I made part of my New Year's Resolution to blog once a week. Every day I remember I'm coming up on when I should write something, and wonder what to write about. Sometimes I come up with great ideas. I think about the development of the idea, how to present it, whether or not people will say something about it.
And then I sit down to actually write... and nothing comes out.
I don't know why the words vanish, but they do. They evaporate like so much steam out of a hot shower. I sit down, open the web browser, click "New Post" and... nothing. My brain becomes as blank as the post window.
I hate it, not because it's frustrating writer's block, but because there is so much I want to say. A couple times a week I wish I had a voice recorder, so I could just talk out loud, get all the thoughts out of my head and into some media form, so that they aren't lost forever. I hate the fact that my memory acts like a highly selective steel trap, letting half a dozen wonderful things through it, then snapping hard on some random tidbit. I can remember what my sister-in-law had to eat at Denny's when we landed at 10PM the day before Thanksgiving two years ago. But I can't remember the awesome thing I planned on blogging about earlier in the day.
So here I sit, writing about nothing, hoping that you understand. Maybe next week I'll actually remember something interesting.
February 27, 2011
February 20, 2011
What Tastes Blue?
Once, in college, my friends and I went to a little Chinese restaurant. It had one of those little quarter machines in front. You know the kind: they dispense candy, or bouncy balls, or temporary tattoos, or cheap little plastic toys. This one dispensed little tiny plastic ninjas, in all colors of the rainbow. One of my friends had a fascination for such things, and spent a handful of quarters to collect the whole rainbow, which she dubbed "The Skittle Ninjas".
She named them after flavors associated with their respective colors. Red was cherry, Orange... well, Orange. Green was Lime, Yellow was Lemon. Then she turned to us, lost in thought, and blurted "what tastes blue?"
At the time it was hilarious, and became an in-joke along with a half a dozen other misspoken phrases, like "the power cord was off wrong". Because "off wrong" so described "unplugged" somehow.
But now, almost ten years later, I wonder if she had something called synesthesia.
It's what happens when your brain looks at a word or a letter or a number and associates it with some other sensory input. Like, say, colors. Or sounds. Or even flavors or scents. Some even go so far as to associate attitudes and emotions with them. And I've got it.
Well, "got it" may not be the right way of saying it. It's not a disease or an affliction. It's just a thing. Like colorblindness, except I'm not lacking normal function, I just add things. My brain's wired a bit differently than the normal human being. It's just off wrong a little.
I realized this when I read up on it a little. The article was titled "Your Name Tastes Purple". And for some confounded reason, that title made absolute sense to me, even though the logical part of my brain insisted it was improper use of nouns and adjectives. Purple isn't a flavor. At least, it's not supposed to be. "Purple" is about what I associate with the "grape" popcicles you get in those variety packs. Whatever inspired someone to think that super-sweet syrupy flavor was anything like the taste of grapes, I shall never know. But even thought they call them "grape-flavored", I think everyone will agree they taste nothing like grapes. Not green, red, or any other kind.
But when I read on, I found myself nodding in agreement. The author was describing things incredibly similar to my own experiences. My senses cross over. I don't just hear sounds. I feel them sometimes. It's like when I read a book and visualize what they're describing. Electric guitar can inspire intense sensations of weightlessness. Drums make my feet thrum with the sensation of hitting the ground and make my palms itch as though I was running on all fours. Certain sounds feel the way I would imagine it would be to harden my fingers and drive them into concrete. It's not unpleasant. Just interesting. Some sounds feel like silk across my belly, some feel like dust in my nose and ears.
But more than sounds, it's numbers.
The number 1, for example. I see it as red. It's masculine, but mostly neutral. He likes to keep things tidy. He's a professional. The number 2? Well, 2 is blue, and male also, but more childlike. Sort of man-child, really, like a toned-down frat-boy. Number 3 is a selfish bitch, in a hard yellow. Another male figure, 4 is purple, quiet, usually a bearer of bad news and kind of scholarly. The outspoken one is 5, a hot-shot can-do-anything guy who loves the babes. He's brown. His lady, 6, is a bit on the prudish side, in a muted shade of lavender. She's curvy in all the right ways. Next up is green guy 7, a jokester who loves to laugh. Lady 8 in violet-blue tends to be kind of quiet, but is unafraid to put some of the littler number in their place. The REAL bitch in charge is 9, who bosses 6 and 3 around like little minions in her clique. She tends to show up in a mustard-tone. And 0? He doesn't talk. He's always black.
Letters do it to, although in gender and not color. A is male, B female, C male, D male, E female...
Colors make me think of scents and places. Feelings. Sensations. Certain shades of purple are cold, like a night sky, and smell like the air after it rains. Yellow feels like sunlight on my skin and smells like a warm room. Reds are dangerous and smell sharp. Orange is hiding something. White is prissy but she smells clean.
Read that last sentence again.
Is it any wonder I understood how a name can taste purple?
Browns taste like chocolate. Silver hurts my teeth, unless it's nicely polished. Otherwise it sounds like bad brakes. Fluffy textures feel nice when I touch them, but if they're a particular shade of green they make my front teeth feel like there's yarn in them, and I hate that sensation.
