, but would keep any actual/tangible letters sent to him.

I have a few small boxes of letters that I received from friends I wrote to in Thailand [when I returned from being an International School student in Bangkok... back in 1992]. Additionally I have Christmas Cards, etcetera.

The oldest surviving e-mail message I still have on file (after many e-mail program transitions) is from 1996. It was from a girl named Christine who I met in person after six months of e-mail, phone conversations and so on.

The whole “psychology” of using the internet is always intriguing to me. While most would pass off an email message, I tend to read between the lines. There’s too much room to misinterpret such writing. Handwritten letters might be the same but there is still some sense of patience attached to them. E-mails can be too immediate. The same for text messaging. Or instant messaging for that matter.

Sometimes I e-mail my friends, asking them how they are doing. The answer I receive, instead, comes back to me in the form of some chain or forwarded mail. I would hope for something more personal. Maybe that is why I still send postcards to friends, randomly, on occasion.