Day 385: Wicked Pisser

Note: This blog post was inspired by recent, actual events, including my watching last night’s season premiere¹ of “Sherlock” with my son.

Soon after waking this morning, I said to my partner of three years, “I’ve got it.  I know what today’s post title will be.”

Wicked pisser.

It was obvious, and all too clear.  Why hadn’t I realized it before? After briefly cursing myself for my slowness, I made haste to prepare for today’s post.

“The blog’s afoot, Michael!” I cried, as I ran — my feet descending the stairs clad in but one purple sock — to retrieve my cell phone.

Carefully re-ascending, I took a photo of the crime scene:

Of course, the authorities,  when arriving upon the scene soon after the deed was discovered last night, had completely bungled the investigation, removing critical evidence.  Nevertheless, I believed this photo would help me and my Blogging Street Irregulars put the pieces together.

Next, after hastily rearranging the crime scene to its usual morning appearance, I surreptitiously took a photo of the first suspect:

I reviewed the evidence against this creature. Uppermost of all the thoughts flashing through my mind were these:

1. His returning to the scene of the crime.
2. The look on his face, which any keen observer might deduce as indicative of guilt (although I’ve learned, through many years of  investigations, that facial expressions can be deceiving).
3. His motives, which could include revenge for being removed, relatively recently, from his previous home — a local shelter of good repute — from which he was placed, without his consent, in an unfamiliar domicile to cohabit with other creatures, also not of his choosing.

Which reminded me of the other obvious suspect:

Again, the case against this graceful animal ran through my head:

1. Previous commitments of the crime in question, although never at that particular location.

That was all I could come up with, in the heat of the moment.  I wondered: Was my affection for this creature interfering in my dispassionate review of the evidence?

Of course not. Affection never sways my mind from the facts. Nevertheless, I could proceed no further with the investigation.

At the time of this writing, the results are inconclusive. I’m hoping, with future observation, to solve the crime. But, as we know, some mysteries are never solved², even when we’ve narrowed the list of suspects.

Before I end this blog post, I would like to tell my readers this: I had other reasons for naming today’s post, precisely.

For example, “Wicked Pisser” —  at the geographical location of the crime scene — can be the highest possible praise. In the local vernacular, it means Top Notch. Amazing. The Best.

My plan, over this long weekend, was to write a post about some high praise I’ve received, at different points in my life.

However, events can interfere with intentions. One must go with the flow.

And, sometimes, it’s good to keep your audience guessing.

Thanks to all the Sherlock Holmeses I’ve encountered, since age 10. Who else to thank? Elementary, my dear reader. You, for visiting today.

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1. In the United States.

2. For example, see my blog post from months past — Unsolved Mysteries — set in Edinburgh, Scotland.

A final, unnumbered footnote: See the comment section, below, for postulations about a mysterious “<   p>” which appeared, at some point, in this post.

One more thing that feels missing, to me, from this post. Some background music:

Day 229: Unsolved Mysteries

I’ve never seen the show “Unsolved Mysteries,” but what better way to start off this identically-named blog post, than this:

(If there is a better way, I have no idea what it is.)

I like to think about mysteries, as I’ve mentioned before.  Skilled detectives — who pay attention in the moment and who use all their resources to solve puzzles and sometimes even right wrongs —  have definitely been heroes of mine, throughout my life.

For this blog post, I would like to share a personal, recently experienced mystery.

THE SPECKLED SHIRT

by Ann Koplow

On our penultimate day in Scotland, my son and I were in our hotel room, when I heard him cry …

What’s this??

I looked over,  to see him standing by his open and yet unpacked suitcase,  holding up one of his favorite shirts. Safe in the assumption that my son knew what a shirt was, I waited for him to say more. And he did.

What the heck??? 

And then,

Look at these red marks, all over my shirt!!!

I moved closer to son’s outstretched arms and the shirt, dangling lifeless and forlorn — perhaps as the unknown but deliciously fresh fish I had just eaten at a nearby restaurant had recently dangled from a Scottish fishhook.

As I inspected the shirt — my son’s continuing cries of “What the heck?” ringing in my ears — I noticed these:

Tiny splashes of red, covering his shirt. The more I looked at the shirt, the more of these I saw.

What were they?

Could they be ….

BLOOD?

Nope. Wrong color red.

