Morning Edition was good today. It must have been my karmic reward for having to drive to Fairfax on 495 in the morning rush hour.
The first story I heard was about Synesthesia. I'd never heard of this before. It might be described as "thinking in colors," which is a beautiful concept, really. It means that in some people, neurological functioning is such that the stimulation of one sense produces the sensation of another.
The pianist they interviewed played and described the color she "sees" or associates with each note. She associates colors with letters and numbers too. It all sounded kind of cool to me but not particularly compelling. Now you see periwinkle. Now you see a deep red. "Nice. Can I do that?" I thought. "Can I? Please?" The announcer said that composers are often "synesthetes", as well, specifically Liszt, Scriabin, and Rimsky-Korsakov. Unfortunately, I only know the last two names because I shelved their cds once upon a time at Borders. I could leave them there and let you think they just rolled off my fingers, but I won't.
Then, the announcer alluded to how this condition has screwed up her life at times. "Finally," my 2005 hindbrain buzzed. "The dirt. The good stuff." Freaks. We're all disaster-grubbing freaks. Anyway, the great trauma occurred when her family picked a couch in a color that messed with the colors she saw in her mind. Also, she really doesn't like to play "orange" on the piano. It's too jarring. And because I'm a cynical you know what these days, I allowed myself to think, "Honey, you don't know from trouble." Then I referred to myself as "grandma", and shut up.
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