Won't You Be My Neighbor?

It's 2012 and I live in Oakland. 

My memory is awful and I fear I have early early onset dementia. But maybe I am just very distracted.  Like, it's pretty busy up there in my head, wondering what it would be like to walk on the moon and see the Earth from outer space.  Things like that. 

I know it sounds crazy, but I remember around the time when my baby brother was born -- I was four years old.  Brains, wow, mysterious. This is my earliest memory, grainy snapshots of people and places; watching my cousins play with cake, that's right, "play." And I'm pretty certain my parents named Matt after a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Everyone knows I walk a lot.  I wander; it's just what I do.  Lately, I, uh, I have had some free time and so I have been exploring my new neighborhood.  I love colors, plants, things that rust, crumble, fade; things that line up, light up, fall apart, and are just totally cool.  I'm not a stalker, but I am curious about other people's lives and the stories that are stored within a home.  What does life look like?  Objects, collections, stuff, things, order/disorder ... every detail is revealing.  I was on an airplane the other day and had the misfortune of watching "Hoarders." This show is scary, seriously. Don't watch it. There was this one guy who hoarded cats. CATS!  Just think about the smell … of 30 cats … and lots of dead ones, deflated and shriveled with little pieces of skeleton showing through stretched fur.  TMI, I know, sorry.

I like Oakland.