Could they be …

RED LIQUID HE HAD SPILLED WHILE WEARING THIS SHIRT?

Nope. He hadn’t worn that shirt in days.  And he had seen that shirt, unspeckled, lying on top of his opened suitcase, yesterday, in the bonny town of Edinburgh.

Could the speckles be …..

THE BLEEDINGS OF ANOTHER GARMENT, ONTO THE SHIRT?

Nope.  He had only one piece of red-colored clothing in his suitcase, which was (1) the wrong color and (2) had not been packed anywhere near the now-speckled shirt.

My son and I used the best parts of our inquiring brains, exploring different possibilities.

We were stumped.

So we decided to  reach out for help and consult with experts who might

1. solve the mystery and/or
2. save the shirt.

First, we spoke to the people at the front desk at the hotel.

The helpful woman at the front desk looked at the shirt and, like us, was mystified.  She immediately ruled out foul play by the hotel staff.  While cleaners had been in our room since the the last time the shirt had been seen unspeckled … all cleaning fluids at this hotel were colored clear, not red.

While she would have been happy to clean the shirt for us, all laundry had already gone out for the day. Waiting for the next pick-up would mean the shirt could not return in time to leave with us on our return passage to the United States.

What to do?

She sent us on our way to consult with other experts, a little ways down the street, who might be able to help:

The two laundresses there inspected the shirt carefully, as we told them all we knew about The Speckled Shirt.  I watched as confusion, concern, and other emotions flickered across their fresh, young faces.

This must have been caused by some kind of spray!  Look at that pattern!

I suspect the cleaning staff at the hotel.  Even if their cleaning liquid aren’t red, this could definitely be a chemical reaction.

We would be happy to clean this for you, but I’m afraid we might not get these out.  Look at all of them!

Following the advice of these two laundry experts, we trudged back to the hotel, speckled shirt in tow. I recited, unemotionally, just the facts of what we had been told, in the tradition of another famous American detective.

A manager was summarily called, who assured us the hotel would take care of the Speckled Shirt, in time for our departure, as best they could.

Wondering about all the confusing and conflicting evidence we had heard, recognizing we could not sort it all out, we put shirts and speckles out of our mind, and enjoyed another day in beautiful Edinburgh.

Several hours later, after we returned to our hotel and got off the lift onto our floor, I was surprised to see, at that precise moment, a dapperly dressed gentleman rushing towards us, holding a hanger with a beautifully pressed shirt.

At first, of course, I leapt to this conclusion:

It’s the return of the shirt, speckled no longer!

However, this hope was quickly dashed by the gentleman moving swiftly by us and leaping onto the lift, apparently in pursuit of urgent business on other floors.

I said to my son, marveling at the coincidence. “Did you see that man?  There are other people in this hotel with Shirt Issues today.”

Minutes after we returned to our room, there came an urgent knock on the door.

As I opened the door, I discovered that same rushing man with shirt, now standing quite still. Said he,

Here is your shirt.  I had the wrong room number. My apologies.

And just like that, he was gone, leaving behind my son’s shirt, pressed and virtually speckle-free.

Let me ask you this, dear readers: Is that a mystery to you, that we did not recognize that shirt, rushing by us, as we left the lift?

Well,  I guess that speaks to many things, including the sometimes dubious nature of eyewitness testimony.

Now, as I bring this humble tale of The Speckled Shirt to an end, perhaps you may have noticed something else.

While the shirt was restored, with almost all tell-tale evidence removed ….

The mystery was never solved.

It now enters the realm of other unsolved mysteries I’ve experienced, including the first one I can remember.*

It’s difficult to tolerate the unknown, especially for important things.

In the meantime,  I will do my best, trying to solve mysteries and accepting that, for some, I may never know.

.

Thanks to broox09, who posted that first “Unsolved Mystery” video on Youtube; detectives everywhere; the shows, books, movies, and people who have helped me get through some difficult times; and to you, for participating in this mystery today.

__________________________________

* Who killed President John F. Kennedy?

Day 146: To boldly go where no Ann has gone before

My son, my bf, and I saw the new movie “Star Trek Into Darkness” last night. (I originally thought there MUST be a punctuation mark in that title — perhaps a “:” or a “,” or even a “.” But no. Nada.)

My son had one major question after the movie: “Why was it called ‘Into Darkness?'”

