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David McElroy

An Alien Sent to Observe the Human Race

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How could a stranger at sunset possibly know what I had to say?

By David McElroy · September 12, 2019

I was so absorbed in the colorful light show in the sky above me that I didn’t notice when a stranger walked up.

“It’s a different work of art every night, isn’t it?” the man asked. And I was startled to realize he was standing about six feet from me, watching the same majestic sunset with the same awe which it inspires in me.

People rarely join me on this hill at sunset. It’s in the middle of an old cemetery, so I guess I’m accustomed to being surrounded by dead people — but they never speak.

“I didn’t hear you walk up,” I said to the stranger. And then we chatted about the beauty in front of us and how it was surprising that so few people paid attention. I reached out to shake his hand and I introduced myself.

“Oh, I know you,” he said. “I’ve been up here with you before. I’m Darryl. I was with you a few months ago when it was so colorful around the water tower.”

I pulled out my iPhone and showed him my Instagram feed. He spotted the picture from July 8 and pointed to it.

“I was here that night,” he said.

I still didn’t remember him, but I didn’t admit that. The man seemed genuinely warm and peaceful, even though I didn’t recall ever having seen him.

For the next 10 or 15 minutes, we talked about all sorts of things as the sky continued to change in front of us and I kept taking pictures. Darryl just enjoyed the view and calmly talked about beauty and recognizing what’s important before it’s too late and the importance of family.

He seemed like a simple country fellow, but he sounded wiser than what I expect from some old farmer or menial worker. He seemed wise and warm in a strangely loving way, as though he couldn’t possibly have ever spoken a cross word to anyone.

He wore the kind of hat popular with farmers and truck drivers, the kind with an equipment brand name of some kind. He didn’t sound as though he was from around here, but I didn’t ask him where he lived.

He asked me what kind of work I do and I explained my role at the real estate company where I work — what I do now and what it’s planned I’ll do in the near future. I said it as though I was trying to sell him on this being a good career.

“Why aren’t you writing?” he asked with no apparent context.

I asked why he would ask something so unusual.

“You have a lot to say,” he said. “I can tell from listening to you that you have things to say and other people are going to want to hear. You should write all that down. And you take these pictures and seem to love these colorful images. You should make moving pictures to share all that.”

I felt a little uncomfortable, because Darryl had struck too close to home. Who was this stranger who was seeing this hidden part of me after just a few minutes of conversation?

I asked him what he did and whether he had ever been a writer. I thought maybe that might be why he observed something in me so accurately.

“I’ve retired from everything,” he said, “but you could say I’ve worked the dirt all my life. I wouldn’t know how to write if I wanted to, but I know what I see in you.”

Darryl didn’t sound like any farmer I’ve ever talked with, but I realize that some people are smarter and wiser than their humble work would make you think. Still, I couldn’t get over him mentioning writing and filmmaking. How had he perceived those interests in me?

Finally, I told Darryl that I need to go, so I reached out and shook his hand, telling him maybe we would run into each other up here again sometime.

“I’ll be seeing you around,” he said. Then he mentioned a couple of other places where he had seen me — and they’re local places where I do go. Still, I didn’t remember us speaking before then.

Then I turned to my car to put away my phone and my camera. When I turned back around, Darryl had already wandered off. I didn’t see another car, but it was dark by then, so he must have parked somewhere else and walked.

As I started the car and drove off through the fading colorful dusk of that cemetery, I couldn’t get over the odd sensation that he had known me in a way that wasn’t possible.

Was I really that transparent about who I am and what I need to do? Or was he just some mysterious angel sent to remind me?

It’s a full day later and I still can’t figure out quite what happened. The colorful image above is all I have left from last night, but the image Darryl left in my mind is even stronger and more colorful.

I don’t know what to make of it.

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Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: beauty, filmmaking, stranger, sunset, writing

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Every spring, I have this internal debate. Are the Every spring, I have this internal debate. Are these flowers or weeds? They’re small flowers in my yard, but I didn’t plant them. Those who think a yard should look like a manicured golf course would say they’re weeds which need to be killed. But they’re beautiful and they cost me nothing, so why wouldn’t I leave them in place and enjoy them? #nature #naturephotography #flowers #spring #birmingham #alabama
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Briefly

I received the first dose of a COVID-19 vaccine Monday — and I’m happy to report that I’m neither dead nor a zombie controlled by Bill Gates and Co. Eligibility was recently opened in Alabama to everyone who’s 16 or older, so I signed up for the Pfizer vaccine at a site run by a local university. I know this is a political issue for a lot of people, but that honestly baffles me. We can disagree about whether such a vaccine should be mandatory — which I’m against — but as a voluntary choice, it seems like an easy choice now that it’s been safely given to millions of people. Is it a perfect preventative? Of course not. But the decision seemed obvious to me when looking at the statistics and evidence. I haven’t had any of the side effects that some people have experienced, but that’s supposed to be more of an issue after the second dose, which I’ll get on May 3. In the meantime, I’ll let you know if I grow a third arm — or if the secret microchip kicks in and someone starts trying to control me remotely. All kidding aside, getting the vaccine seems like a rational voluntary choice to me.

