the art of mindbending

the life of zooey who happens to be Bipolar 2

abe vigoda and voicemail

fToday, star of shows such as Barney Miller and movies like The Godfather passed away at the ripe age of 94. Some of you may have seen Abe Vigoda in reruns or on Netflix or other screens. Others will have no idea who the hell I’m referring to, so here is a link from the New York Times today. Barney Miller, along with a slew of other sitcoms, game shows and dramas peppered my nights and weekends for as far back as I can remember. He was part of my TV childhood upbringing.

Vlcsnap-2010-07-09-18h26m01s25.pngI’ve been dwelling on the macabre recently. I think it is because a lot of musicians and stars already this year are no longer in existence. They leave behind shows, recordings, and pictures. Most of us do not have personal ties to these folks, but we still feel the loss. They expressed how we feel and look at life. They told stories and lived lives on screen, and we recognized ourselves through them.

So I think about death. Death not in the sense of suicide but in mortality. Lives ending…people I know and love.

I save voicemails.

Of my parents.

Afraid I’ll not have their voices after they are gone. Mind you, this time better be eons away. They are getting up there in age, and I’ve seen them decline and it is in my mind. I fear I will not remember their voices after they are gone, and this bothers me.

In today’s world, we type and type and type, leaving electronic footprints in the wake of the internet like this blog. We upload photos to share across states and continents. We’ve shifted from personal records which were tangible to an intangible presence. There aren’t many actual letters sent by people. Pictures are but fleeting on Facebook and Dropboxes. Paper prints are no longer the norm. What do we really have of people as remembrances?

I used to scoff at photo scrapbookers. They spend lots of money to decorate pages and put a few photos on them. Now, they seem a little smarter. Among the cute baby bottles, kites, and travel logs there are real photographs of people and places.

Yes, scrapbooks burn. Yes we drop phones in toilets and lose motherboards. It’s all fucking fleeting whether your time on this earth is a 1 year 24 or 99. That’s all we get. I know, voicemails are as temporary as internet presences. Yet, I save these sound bites in hopes my foolishness puts off my parents leaving this earth any time soon. Silly zooey, that voicemail is from 10 years back.

I hope.

“So long and thanks for all the fish” – Douglas Adams

Goodbye, Detective Phil Fish,







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