Another one of my friends told me that I see the world entirely different than anyone else he knew. I think he didn't know exactly how true that statement was. While I accept that I see the world in a highly different way already, I don't think he also meant in a fashion that included letters having gender or colors inspiring feels and flavors, much less numbers having attitudes.
It feels almost freeing to know that this is actually something normal in its own right, and harmless. Something documented, if not totally understood. Something that isn't as-a-result-of or a-symptom-of something else. It just is. All by itself. And it's okay.
Even if the word "synesthesia" tastes like wet static-y sawdust.
She named them after flavors associated with their respective colors. Red was cherry, Orange... well, Orange. Green was Lime, Yellow was Lemon. Then she turned to us, lost in thought, and blurted "what tastes blue?"
At the time it was hilarious, and became an in-joke along with a half a dozen other misspoken phrases, like "the power cord was off wrong". Because "off wrong" so described "unplugged" somehow.
But now, almost ten years later, I wonder if she had something called synesthesia.
It's what happens when your brain looks at a word or a letter or a number and associates it with some other sensory input. Like, say, colors. Or sounds. Or even flavors or scents. Some even go so far as to associate attitudes and emotions with them. And I've got it.
Well, "got it" may not be the right way of saying it. It's not a disease or an affliction. It's just a thing. Like colorblindness, except I'm not lacking normal function, I just add things. My brain's wired a bit differently than the normal human being. It's just off wrong a little.
I realized this when I read up on it a little. The article was titled "Your Name Tastes Purple". And for some confounded reason, that title made absolute sense to me, even though the logical part of my brain insisted it was improper use of nouns and adjectives. Purple isn't a flavor. At least, it's not supposed to be. "Purple" is about what I associate with the "grape" popcicles you get in those variety packs. Whatever inspired someone to think that super-sweet syrupy flavor was anything like the taste of grapes, I shall never know. But even thought they call them "grape-flavored", I think everyone will agree they taste nothing like grapes. Not green, red, or any other kind.
But when I read on, I found myself nodding in agreement. The author was describing things incredibly similar to my own experiences. My senses cross over. I don't just hear sounds. I feel them sometimes. It's like when I read a book and visualize what they're describing. Electric guitar can inspire intense sensations of weightlessness. Drums make my feet thrum with the sensation of hitting the ground and make my palms itch as though I was running on all fours. Certain sounds feel the way I would imagine it would be to harden my fingers and drive them into concrete. It's not unpleasant. Just interesting. Some sounds feel like silk across my belly, some feel like dust in my nose and ears.
But more than sounds, it's numbers.
The number 1, for example. I see it as red. It's masculine, but mostly neutral. He likes to keep things tidy. He's a professional. The number 2? Well, 2 is blue, and male also, but more childlike. Sort of man-child, really, like a toned-down frat-boy. Number 3 is a selfish bitch, in a hard yellow. Another male figure, 4 is purple, quiet, usually a bearer of bad news and kind of scholarly. The outspoken one is 5, a hot-shot can-do-anything guy who loves the babes. He's brown. His lady, 6, is a bit on the prudish side, in a muted shade of lavender. She's curvy in all the right ways. Next up is green guy 7, a jokester who loves to laugh. Lady 8 in violet-blue tends to be kind of quiet, but is unafraid to put some of the littler number in their place. The REAL bitch in charge is 9, who bosses 6 and 3 around like little minions in her clique. She tends to show up in a mustard-tone. And 0? He doesn't talk. He's always black.
Letters do it to, although in gender and not color. A is male, B female, C male, D male, E female...
Colors make me think of scents and places. Feelings. Sensations. Certain shades of purple are cold, like a night sky, and smell like the air after it rains. Yellow feels like sunlight on my skin and smells like a warm room. Reds are dangerous and smell sharp. Orange is hiding something. White is prissy but she smells clean.
Read that last sentence again.
Is it any wonder I understood how a name can taste purple?
Browns taste like chocolate. Silver hurts my teeth, unless it's nicely polished. Otherwise it sounds like bad brakes. Fluffy textures feel nice when I touch them, but if they're a particular shade of green they make my front teeth feel like there's yarn in them, and I hate that sensation.
Another one of my friends told me that I see the world entirely different than anyone else he knew. I think he didn't know exactly how true that statement was. While I accept that I see the world in a highly different way already, I don't think he also meant in a fashion that included letters having gender or colors inspiring feels and flavors, much less numbers having attitudes.
It feels almost freeing to know that this is actually something normal in its own right, and harmless. Something documented, if not totally understood. Something that isn't as-a-result-of or a-symptom-of something else. It just is. All by itself. And it's okay.
Even if the word "synesthesia" tastes like wet static-y sawdust.
February 03, 2011
A Few Quick Words
Winter does not last
Spring always pushes through the snow
Night does not last
Dawn always breaks over the horizon
Rain does not last
The sun will always shine again
Hard times will not last
For this, too, will pass away.
Spring always pushes through the snow
Night does not last
Dawn always breaks over the horizon
Rain does not last
The sun will always shine again
Hard times will not last
For this, too, will pass away.
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