There’s a dog in the alley that has been barking almost non-stop for the last five days. This morning it woke me up at 5:45am, after maybe two hours of sleep. I’m not in a very good mood, and find myself being haunted by visions of David Berkowitz and his neighbor’s dog’s incessant barking. Also, that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine hires Kramer and Newman to kidnap the dog that keeps her up all night.
Yesterday I performed what I believe to be a righteous act. I was driving home from Hollywood, and as I was turning left onto Temple from Alvarado, a black Honda or Hyundai that was sitting behind me peeled away and tried to race through the intersection. Unfortunately for that person, a red Mustang was turning left opposite me from Alvarado onto Temple. The Honda/Hyundai slammed into the passenger side of the Mustang, driving it into stopped traffic on Temple. Smoke filled the air, the Mustang was beat to hell, and as I finished making my turn I decided I would return to the scene to offer some help. I parked my car outside my building, stopped in to ask my roommate if she thought it was the right thing to do, and then ran down the street to make sure everyone was OK. I offered my statement as a witness to the accident to one of the police officers who was overseeing the clean-up effort. After I gave my detailed statement, attested that what I saw and heard was accurate, I walked back home. As I did so, I felt like I had done a good deed — which is something I almost never do. In fact, I usually shy away from it. It felt good.
Since I’ve been awake for quite some time, I downloaded and watched the documentary film Vinyl that I mentioned last week or the week before. First and foremost, it made me feel much better about having a record collection that contains under 1,000 albums. Those who contributed interviews or footage owned collections anywhere from 10 to 1,000 times as large as mine. Plus, on top of that, I actually have a social life (try as you might to refute this statement, my friend, you cannot possibly be less accurate). It was actually a rather heartbreaking film, with only brief moments of what could be considered humorous. There’s a lot of self-reflection and analysis that clogs the 105-minute film, and only a small percentage of the “cast” had anything remotely resembling a normal life. Everyone else was so far involved in their hobby that they became immune to human contact, and lived like shut-ins, even fearing contact in some instances. Although Vinyl presents a fascinating study of the relationship between obsessive behaviors and art, it does not make for an enjoyable film-watching experience. It is a vehicle for promoting similar self-reflection, and perhaps serving as motivation to get off your ass and really take control of your life before the same happens to you. Like the captain of a doomed vessel, director Alan Zweig shares his inner turmoil and his travelogue as a warning. Do not to do make the same mistakes I have made.
Leave a comment