Last week I’m pretty certain I totally forgot about the morning post because I was traveling and sick. So from that unexpected hiatus, the Thursday morning post rises anew and totally fulfills my obligation of the post contributing to the theme of the week. Hooray!
Okay, so I’ll ramble.
When I think of resurrection, I think of the small resurrections we experience in life that are really resurfacings of memories from people and places we haven’t been exposed to lately. On Father’s day when my dad visited I was a son again, though I haven’t felt like one for a long time. We went out to eat and talked and made bad jokes the way we always do. When I run into old friends, I take on the affectations of the person I was when I first met them. It’s nostalgia of a kind.
So much of remix/mashup culture trades on these resurrections.
Who was I when I first watched these Disney films? Or when I hear a few of the songs on a Girl Talk album.
When Don Draper explained nostalgia, he used the carousel as a metaphor for a return to a place we were loved. That’s true in the case of home movies and slides that are meant to capture those things in a direct way. Those are intentional indulgences that we’ve constructed for ourselves. The trailer for Wet Hot American Summer on Netflix, for instance, directly channels the feel of summer camp and bad cable advertising. I don’t deny this also isn’t a resurrection, but it’s so obvious and less akin to the everyday hints to our past selves.
For example: who am I when I’m seated at a rickety table in need of a shim in a counter restaurant? Am I the customer I often was at a pizza place with a similar table? While smelling the cooking dough and cheese and listening to the sounds of the sleeves taking pies out of the ovens? Experiencing the feel of a paper plate cradling a hot fresh slice and the sensation of the roof of my mouth becoming tender as I burn myself taking a bite too fast? A small imperfection in restaurant furniture is enough to trigger so many memories.
The phoenix idea of resurrection is unfamliar to me. People are rarely being renewed and transformed in dramatic meaningful ways. The resurrection I know is quick and subtle and catches me off guard in many interactions. It’s constant and unavoidable and not something I quest for but something that follows me tenaciously. It prevents the grand idea of resurrection that we more typically associate with the word. And I think I prefer it that way. It’s a comfort to know that “me” is still alive and that’s something I wouldn’t really want to relinquish.