Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Ceaselessly back into the past

I was born in the grand and meaningful year of 1976, so my nostalgia for 1972 is a curious thing, considering the cells that would eventually congeal and host my consciousness where still far too scattered to appreciate the times.

For the last few years my life has been more or less a series of dissociation practices, and the most recent is an unintentional convergence on the early 70s.

My TV watching dissociation has turned truly strange.  I pick a show I don't care about all that much or really know much about and binge watch the entire series online until I've seen all of it.  I settled on "The Bob Newhart Show" roughly around the same time I bought a turntable (after whatever brain parasites that live in Portland found their way to me) and bought a bunch of records from the early 70s, again, not consciously, including some lovely Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi, Organ Fugues, Simon and Garfunkel and Olivia Netwon- and Elton John and have been steadily working through my choices in the darkwood ikea corner I created for myself that, now that I think about it, reminds me very much of the darkwood motifs I spent my early years in.

The Bob Newhart Show ended much too soon and I've since moved on to WKRP in Cincinnati and Gatchaman, both airing in the early 70s, in Gatchaman's case an original run from 1972 to 1974, much like the Bob Newhart show.

I don't know why I'm marinating lightly in 1972 right now.  All I know is it feels nice and I like it.