Day 21: Monday
Good morning Zak,
I got my hair cut on Saturday, and now I have the exact same hair as literally every dude in Milan: long on top, short all around. I’m using “literally” in the hyperbolic sense of the word. If my memory of English serves me, this is an acceptable usage, but correct me if I’m wrong. It’s been a while since I’ve lived in an English-speaking community. Anyway, the point is, I’m sure not everyone in the city has this hairstyle; I just haven’t seen the guy yet with a different one.
In any case, negotiating the cultural obstacles to getting a haircut is a bigger accomplishment than you might think. I usually try not to worry too much about what people think of me, but it’s hard for a bum like me not to feel at least a little bit self-conscious about getting his hair cut in the fashion capital of the world. Anyway, it’s settled now and I can relax. I’ve disappeared as an individual into the fabric of society—at least as far as hair is concerned.
The other day I found these pigeons rummaging through the leaves in the park. Their tiny little feet made these exquisitely subtle crinkle sounds as they walked. It was like a delicately woven web of white noises. All I had was my cell phone, but I thought I should try to record them even if the sound quality isn’t the best…
In the picture, it’s a little hard to see the pigeons clearly. They almost kind of blend in with the fallen leaves. But I think that was an intentional part of the aesthetic they were going for. It’s a poetics of invisibility. Their sounds also almost disappear into the fabric of the surrounding sonic environment. You might not even notice them when you first start listening. That’s what makes it so interesting.
For a similar effect, take a plastic wrapper and crinkle it next to your ear. Then contemplate the complexity of human identity as you chew on the candy inside.
I was going to include the Tom Lehrer song, “Poisoning Pigeons in the Park” in this post, but I listened to the lyrics again and realized something: I hate that song. I mean, Zak, I don’t get emotional about too many things, but poisoning innocent pigeons? The poor defenseless little creatures, you hardly even notice that they’re there. No offense, but anyone who thinks that’s funny is sick.