A desktop reminiscence.


I was enjoying myself a nice mellow respite earlier.


Things have been busy and chaotic lately, and for once I sat here, in front of the computer, the lights turned dim while I listed to “Rudy Adrian Radio” on my Pandora One desktop app. “Rudy Adrian Radio” plays ambient, ethereal, spacey music. It’s ideal for chilling and winding down and forgetting everything for a few precious moments. Right now I absolutely do not care about Super Tuesday or the Oscars or race riots or oil prices. I’ve de-focused and want none of it.  A Zen moment in disconnection.


I just want to listen to Rudy Adrian radio.


rudy adrian radio


As happens frequently when listening to such music, I drift into the hallways of my memory and soothingly revisit assorted fragmented chunks of my life history under the undulating galactic spell of the music.


I sat here, staring blankly at my computer monitor, and the desktop photograph which greets me regularly caught my eye.  I “see” it all the time but rarely take note of it since it has become such an integral, invisible element of my PC experience.


Tonight, I actually looked. And thought about it.




Most photos, unless you retain the metadata or assign a dated file name, fall into the dark memory trap of that mysterious past that leaves you wondering when the photo was taken, where it was taken, even why it was taken. This desktop photo, by its nature, takes care of the first two puzzles for me.


Here is the raw file. It was grabbed from my dash cam during an evening drive on May 29, 2015 at 6:43 pm, in East Lost Angeles, California.




But why?


Instruments, cold measuring devices never tell us the oblique mental shenanigans that were in play at the time which dictated why we took a photo. In this case, I grabbed a photo randomly from my dash cam footage. There was nothing spectacularly special about the moment other than it was a moment, uniquely frozen, like any other. Perhaps that was its unique appeal; the fact that the photo is singularly static in that it describes a location, a time, frozen, almost a year ago. How long will this photo live in our memories?


On my computer?