I get a lot of email from readers. Some of it is fascinating and useful. Some of it is full of confessions that people want to share with a stranger. Some people write to ask advice. What’s really surprising, though, is the small percentage that seems to come from mentally unbalanced people. When I started using the metaphor about being an alien — the tagline at the top of each page here — it never occurred to me that I’d start hearing from people who took it seriously. But every few months, I get a strange email — such as the one above from a few months back — from someone who seems to think I’m claiming to be an actual alien. The first time it happened, I laughed. By the time it became a semi-regular thing, I was simply appalled. For the record, I can provide no proof that I’m an alien, because … well … it’s just a metaphor. I do feel like an alien among human beings, but as far as I know, I’m just as earthbound as you are. It’s just a metaphor. Honest. Or at least, that’s what my lizard-beast overlords told me to say.

After Tampa Bay, Fla., musician Colt Clark had all of his gigs canceled last year for months on end, the entire family felt trapped at home as most of the world was on quarantine lockdown. His wife, Aubree, had an idea that would let Colt make music and involve the whole family in making music videos to share with their friends and family on Facebook. Aubree is a photographer and homeschooling mom to a daughter and two sons, who range in age from 6 to 11. After their friends started asking to share the videos, they made the performances public — and a few of them are now on YouTube, where they go by the name of Colt Clark and the Quarantine Kids. The younger son, Becket, is on drums. The older boy, Cash, plays keyboards, strings and guitars. Dad supplies lead vocals and plays guitar, while 6-year-old Bellamy mostly dances but sometimes does backup vocals. There’s even a dog who makes an occasional appearance. The Clark family has just raised the bar for what I need to create with my future children. And best of all, they seem to be having a great time together. I hope they make you as happy as they make me.

Have you ever wondered how the social media world works for so-called “influencers”? I find it comical, so I thought I’d share with you. I frequently get offers such as what I’m about to describe. And if I’m getting such offers — as a relative nobody in the online world — you can only imagine what people with huge audiences are offered. It starts with an email appealing to my ego: “We came across your online presence and we LOVE your style. We’d love to have you as one of our Brand Ambassadors. To celebrate our new [Brand Name] collection, we want to give you a FREE Watch so you can post a picture of you wearing it and drive more exposure to our brand.” Did you hear that? They love me. They want me to be seen wearing their cheap $59 watch so other people will think, “If this amazing influencer wears that, surely I should buy one.” They even offer me commissions on the watches sold from people clicking from my site. So the next time you see some alleged “influencer” touting something online or on social media, remember that this is what it’s probably all about. It’s laughable.

Modern culture is going insane. The latest evidence comes from the effort to redefine children’s author Dr. Seuss as a racist whose books should be banned. Why? Because a few images in those books don’t meet modern political standards. The drawing you see here is one of those “dangerously racist images,” and it comes from the Dr. Seuss classic, “And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street.” The book catalogs all the wild diversity seen by a child on one street, including the offending drawing of a Chinese boy. What’s racist about it? Apparently, it was racist to show the boy eating rice, wearing a funny hat, using chopsticks and (worst of all) having eyes represented by a slit. (The bearded man near him has dots for eyes, but that’s apparently OK.) In other words, the stereotypes are considered racist today. (Oddly, the culture warriors who fret over such things are never concerned if a white southerner is depicted as ignorant trash living in a trailer. Some stereotypes are great, especially if the left hates those people anyway.) Theodore Geisel — the name of the real-life Dr. Seuss — was a product of his time and nobody at that time would have seen any of this as racist. Using stereotypes and exaggerations is how artists depict differences in simple ways. You can argue that it’s better to achieve the end result in a different way, but it’s insane to pretend that everybody from the past should have his work erased because it doesn’t match the preferences of modern leftists. Unfortunately, the company that publishes Dr. Seuss books has caved to the insane people — and six of his popular works will no longer be published. The world has simply gone insane.

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