*dogs barking in the background* From beautiful France in Burgundy – Oh, would you shut up! – You’re watching A Show with Ze Frank. NikkyLooka writes… Man that comment made me feel crappy, you know why, because my projector started running. *projector noise* You ever do that, project a movie from your past onto someone, vomiting emotions and feelings all over some unsuspecting person? They say some little thing, you feel like you got hit by a wave, and suddenly you withdraw or you lunge, and you feel like you did when you were small, and you say, “You! You made me angry!” or “You made me sad!” But I have to keep remembering that I brought more people into the room. That my projector is plastering Instagram-tinted footage all over the place, from when I was six or thirteen, hell, from last week, or even yesterday! And it’s hard enough to have a conversation with one person, and now you’re having it with ghosts, too! Ghosts that once made you feel shunned or angry or alone, or maybe even made you feel like you might get annihilated altogether. And so often I don’t even see the ghosts, I look right through ’em and I forget about the projector, and I say, “You! You made me feel!” But no, no, no, your comment didn’t make me feel crappy, I own that, let me explain. My first language wasn’t English, it was German, And when I started in my first American school I can vaguely remember not knowing what the hell was going on. How did they all know when to clap, for garsh sakes, and how did they know the same songs? I’m mouthing along and clapping off-time, the last one standing on a sit-down drop and that feeling stayed with me. The feeling that there was a secret set of rules that everyone knew and I was doomed to be one step behind, Doomed to pretend familiarity and doomed to pretend to be laid back when my ears were perked and my hackles were up. And that, my dear, is what I projected onto you, that not knowing the language made you feel alone. And my gut knotted up and I wanted to protect you, and I don’t even know if you feel like that! It doesn’t really have to do with you at all, it doesn’t even have to to with now; it’s a conversation I’ve been having with the world for years. I wish I could fix it. Grab that chubby little German boy and sit him on my lap, and tell him that even if there’s a million rules that you don’t understand, All the important ones are few and simple and half of those are encoded in a damn hug! Dammit! But I can’t. I can’t fix it. Certainly not by pounding my hands against a wall that’s showing an old video. And not by projecting those moments onto you, so I try to catch it when it happens and shut the projector off, ask questions. Is it real? No? Okay, right. It’s now, not then, let’s do now. But let me do this for you, NikkyLooka, since I projected all over you and you’re not fluent in English, let me playing level it field the. As words if matter important while watching and face not all eyes in meaning that. And weekend syllambulon fullaborate in a spiky too little. Nor does Bill Wadman favorite on has mission for it next day’s photographer. Please it now. For your next assignment, take a picture of somebody while they’re bellylaughing hysterically. You’ll need a good joke and a fast trigger finger. Let’s see what you come up with. Dream will you now Lee Hall animate happy salad. I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking this immense valley that seems like I’m somewhere in Subsaharan Africa. Sitting beside me is this aboriginal man, and I ask him, What did it feel like, the the first time you discovered all of this? He points to the horizon, where the sun is setting, and it just explodes in this array of colors of pinks and oranges and fiery reds, And we both begin to cry. Good bye, bye, bye, it’s the bye-bye song.