Turn Off The VCR

Do you suffer from Vocabulary Correctness Readjustment? This is the syndrome that describes the particular type of confusion, blended with personal embarrassment and panic that one experiences when faced with the sudden realisation that a word, phrase, cliche or proverb that they took to mean one thing, actually means something else. VCR specifically only applies to that exact moment and not to the process of incorrect use of language prior to the realignment. I once went out with a girl who would mix her cliches in delightful fluidity like "don't burn your bridge until you come up to it" and "the early bird is better than two in the bush".  She has never experienced VCR, for, still to this day, she believes those tellings, those usages of language, to be correct. Her vocabulary has never been realigned and she has never had to suffer the reentry pangs of such.

But, to those of us who have experienced the rug of correctness-security being pulled from under our feet, the debilitating symptoms of VCR are well known. In a shifting flurry across the memory storage areas of the brain, the sufferer of VCR scans in harried, mental desperation back over the past for all the times his or her vocabulary was misappropriated. At the same time, he/she stares madly off into an imagined future, creating supposed instances where vocabulary is used with more accuracy and relevance, in a bid to reconcile these new requirements with their goals, dreams and visions for their life to come. Its a frightening moment, akin to the seemingly endless increasing peak of a panic attack, but, because attacks of VCR subside and pass with less visible impact than other social mental syndromes, many would not even know it exists or existed and choose to not even acknowledge it - just like the piece of outdated technology it shares an acronym with.


I am VCR sufferer. Yes, that's right. Even a brilliant writer like this one, is victim to this silent scourge. I think its important that I come forward with this confession, in the hope that it will start a public discourse, so we may all learn to accept, and not judge with prejudice. So lets talk about my VCR.

My VCR took its genesis from the view I take, that the sound of a word is so much more important than its letters or inferred meanings. Certain words in the English language really do sound like what they mean. Examples of this would be, 'facetious', 'loiter' and 'moist'. However, other words sound nothing like what they actually mean. Words such as 'patience', 'charity' and 'toothpaste'. Its hard to explain to you the rational behind such perceptions, for it is based up the emotive impact of the rhyme, flow and arrangement of their syllables, upon my front lobe. It is such a personal reaction of instant emotion, that it lacks the logic of perceived judgment and is therefore near impossible to rationalise for you. It is probably because these perceptions are purely personal emotions, that when I learn that these words take a meaning so far removed from what I feel they should - when I learn of their correct meanings - my VCR comes on so acutely.

Now, the three words I gave you by way of example above as to ones that do not sound like their meanings, are obviously very common words. As such, my moment or moments of vocabularic (which is not a word, but so sounds like it should be one. Starting to see how this 'word-sounding' thing works?) realignment with those particular examples occurred many, many years ago and I don't really remember the isolated VCR attacks in those instances. However, I can tell you about an attack that happened only two days ago:

Living in any of the large, great cities around the world is a lot about control. This is for many reasons, but, today, I will give you but just two. Firstly, the increased density of humanity, when compared to other more sparse rural areas, means that the propensity for others to impact you and for you to impact upon them is greater. One is therefore often exposed in this situation to the option, or even need, to stand in both defense against others efforts to control as well as option to attack in offense, for to control others for accrued benefit.  Secondly, the diversity of opportunities and experiences that a great city exposes one to, allows for one to supposedly believe in greater control of his or her destiny. This supposition is not entirely correct, for control over destiny has much more to do with the particular life skills and talents of each individual, regardless of location. However, life in the city blinds one to that perception and the quest to exert control goes on.

It is in these two areas of control that, a couple of days ago, I felt, well, out of control. I began to feel like I had acquiescented too much control of my personal emotions to the whims of another and I felt a similar lessening in regards to control over my financial security and opportunities.  When I experienced these same emotions of circumspect a few weeks back on Playa Blanca Resort in Panama, I calmly and sedately compartmentalised them into my psyche for future endeavour. But in the great big city of New York, with all these millions of folk swirling around me, desperate to fight for and then proclaim and announce to me expressions of their own successes of control ("yes, I could shave this ridiculous mustache off, but only I could decide when and if to do that. I am in total control of my own facial hair!"), I felt so meager, so insecure when compared to them.

So, I needed to run for control. Something obvious. Something easy. Something that had worked before and would work again. It didn't need to be something that would be an instant return of all controls, but at least something that would provide a respite; a short interlude to calm and center me.

I decided to hold a Back to Mine Wednesday. Back to Mine is based upon the ethos of a famous series of compilation records from about ten years ago, called Back To Mine, where one returns to what one once found security in and also motivated a journey beyond these roots. I deigned for a time when my fears were simpler and my days easier to control. I ran to what was once in control and mine - Back to Mine.

I began by listening my way through the old blues songs that used to ease my worried mind back in those halcyon days, towards the end of the last millennium.  Nowadays, I do not listen to these masterpieces of emotion as much as I once did. In fact, way back then, I used to only listen to the same half dozen artists over and over again, but as my confidence grew with time and age, I found myself running back to their solace less and less and bravely foraging out for newer music, more in the field of  White-Man-Country and Bluegrass. But, Back to Mine Wednesday now saw the return of Mr Robert Johnson, Leadbelly, Sonny and Brownie, Mr Elmore James, Tampa Red, Mr Muddy Waters and the rest of those cats.

After a while, just the music was not enough, so I felt the need to recreate other sense-memories of comforting experiences from the 90's. So, I went searching for food and restaurants to remind me of afternoons spent alone in the dark paneled interiors of Cicciolina's back in St Kilda, and all the times spent wolfing down their iconic char grilled poterhouse steak, served with a beautifully textured Pomme Anna, just a touch of perfectly blanched spinach and an ever so darkly reduced red wine jus. I did not find a suitable replacement, but I hope to be more successful next Wednesday.

Oh, hang on. I've digressed. Completely away from the point of this story. This is meant to be about VCR. Right. Sorry. How ironic is that? I was meant to be fighting against the way society avoids talking about this crippling disease and, instead, I have committed the very crime myself. (please note Brooklyn, that this is infact actually the correct usage and definition of 'ironic'. Pretending to be poor or wearing suspenders or folding your jeans up to expose your pasty white ankles or carrying around a banjo you don't know how to play is not 'ironic'. Its simply just being a 'fuckwit'. )

So, to return to my most recent moment of VCR:

I had decided I would write you people out there a little bog about this Back to Mine situation. The first thing to do was research the Back To Mine music series. This is where the VCR set in.

Turns out that the 'Back To Mine' phrase does not at all mean a 'return to the roots of what was once me and mine'. What it in fact refers to, is what these particulars DJs and Producers would play after an all night gig at a dance party, when they returned back to their homes. As in - " let's go back to mine and listen to some chilled out music".

And there it was. Vocabulary Correctness Realignment.

All day, I had been using the Back to Mine phrase on dozens of Twitter updates, in texts and emails with a particular Friend and in conversations with Polish Bartenders and now the Realignment came raining down upon me. First the panic of embarrassment set in and then my breath shortened and my right hamstring clenched. Both of my pinkie fingers began to twitch. The cold sweats of planning for the future then set it. And then suddenly, this thought burst through:

"Fuck it! I like my meaning better! Sounds much better. What gives washed up Ravers more right to language than I?? I'm gonna stick with my definition of the phrase"

And just like that, my VCR passed.

So, my fellow victims, there's my solution to our illness.  Simply do not acknowledge definitions the way society demands. Is it that important to call a spade a spade? Surely, all that counts is simply that one digs the hole, however they like; however they feel.