Stupid words, strung together

It’s been a stressful week of work so far, and I was looking forward to sitting down in front of the laptop and banging out some text in an effort to cool out a bit.  But here I am and, well, nothing’s coming.  I’m staring at the screen blankly, then reaching over to grab a drink of beer, then staring blankly, then stepping out for a smoke, then sitting back down, and, still… nothing.   Well, damnit.   You know, when you have a blog that consists of nothing but self-serving stories and insights about yourself,  there’s really no excuse to have writer’s block.  Surely I can think of something about me that I want to bore the internet with.   Hell, I guess there’s nothing to do but just keep typing and see what happens…

Let’s see… Where to begin?   Well, I’m sipping on my latest homebrew.  It’s a delicious brown ale made with toasted Georgia Pecans.   I call it the Snowy Sam Nut Brown Ale.  My friend suggested that “Snowy Sam” would probably be a more appropriate name for a Winter Ale, but I don’t understand his logic.  Apparently he’s making a reference of sorts to weather, but I don’t believe in weather, so I’m at a loss.   Anyway, the ingredients to this brew were given to me for Christmas by pals Jaguar and Jamie, and so I named it after a dog that lives on their complex, Max.  I think his name is Max.  One night we were walking through the complex after drinking some beers at a nearby bar, and as we strolled by, the dog came running up to the fence in which he was confined, stood up on his hind legs, held himself up with his forepaws against the fence, and almost stood eye to eye with us.  He’s a big dog.  I tried to poke him with a stick.  Jaguar told me to stop.  So I started calling him Snowy Sam.  The dog, not Jaguar.

“Snowy Sam,” I said to the friendly fellow. “Snowy Sam Snowy Sam Snowy Sam,”  I said.

“Snowy Sam,” I said some more.

“Snowy Sam”

“Snowy…”

Nice.  I just thought of something to talk about.  Repeating.  Wait.  Hmm, for a minute there, I thought my house smelled.  But I think it’s just my sweat shirt.   Could be my mustache.  I’m growing the sides of the mustache long – the sides that connect into the beard.  With the intention of being able to twist the ends up into a curl so I can look like a circus ringmaster.  So yeah, repeating.  Repeating rules.  I considered writing “repeating rules” again, but decided that was just too easy.   Anyway, many years ago, my buddy Freaky and I used to boast that we could out-repeat anyone.  And we could.

We used to play a game called, “What did you just say?”  It went a little something like this… Let’s say that Freaky comments that “This is a tasty plate of nachos.”  I then ask, “What did you just say?”  Freak replies, “This is a tasty plate of nachos.”  I then ask, “What did I just say?”  Freak answers, “What did you just say?”  And then I may ask, “What did I just say?” to which he responds, “What did I just say?”  to which I retort, “What did you just say?” and he says “What did I just say” to which I ask, “What did I just say?”.  Him: “What did I just say?”  Me: “What did you just say?”  Him: “What did I just say?”  and we would continue this game of cat and mouse until one of us would slip up.   If he had just said, “What did I just say?” and then I asked “What did you just say?” and if he replied “What did you just say?” Oooh!  Slam!  Nope!  You just said, “What did I just say?”   And then we’d laugh at his innocent slip-up.  Or mine.   Usually we could keep this game going for a long time, all the while giggling like idiots.  Our friend hJon would get frustrated at our simple joy and would scream, “YOU’RE NOT HAVING FUN!!!”  But we wouldn’t let his hatin’ distract us.  We had repeating to do.  We had to be sure we knew just what exactly did I just say, or what did you just say .

You know what I just thought about?  Monsters.  I just walked past my bathroom and thought to myself, “What if there was a monster in there?”   But you know, if there were a monster in there, I don’t think I would even realize it was a monster.  I have absolutely no preconceived concept of what exactly a “monster” looks like.  Do you?  When someone mentions monster, does anything in particular come to your mind?  Not mine.   I imagine it would be big, maybe hairy, but that’s about it.   And relative to someone smaller, I guess “big and hairy”  could refer to me.  So yeah, if I walked past the bathroom and thought, “Oh my, there’s a monster in there!” I’m pretty sure the asshole contrarian side of my brain would think, “Nahh, that’s a troll.”  Or “Oh my, there’s a monster in there!”  “Naaah, that’s a gargoyle.”  Hell, the one creature that I can think of that actually has “monster” in the name is “Loch Ness Monster.” And Nessy is most definitely not a monster.  A massive serpent, sure.  A dinosaur even.  But a monster?  No.  But then again, what do I know?  I don’t know what a monster really is.  Maybe a monster is like pornography.  You know it when you see it.    Maybe.  Still, though, I imagine in this case it would more likely be a demon or something.

This is a pretty damn good homebrew.

So what else?  I keep thinking about secret passages.  There’s a closet in my family room that backs up to the closet in my bedroom, and I’m thinking about cutting a hole in the wall between the two and covering it with a panel of some sort.   A secret passage.  Ok, not really a passage.  More of a secret hole, but whatever, close enough.  What do you want from me?  A cuckoo clock that swings open to reveal a stone corridor down to my lab?  C’mon man, I live in a ranch house on a slab.  My options are limited.  If I want a secret passage, I’m going have to settle for a hole.  But nonetheless, it should accomplish its primary goal.  Escape.  Let’s say I’m sitting in my family room when a bunch of communists burst through the front door.  I can slip into the closet and exit into the… uh… bedroom… where I’d be trapped.   Hmm.  Ok, well it would accomplish its secondary goal anyway, and that’s to have a secret passage before my friend Leo does.  When we were kids he claimed that he would have a secret passage in his house.  I told him that he was being foolish, and bet him one million dollars that he would not have a secret passage in his house.  We never discussed whether or not my having a secret passage would have any effect on the bet, so I’m guessing that if he ever does have a secret passage,  I’ll still owe him a million smackers.   Which will suck.  But at least I’ll have the pleasure of saying that I had one first.

So what else?  You know something else I’ve always wanted to do?  I’ve always wanted to mess with a buddy’s consciousness.   See if I could convince him that he’s actually someone else.  Like, get everybody who comes in contact with him to start calling him by a different name.  Never break character, never overdo it. Just call him a different name. Occasionally reflect on a past story that involved him, but that never really happened.  And keep it up for a month or so.  I have to believe that he would eventually get so tired of fighting it that he’d just give up and accept that he is, in fact, someone else.  I think that would be pretty fun.  Kind of like one day back in middle school when a friend and I convinced his little brother that a psychopath had escaped the local asylum and was last seen creeping through the neighborhood.  We spent the entire day leading this poor kid through the woods and through backyards, finding “clues” to reveal that the killer was getting closer.  Ever so closer.  And we continually built up the suspense, explaining that the killer was rumored to lay two hammers in the form of a cross in the front yard of his next victim.  When we finally arrived at the little guy’s house at the tail end of the afternoon, what did he see in his front yard?  Two hammers in the shape of a cross.  He looked down at the symbol, took a deep breath, nodded his head, and said, “Ok.  Ok.”  And then he turned towards his house in defeat.  Accepting his fate.   Oops.  Now that I think about it, that’s kind of a cruel gag.  And boy, did his parents give us a stern talking to when they heard about our little ruse.  Fair enough, but man, they could have at least complimented us on our clever story telling.  Is that too much to ask?  A little positive reinforcement for a change?

So what else?  Nope, that’s all I’ve got.  Good night.