Monthly Archives: February 2017

Why did you think they call ’em ‘B’s?

Ok, I admit it: “I hear in color.” It’s called ‘synesthesia’, kinda rare, and I’m neither over-proud nor, on the other hand, embarrassed, to ‘come clean’. I’ve had it as long as I can remember, having to discover gradually in early grade school that not everyone was similarly afflicted. Actually, the most glaring facet of this neurological ‘crossed-wires’ syndrome is the colors of all the numbers and letters. As in: ‘Duh, how could anyone sane *NOT* notice that ‘2’ is cardinal red?!!’ Or that ‘Ab on the piano is perfectly maroon’?
I’ve learned, like most folks with various quirky abnormalities, to view it as a classic ‘Curse/ Blessing’.
The ‘curse‘ part is forcing some random, sweet-intentioned guitar-player to wonder why my face’s expression looks so much like Munch’s ‘The Scream’ when I hear his first chords, albeit in tune with-himself, but horridly ‘wrong’ according to my color-sense… Oh and God’s design also(?)

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But let’s get to the ‘B is for Blessing’:
My ‘Tavor Oak’ tree just outside the bedroom window is blooming this week. A protected and threatened species here in Israel. The hum of 5000 honeybees is almost deafening.

Starting at about 6:30 AM my world is a gentle but insistent wash of light-brown water-colored hues. Can’t help but love ’em, stingers ‘n all. But by noon, 1 PM, the pitch has lowered a half-tone to Bb. A darker, but still brown shade. Like I said: ‘How could anyone not see/hear that?”
So yesterday I decided to get WIKI-ed on this. (Can anyone reading even remember how long it would have taken me, in the olde days, begging my Mum to take me to the Library in the 1953 Pontiac, go through the card catalogue, find out where they hid the :700 books, etc. Along with wasting my life on smelly tomes from the 1930s about ‘Honey Through the Ages’. And going home broken-hearted never to know that:

‘Honeybees buzz their wings at a frequency of between 190 and 250 beats per second.’

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Thanks, Google! Yes, Bees sing in the key of ‘B’, until they get fattened up and tired during the day, at which stage they ‘modulate’. Yippie! Kinda like seeing Venus in the sky at night lately… and exactly where Space.com (oh, and Kepler) said it oughta be. Science works.
So yeah, another dumb Word Press-post from Solberg-the Freak-of-Nature. There’s probably a point in here, but bees, bless their hearts, are busy enough with their own problems and will prolly not click ‘Like’. Cool by me; just keep making honey. You go, girls.

‘Pushback’: the ‘Elephant in the room’ whom you ‘Threw under the Bus’ has escaped ‘Into the Tall Grass’. ‘So, how’s that working out for you, Snowflake?’

Someone could rightly call this ‘ A post about nothing’, like Seinfeld, but I differ; it’s a post about ‘discussions about nothing’. A level above (or below?) the froth and foam.
I wish I had a shekel for every instance where I avoided using a currently (this week) en-vogue catch-phrase. Something so disgustingly sheep-like, so pathetically ‘needy’ about adopting trends.
The scene described(?) in the post’s title here could involve just about anything, know what I’m sayin’? In my daily perusal of at least 50 articles from news and commentary outlets, I’ve developed somewhat of a pass/fail attitude to style. To the point where one ‘pushback‘ (ugh!) kinda auto-triggers the ‘click-out’ reflex. Sorry, hacks, nothing personal. And my 40 or so favorite writers each have blemish-free records in the cliche department. Warms my heart to have them agree with me. (or more likely, the converse.)
 Actually, I’ve been a jargon/slang war-resistor since the early ’60s. I might have called something ‘groovy’ or ‘far-out’ once each, before starting to put them in ironic quotes.
So, to conclude: what’s a fellow to do with a rambunctious elephant no one mentions, a beast who needs to be un-ceremoniously sacrificed, but who somehow evades the quiet ignominy decreed upon him and camps out in an un-approachable thickly-vegetated base camp, from whence to taunt you, yea unto causing you Emotional turmoil? Yup, that’s the question in this post. Kinda.
I say, use him at airport departure ramps to elegantly guide the 767s backwards toward their take-off runway start positions. Last I heard, that was called ‘pushback’! But then, me ‘n the pachyderms both have long memories.

Nothing Rhymes with ‘Orange’ but ‘Stupid’

Hey, you learn something new (or remember it) every day:
1) The classic, repeated claim that no word rhymes with ‘ORANGE’ is almost true, however, I was able to quickly prove to myself that it needn’t be a death-sentence. Check this poem; a new style. One sentence, make yer point, and leave ’em begging for more:
I saw her at the BAR ‘N Just went
nuts on all that ORANGE, musta
took a ton of pigment, or like,
mebbe it’s all a figment of my
chroma-magination, like that
sexpot little Hatian who wuz
rainbow-hued at night, but
in the morning, black an’ white.