I said, “Maybe because of the way the movie was lit?”  Now that might sound like I was being all snark-y and Film School-y (and I did go to Film School, when I was in my 30’s), but I thought the movie was fine.

Regular readers of my blog may know that I love Star Trek, The Original Series (or TOS,  an acronym which is NOT immediately obvious to me, whenever it pops up). Even if readers don’t know of my feelings about TOS (The Original Series, for those of you who couldn’t hold on to that non-intuitive acronym even for a moment, like me), they may remember that I have written several posts referencing that TV show (here, here, and here).

I’ve used Star Trek (I’m dumping the whole TOS acronym for the rest of this post, people) in this blog, mostly to illustrate an experience I’ve been having, during this Year of Living Non-Judgmentally:

Accelerated Learning,

as illustrated by this Star Trek “villain” (played by Gary Lockwood):

who became too smart and powerful, too fast, (with too shiny eyeballs), for his own good.

I just re-read that first post about Accelerated Learning, and you know what?  There’s a lot of Good Stuff in that post, to the extent that I thought, “I wonder if I have anything else to teach them?” (or more to the point, anything else to blog about, for the rest of the year.)

(I’m actually not worried about that, in the moment, although I AM feeling a wee bit … conceited, right now, having essentially “bragged” about how helpful I think that post might be, as well as having put myself in the role of “teacher.”)  (Okay, I’m letting go of any guilt about THAT, right now.)

Better.

Another thing I’ve been experiencing, this year, is a LOT of Synchronicity.

Here’s a definition of synchronicity:

syn·chro·nic·i·ty  (sngkr-ns-t, sn-)
n. pl. syn·chro·nic·i·ties
1. the quality or fact of being synchronous.
2. the coincidental occurrence of events and especially psychic events (as similar thoughts in widely separated persons or a mental image of an unexpected event before it happens) that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality —used especially in the psychology of C. G. Jung.

Note the reference to Carl Jung, who is one of my Therapy Heroes.  (Another Therapy Hero was the gentle and wonderful Michael White, from Narrative Therapy.)

(Note also that the first definition, above, is essentially useless, as it refers to another form of the same word.)

Something else to note: another word for the concept of synchronicity is “coincidence.”

Here’s something I’ve noticed. I get really excited about coincidences, and not everybody does. 

Sometimes I think: there are two kinds of people in this world. People who get excited about coincidences and people who don’t.

Sometime I think:  there are two kinds of people in this world. People who think there are two kinds of people in this world and people who don’t.

So where was I, before all those digressions in parentheses AND italics?

Oh, yes.  Star Trek.  And Synchronicity.

So, right around the time that I was blogging so much about the shiny-eyeballed, scarily-smart Gary Lockwood character from Star Trek, rumors were swirling around the internet about the new Star Trek Movie, to be released in May.

And one of the rumors I read was this:

The villain in the new Star Trek Movie will be some version of the Gary Lockwood character in The Original Series.

I thought, “Wow!  How cool is that?  I’ll have to tell my dear readers about THAT little piece of synchronicity!”  Then, that turned out to be an old, outdated rumor.  Oh, well.

But, here was a “true rumor”:  the villain was going to be played by THIS guy:

Benedict Cumberbatch.  Who is known, these days, for playing somebody else: another hero, who is important to me.

Sherlock Holmes.

I remember, when I was about 13 years old, spending one whole summer reading this book:

I spent an entire summer reading this book, not because I was a slow reader (I wasn’t), but because there was SO MUCH information in this book.  Yes, people, there’s a reason why the word “ANNOTATED” is the biggest word in that title.  OMG.

But I loved reading  every word, every minute detail, as I made my way through these wonderful stories, starring the World’s Greatest Detective.

Why is Sherlock Holmes one of my heroes?

• He is really smart.
• He pays attention, all the time.
• He doesn’t care what other people think about him.
• He takes in all the details of all his senses, to solve problems.

It’s occurring to me, for the first time, that Sherlock Holmes is somebody who is REALLY mindful, in each moment.

Now I understand, in a new way, why he’s one of my heroes.

Thanks for reading, everybody!  (And I’m wondering about YOUR thoughts — regarding heroes, villains, synchronicity, Star Trek,  punctuation, or anything else you got out of this post.)