Associations
Associations
I spoke yesterday on the late Ray Charles, and said that whenever I thought of him, I associated him with Diet Pepsi, and the series of commericals he did for the beverage back in the 90's.
Simply because most ad campaigns are drilled into our heads, and this series of commercials, where Ray sang "You got the right one, babay!"
It's a comment, though, on how easily things become associated in our minds. Or in, at least, my mind. There are certain things that are always going to be linked in my brain, and if I hear, see, smell or even touch one thing, I'm going to immediately think of this other thing that, for whatever reason, became imprinted in my mind and was forever linked.
Do you know the song Breathless, by the Corrs? It got big in the fall leading into the winter of 2000. It's one of those little earworm songs that works its way into your subconscious, where it can eat away at your sanity like a moth.
I heard that song on the radio the other night at work. And it brought me back to January of 2001.
My sister and I went to New Orleans that January. The initial reason for the trip was so that I could try out for the Jeopardy gameshow, but we wouldn't have gone all the way to New Orleans just for that. Mostly, we just wanted to to hang out in New Orleans.
It was really kind of a horrible trip for me. I got sick on the trip down. I felt fine enough to take the contestants test, and walk around the French Quarter for a little while. But other than that, I mostly slept.
We left New Orleans the afternoon of the contestant test. I was really feeling pretty miserable. My sister drove us out of the city. I was in the passenger seat. We'd been driving along for a few miles. I'd pulled out a legal pad and was writing a couple of thoughts down. We'd just passed Picayune, Mississippi. I'm writing on my pad, and the song "Breathless" comes on the radio.
It's about halfway through. I'm still writing. I'd just popped a cough drop in my mouth. And the next thing I know, I have a face full of airbag.
I hear my sister curse, and say "Oh no!"
The next thing I remember is not being able to breathe. When I got hit with the airbag, I inhaled in surprise, taking the cough drop down my windpipe with the sudden rush of air. I managed to cough it up, so I don't want that to seem so dramatic. But because I was engaged in that process, I don't recall my sister pulling to the shoulder.
The whole while, that song is playing...
It's like a dream
Although I'm not asleep
I never want to wake up
Don't lose it
Don't leave it
We got pulled over, I coughed up the cough drop. I asked, "What happened?"
"We hit a deer?"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
See, I never saw the deer. I was looking down at what I was writing. I never heard the deer. At least, I don't remember hearing my sister's car hit the deer. I just remember getting hit with a face full of passenger airbag. Which isn't a lot unlike getting hit with a feather pillow by somebody who can really bring it.
We were okay. We both made sure of that. We got out. A fellow who was riding behind us stopped to see if we were okay.
By the time he got to the car, the Corrs' was going off. I don't know what song came on next.
I walked with that guy back to look at the deer we'd hit. The guy, who was from Ohio and who said he'd been coming to that area to hunt for years, shook his head in good-natured irritation.
"It's the biggest deer I've ever seen down here," he said. "I haven't seen any deer this year, and you hit the biggest one I've seen with your car!"
It was a monster, too. An 10 point buck. We counted. Had to find the other antler, which was lodged in the ground a couple of yards from the rest of the carcass.
Did I say it was a monster? Huge deer, plus sisters' cars going right around 75 mph don't usually add up to much good.
The car ended up being totalled.
The funny, surreal part of that whole incident was how a dozen or more orange-vested, orange camouflage wearing hunters would kind of mosey out of the woods, trickling out in twos and threes. No laws in Mississippi about hunting that close to the interstate. It wasn't until later, at the insurance office in Picayune, that it dawned on me that it was, dollars to doughnuts, a hunter that had spooked the behemoth of a deer out of the woods and onto the highway.
A Mississippi state trooper showed up. He took our names. Made a report. Correctly pronounced our last name without having to ask us to say it after looking at our ID. Perfect teeth. Nice smell. A class act, all the way.
After a while, a couple more hunters showed up with a truck, asking what we'd be doing with the deer. The state trooper (whose name I forgot--even at a stage where I was writing everything down, I forgot to write the guy's name down to remember it) told us that Mississippi state law says that he who hits the animal has first claim. I laughed, but the trooper wasn't joking.
I deferred to my sister, who told the guys they could have the deer, if they wanted it.
"It's the biggest deer we ever saw," the told us, as they carried it to their truck.
The state trooper gave us a ride back to Picayune. I got to ride in the back of a trooper's cruiser. It was awesome! We were about 12 miles past Picayune, so we had to go up to the next exit, turn around and go back. And, except to stop and turn, the trooper did most of the trip at right around 85 miles an hour.
On the ride in the back of the trooper cruiser, I made a point to try to make eye contact with every driver we passed. Most of them went by too quickly for me to register their expression...most people will slow to the speed limit when they see a police cruiser thundering down the road, and on this stretch of highway, it was 65.
But I did make eye contact with one little kid in the back of a mini-van, as we waited for a transfer truck to move aside. People always look, especially if there's a person in the back. I wanted to make eye contact. Maybe even make the devil-hand or something. And I made eye contact with the kid. He just stared, and I stared back.
I didn't make the devil-hand, or make a Gene Simmons face. I figured I might get punked by the trooper for taunting kids.
We hit the insurance office. Got help. My sister got pissed at the insurance agent, who kept wanting to talk to me despite the fact that it was my sister's car, my sister's insurance policy and her deal completely.
We rented a car. An itty bitty Ford, with no cruise control and a heater that barely worked. It was like riding back to Tennessee from southern Mississippi in a tuna can.
Anyway. That's the story. I kind of meandered.
But now you know. Any time I hear "Breathless," by the Corrs, I think of riding in the back of a police cruiser. And that unspoken connection I made with that little kid in the mini-van.
