Throwback Thursday: Patterns

While watching an episode of Rod Serling's Twilight Zone, "Night Call" (Episode 139 -- February 7, 1964) there is a scene where the old woman has been assisted into a wheelchair. The camera angle is from the viewpoint of an adult looking down to the woman. Across her lap is a knit afghan with a zigzag pattern similar to the kind my grandmother used to make, and it seems like for just a moment the camera lingers on the pattern.

One of the thoughts I had at that moment: what would an afghan look like if instead of being knit into a pattern, the colors and knitting were totally random? Isn't it the pattern or design that gives the afghan its interest?

I recently wrote about color as a facet of making or appreciating art. Design and pattern could be added to the list of things which can make a drawing or painting interesting.

Nature is full of patterns, from atomic structure to the design of galaxies... from the incredible Fibonacci sequence to the rhythm of waves... from the phenomenon of day and night to the miracle of a heartbeat...

Many patterns are useful and many "just are." Daily routines, tastes, patterns in our relationships, patterns of thought, of behavior, of interaction with our personal space... patterns in how we go about getting self-understanding, patterns of taste, of desire, of haste, of waste.... Patterns feel right and normal to us.

For the Dionysian, chaos is the preferred realm. Order and structure feel confining. Daily routines get boring. A steady job is like working on a chain gang. Admittedly, there is something appealing about the unknown, about loss of control... temporarily.

But how many are there who can truly live an utterly patternless existence? You don't know when you will rise, or lay down, go out or return home again... if at all...

In the realm of art I have at times enjoyed making totally abstract art. Yet even then, when painting random colors in a random way, I would have to say that total arbitrariness is unnatural. Our mind keeps wishing to interpret, to organize the impressions made by the colors, lines, strokes, shapes... While adding more lines, I can choose to define the shapes or leave them totally loose. But we are attracted to a measure of order, shape, balance and pattern.

We notice it in music, too. A beat, rather than arbitrariness. In jazz, the straight beat may be replaced by syncopation, but even syncopation structures itself. Chord progressions, harmonies, all conspire to organize sound into pleasing patterns.

In certain realms patterns are especially comforting. Breathing, for example... regular breathing, in and out, easy, nourishing us with vital oxygen, this is good. Difficulty breathing, due to failing lungs, lack of air, being held underwater... these can be pretty frightening.

I guess that's one of my patterns, to take a string of thought into unexpected places. Come back tomorrow and we'll see where it goes next.

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED OCTOBER 25, 2008

A Message from The Twilight Zone: People Are Alike All Over

I've recently been watching episodes of the old Twlight Zone series which first aired in 1959 and ran for many seasons. Last night I saw an episode that brought to mind a real life incident from a century ago. But first, the fictional tale from the Twlight Zone: "People Are Alike All Over." 

In this story two astronauts, Sam Conrad and Warren Marcusson, embark on a mission to Mars. When they crash land on the planet, Marcusson dies, but before he passes away he reassures Conrad that people are alike everywhere, implying they will find kindness and hospitality on Mars.

When their spaceship crash lands, Conrad is alone, a stranger in a strange land. When the Martians open the spacecraft door, however, they are very human looking, and quite friendly. They provide him with a luxurious home that is surprisingly similar to those on Earth. Briefly all seems well, but then Conrad discovers that his new home is actually a cage in a Martian zoo, and he is the exhibit. He opens the drapes and sees a crowd standing there enjoying this new specimen for display. The sign in front of his barred window reads Earthling in His Natural Habitat.

What's ironic is that this really is the way  people are here on earth. The incident I noted in paragraph one is the story of Ota Benga, which I wrote about in February 2019. Ota Benga was a pygmy from the African bush country who had been brought to North America as a sideshow. He was taken first to St. Louis to be displayed in the 1904 World's Fair there, and then to the Bronx Zoo in 1906. Ota Benga was an immediate sensation. His home was in the monkey house. 

It's a true story which you can read more about here: 

Ota Benga Story Challenges Our Illusions About How Enlightened We Are 

* * * 

EdNote: It's amusing how space travel was portrayed on TV in the late 1950s. Whether it be Mars or the surface of an asteroid, our space adventurers always seemed to have air to breathe. 

Crossing Over Into The Twilight Zone

"There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone."

* * * 

"You're traveling through another dimension -- a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination. That's a signpost up ahead: your next stop: the Twilight Zone!"

* * * 

"You unlock this door with the key of imagination. Beyond it is another dimension: a dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind. You're moving into a land of both shadow and substance, of things and ideas. You've just crossed over into... the Twilight Zone."

* * *

My hand has not yet recovered from my stroke seven weeks ago, so I've been seeing a physical therapist who has given me exercises to do. This week I latched on to a new routine. While doing my finger exercises I've been watching episodes of The Twilight Zone, the original black and white show that began airing in October 1959. I was seven years old at that time and when I reached episode 4 the other day I was surprised that I remembered it. Perhaps it was the subject matter, a man who was somewhat obsessed about books and reading.

I have also been surprised at how dark these stories are. The mood conveyed by the narrator is one of impending doom or heartbreak of some kind. And like O. Henry's famous twist endings, Rod Serling's tales likewise end with a startling twist. 

More than 150 episodes, 80 of them written by Rod Serling, creator of the series.

One episode that I watched this past week was titled "Time Enough at Last." Here's the opening: 

"Witness Mr. Henry Bemis, a charter member in the fraternity of dreamers. A bookish little man whose passion is the printed page, but who is conspired against by a bank president and a wife and a world full of tongue-cluckers and the unrelenting hands of a clock. But in just a moment, Mr. Bemis will enter a world without bank presidents or wives or clocks or anything else. He'll have a world all to himself... without anyone."