2) One could as easily say that the current yellow-peril (oops, ‘ORANGE’ menace’ defiling our nation’s capitol rhymes only with ‘STUPID’ , at least metaphorically. ‘STUPID’ was the subject of a song I wrote a while back and never published. The thesis was that nothing rhymes with ‘STUPID’. It took yesterday’s Valentine’s Day for me to realize that ‘CUPID’, duh, was , like, born to rhyme with Stupid. Let’s all hope for a speedy demise of the rotten tangerine comb-over.
Onward to the Song:

I wrote this one for a ‘female-of-the-species’ whose bare-bones intellectual ‘operating system’ has provided me no end of fascination for going-on 40 years now. She is still, as we speak, perhaps the most beautiful woman God has ever created, physically. But it is a continual learning-process to admit that a head so gorgeous can contain within it such a paucity of cognitive assets. Still, I would have voted for her for President in a heartbeat. No government experience, (just like her opponent) but at least I wouldn’t have to disable photos in my News Feed for 4 years.

‘Nothing Rhymes with Stupid but ‘Stupid’. J Solberg all rights reserved

Lyrics:
They told me I was wrong..
Yes they told me I was wrong
I wasted every night
They told me I was wrong
tryin’to put you in this song
Cause nothing rhymes with STUPID but STUPID

When I look into your empty face
My heart’s still sinking
An’ I know I got nobody to blame
What was I thinking?

They told me I was wrong..
Now I know they’re right
Yes they told me I was wrong
I wasted every night
They told me I was wrong
to try to put you in this song
Nothing rhymes with STUPID but STUPID

You got lucky with a mind like yours
You can never lose it
Times I worry ’bout the space you take up
Somebody else could use it
Started the melody, you said hello; we were
off on the road to goodbye
Started the verse but it only got worse
When it ended I finally knew why

Who’d ever believe a girl like you could have so much to say?
Ya just keep on talking
Maybe I can learn to live without your information
Just keep on walking..

They told me I was wrong..
Now I know they’re right
Yes they told me I was wrong
Looks like I wasted every night
They told me I was wrong
to try to put you in this song

Nothing rhymes with STUPID but STUPID

y’know I tried to put you into words
Tryin’ to make it rhyme
I been working like a maniac since Thursday
Just a waste of time

Started the melody, you said hello; we were
off on the road to goodbye
Started the verse but it only got worse
When it ended I finally knew why
Told me I was wrong
Now I know they’re right
Told me I was wrong
Looks like I wasted all the night
Told me I was wrong
to try to put you in this song
Cuz nothing rhymes with STUPID but STUPID

Told me I was wrong
Now I know they’re right
Told me I was wrong
Looks like I wasted all the night
Told me I was wrong
to try to put you in this song
Nothing rhymes with STUPID but STUPID

Told me I was wrong
Now I know they’re right
Told me I was wrong
Looks like I wasted all the night
Told me I was wrong
to try to put you in this song
Cuz nothing rhymes with STUPID but another STUPID

‘NO TED?!’, I noted

“Ted?’ I called out plaintively, there in the darkness of the woods compounded by clouds of black smoke.
*crickets* Or in other words, no reassuring sound or sign of life so far.
Ever the scientist (and word-fiend) I quickly spoke into my cheap Radio Shack pocket voice recorder; “NO TED, I NOTED”.
And knowing full well that I had some major amends to make, I wasn’t surprised to hear my phone’s assistant (I call him ‘SSV’ for ‘Still small voice’) tear into me at once:
‘HE’s ED now!’
Not immediately grasping the implications, and of course justifiably in shock since the explosion, I added to the tape:
“HE’S ED, HE SED.”
‘Yeah, missing the top of his head!‘, SSV added accusingly, as if it was my fault.
‘So the ‘T’ was that boyish top-knot he’d worn for the last couple weeks back at the plant?‘ I asked SSV, stalling for time.
‘Big deal, no problem, I’ll call him Ed.‘ I added, convinced of my generosity.
“Um.. call’ IT’  Ed, guy; take a look at what’s left of him… Or don’t.”
I’d liked Ted a lot since he started to work under me. Thirty-something, clever, curious, and adventurous. Guess it was the last two adjectives there which, like, destined that this ‘bad thing’ might happen, like, sooner or later.
Ok, whom am I kidding, it wuz all my fault. I’m the one who said ‘Yeah, probably.’ when he asked if we could make something ‘awesome’ out of the dusty cabinet of chemicals back in the corner which Inventory never seemed to give a shit about re-stocking.
To make matters worse, I’d done the net research on the TNT synthesis path using the reagents there. (Since deleted). And frankly, both of us beginners were overwhelmed by the power of the blast, just like at Los Alamos. (Although there will need to be an Afterlife, and both of us in the same ‘wing’ someday, for me to hear Ted’s side.)

Such a cute kid; I’m starting to feel real remorse. He’d carefully carried the Device from the back seat of my Subaru to the tree stump there in the woods, and kinda surprised me by intoning, mock-momentous his Oppenheimer-quote: ‘I am become TED, Destroyer of Worlds.’
Well, in a way, I suppose he was right. And I helped him to achieve his dream…
Jezuz, what a crock!  SSV is right. His voice, still small but conscience-searing will torment me whatever happens at the trial. I could blame our murderous work-hours at the Plant: (we called it the ‘doppler-shift’, cause you never knew whether you were coming or going without listening to the ringing in your ears.
But still, I should have known. I DETONATED TED. It’s right there in front of us… or in back. I’m actually near tears just typing up this post. As if it weren’t in fact 100% Fiction.

‘It is, right, SSV?’ …Don’t look at me like that!