I spoke yesterday on the late Ray Charles, and said that whenever I thought of him, I associated him with Diet Pepsi, and the series of commericals he did for the beverage back in the 90's.
Simply because most ad campaigns are drilled into our heads, and this series of commercials, where Ray sang "You got the right one, babay!"
It's a comment, though, on how easily things become associated in our minds. Or in, at least, my mind. There are certain things that are always going to be linked in my brain, and if I hear, see, smell or even touch one thing, I'm going to immediately think of this other thing that, for whatever reason, became imprinted in my mind and was forever linked.
Do you know the song Breathless, by the Corrs? It got big in the fall leading into the winter of 2000. It's one of those little earworm songs that works its way into your subconscious, where it can eat away at your sanity like a moth.
I heard that song on the radio the other night at work. And it brought me back to January of 2001.
My sister and I went to New Orleans that January. The initial reason for the trip was so that I could try out for the Jeopardy gameshow, but we wouldn't have gone all the way to New Orleans just for that. Mostly, we just wanted to to hang out in New Orleans.
It was really kind of a horrible trip for me. I got sick on the trip down. I felt fine enough to take the contestants test, and walk around the French Quarter for a little while. But other than that, I mostly slept.
We left New Orleans the afternoon of the contestant test. I was really feeling pretty miserable. My sister drove us out of the city. I was in the passenger seat. We'd been driving along for a few miles. I'd pulled out a legal pad and was writing a couple of thoughts down. We'd just passed Picayune, Mississippi. I'm writing on my pad, and the song "Breathless" comes on the radio.
It's about halfway through. I'm still writing. I'd just popped a cough drop in my mouth. And the next thing I know, I have a face full of airbag.
I hear my sister curse, and say "Oh no!"
The next thing I remember is not being able to breathe. When I got hit with the airbag, I inhaled in surprise, taking the cough drop down my windpipe with the sudden rush of air. I managed to cough it up, so I don't want that to seem so dramatic. But because I was engaged in that process, I don't recall my sister pulling to the shoulder.
The whole while, that song is playing...
It's like a dream
Although I'm not asleep
I never want to wake up
Don't lose it
Don't leave it
We got pulled over, I coughed up the cough drop. I asked, "What happened?"
"We hit a deer?"
"Really?"
"Yeah."
See, I never saw the deer. I was looking down at what I was writing. I never heard the deer. At least, I don't remember hearing my sister's car hit the deer. I just remember getting hit with a face full of passenger airbag. Which isn't a lot unlike getting hit with a feather pillow by somebody who can really bring it.
We were okay. We both made sure of that. We got out. A fellow who was riding behind us stopped to see if we were okay.
By the time he got to the car, the Corrs' was going off. I don't know what song came on next.
I walked with that guy back to look at the deer we'd hit. The guy, who was from Ohio and who said he'd been coming to that area to hunt for years, shook his head in good-natured irritation.
"It's the biggest deer I've ever seen down here," he said. "I haven't seen any deer this year, and you hit the biggest one I've seen with your car!"
It was a monster, too. An 10 point buck. We counted. Had to find the other antler, which was lodged in the ground a couple of yards from the rest of the carcass.
Did I say it was a monster? Huge deer, plus sisters' cars going right around 75 mph don't usually add up to much good.
The car ended up being totalled.
The funny, surreal part of that whole incident was how a dozen or more orange-vested, orange camouflage wearing hunters would kind of mosey out of the woods, trickling out in twos and threes. No laws in Mississippi about hunting that close to the interstate. It wasn't until later, at the insurance office in Picayune, that it dawned on me that it was, dollars to doughnuts, a hunter that had spooked the behemoth of a deer out of the woods and onto the highway.
A Mississippi state trooper showed up. He took our names. Made a report. Correctly pronounced our last name without having to ask us to say it after looking at our ID. Perfect teeth. Nice smell. A class act, all the way.
After a while, a couple more hunters showed up with a truck, asking what we'd be doing with the deer. The state trooper (whose name I forgot--even at a stage where I was writing everything down, I forgot to write the guy's name down to remember it) told us that Mississippi state law says that he who hits the animal has first claim. I laughed, but the trooper wasn't joking.
I deferred to my sister, who told the guys they could have the deer, if they wanted it.
"It's the biggest deer we ever saw," the told us, as they carried it to their truck.
The state trooper gave us a ride back to Picayune. I got to ride in the back of a trooper's cruiser. It was awesome! We were about 12 miles past Picayune, so we had to go up to the next exit, turn around and go back. And, except to stop and turn, the trooper did most of the trip at right around 85 miles an hour.
On the ride in the back of the trooper cruiser, I made a point to try to make eye contact with every driver we passed. Most of them went by too quickly for me to register their expression...most people will slow to the speed limit when they see a police cruiser thundering down the road, and on this stretch of highway, it was 65.
But I did make eye contact with one little kid in the back of a mini-van, as we waited for a transfer truck to move aside. People always look, especially if there's a person in the back. I wanted to make eye contact. Maybe even make the devil-hand or something. And I made eye contact with the kid. He just stared, and I stared back.
I didn't make the devil-hand, or make a Gene Simmons face. I figured I might get punked by the trooper for taunting kids.
We hit the insurance office. Got help. My sister got pissed at the insurance agent, who kept wanting to talk to me despite the fact that it was my sister's car, my sister's insurance policy and her deal completely.
We rented a car. An itty bitty Ford, with no cruise control and a heater that barely worked. It was like riding back to Tennessee from southern Mississippi in a tuna can.
Anyway. That's the story. I kind of meandered.
But now you know. Any time I hear "Breathless," by the Corrs, I think of riding in the back of a police cruiser. And that unspoken connection I made with that little kid in the mini-van.
posted by Tommy at
07:43
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