It turns out that Mr. Bemis decides to take his coffee break in the bank's vault where he be alone with his book. Unexpectedly, his world is shaken by a nuclear war outbreak. When he emerges from the vault, most of the town's buildings have been destroyed. He is the lone survivor.

To his delight he finds the public library still standing and he proceeds to stack piles of books to be read during the months ahead. And no one will ever again criticize his love of reading.

SPOILER ALERT

Besides his passion for reading, one other detail from the opening scene stands out. He wear glasses with coke-bottle lenses. The twist at the end? As he bends over to pick up his first book, with all the tme in the world now available for reading, his glasses slip off and shatter on the concrete sidewalk. His "heaven" suddenly turns to hell.

* * *

Here are a couple other episodes that offer viewers the flavor of this show.

"The Silence" In this episode, a wealthy man bets a poor man a million dollars that he cannot keep silent for one year. It turns out that the rich man was not rich at all and did not have a million dollars, while the poor man had cut his own vocal cords in order to win the bet.  {I hear an echo of Chekov's "The Bet" here.}

"To Serve Man" Nine foot creatures from space descend on the UN and leave a book. The title is decoded to read, "To Serve Man". Thinking that this title illustrated the creatures' noble goals, Earthlings begin migrating to their planet. They soon find out that the book was a cookbook.

* * * 

There's a sense in which this year's presidential election circus feels a bit like an episode from The Twilight Zone. We'll soon see what kind of twist ending has been written into the script.

Twitter Stats: How Do You Measure Up?

It's self-evident that if you actually have a real life you can't possibly live in all these virtual networks simultaneously, though there are some who have been making a pretty good effort of it. Yesterday I read an article about as woman who killed a motorcyclist because she was doing her nails while driving her car. I'm sure that it won't be long before we have a similar incident with a Tweeter. "Heading to BB to pick up // OMG / just hit a motorcycle" from Twitterberry

In the Web 2.0 world, Twitter has been the hot topic this past six months or more. Do you Tweet?

HubSpot, an Internet marketing firm, did a study of Twitter users to see who we were.

According to The Technology Chronicles:

- 55 percent have never posted a message, or tweet
- 56 percent aren't following anyone
- 53 percent have no followers

Supposedly these are surprising numbers. But heck, it's what I've said about the CB Radio craze. Some folks just jump in to see what the buzz is all about. And either (a) they don't stick around to "get it" or (b) it wasn't for them in the first place.

Fads come and go. The difference between eating goldfish and Twitter is that swallowing goldfish serves no real purpose. (It could be argued that "Carrying my laundry downstairs" from Twitterfeed serves no purpose, too.)

Here are a few other stats from the article so that you can see how you stack up against the rest of us.
- Average number of tweets per day: 1
- Average number of posts (total) per user: 119

I myself enjoy the randomness of the quotes. A lot of upbeat people, interesting quotes and links shared, etc. I also like that it takes less time than Facebook... easy in and easy out. If you are not part of the Twitter scene, don't feel bad about it. You really can't be everywhere.

But... if you wish to follow me on Twitter, I'm right here. Though my next note might be from the Twilight Zone.

Patterns

While watching an episode of Rod Serling's Twilight Zone, "Night Call" (Episode 139 -- February 7, 1964) there is a scene where the old woman has been assisted into a wheelchair. The camera angle is from the viewpoint of an adult looking down to the woman. Across her lap is a knit afghan with a zigzag pattern similar to the kind my grandmother used to make, and it seems like for just a moment the camera lingers on the pattern.

One of the thoughts I had at that moment: what would an afghan look like if instead of being knit into a pattern, the colors and knitting were totally random? Isn't it the pattern or design that gives the afghan its interest?

I recently wrote about color as a facet of making or appreciating art. Design and pattern could be added to the list of things which can make a drawing or painting interesting.

Nature is full of patterns, from atomic structure to the design of galaxies... from the incredible Fibonacci sequence to the rhythm of waves... from the phenomenon of day and night to the miracle of a heartbeat...

Many patterns are useful and many "just are." Daily routines, tastes, patterns in our relationships, patterns of thought, of behavior, of interaction with our personal space... patterns in how we go about getting self-understanding, patterns of taste, of desire, of haste, of waste.... Patterns feel right and normal to us.

For the Dionysian, chaos is the preferred realm. Order and structure feel confining. Daily routines get boring. A steady job is like working on a chain gang. Admittedly, there is something appealing about the unknown, about loss of control... temporarily.

But how many are there who can truly live an utterly patternless existence? You don't know when you will rise, or lay down, go out of return home again... if at all...

In the realm of art I have at times enjoyed making totally abstract art. Yet even then, when painting random colors in a random way, I would have to say that total arbitrariness is unnatural. Our mind keeps wishing to interpret, to organize the impressions made by the colors, lines, strokes, shapes... While adding more lines, I can choose to define the shapes or leave them totally loose. But we are attracted to a measure of order, shape, balance and pattern.

We notice it in music, too. A beat, rather than arbitrariness. In jazz, the straight beat may be replaced by syncopation, but even syncopation structures itself. Chord progressions, harmonies, all conspire to organize sound into pleasing patterns.

In certain realms patterns are especially comforting. Breathing, for example... regular breathing, in and out, easy, nourishing us with vital oxygen, this is good. Difficulty breathing, due to failing lungs, lack of air, being held underwater... these can be pretty frightening.

I guess that's one of my patterns, to take a string of thought into an unexpected direction. Come back tomorrow and we'll see where it goes next.