Yes, I would Like to Eat My Cake

People often accuse me of wanting to have my cake and eat it, too. I used to accept this as a criticism until I actually thought of how I relate to cake.

I don't know about you, but when someone hands me a piece of cake, the first thing I think about doing with it is eating it. Then, I eat it.* I'm pretty sure it's a normal thought process, and it goes like this: "Ah! Cake! My cake! I'll eat it." Generally, I find this pretty satisfying. As a matter of fact, this isn't something I explicitly think about; it's just my normal reaction to having cake.
*This takes place whether or not I have a fork, if you were wondering.

How I feel about having and eating cake

How society apparently feels about having and eating cake

Which is why I'm confused when people tell me that I want to have my cake and eat it, too, as if it were a bad thing. "You can't have your cake and eat it, too," I'm told in the same voice that you might scold a dog who is wandering around under the dinner table alternating between humping diner's legs or making puppy eyes to get a piece of beef. But really, if I can't have it and eat it, what's the point of having it in the first place? What am I supposed to do, just sit around and let it get stale*? If I were to list the top ten uses of cake, I'm pretty sure number one would be "good for eating."
*Unless it's a twinkie, in which case I could just let it sit around and... be a twinkie, I guess.

This list took longer than I thought it would take.

So in short, I plan on unapologetically desiring to have and eat cake.

Adventures in Dentistry

I had a relatively large adventure (by my standards) last weekend. It all started Sunday after breakfast. I was  generally expressing my satisfaction concerning the existence of bacon and running my tongue over the inside of my mouth, and then I stopped both activities. My tongue had found a large bump on the inside of my lower mouth underneath my teeth. It wasn't a bump I recognized, so I went to a mirror and examined it. My tongue had told the truth - there in my mouth was a large bump that I was previously unaware of.  I won't gross you out with the details (if I haven't already), but it looked unnatural and out of place.

I immediately took the best course of action. Namely, self diagnosing. Two things went through my head.

1) Oh my God, it's gum cancer. A large, painless lump. It has to be. I knew I shouldn't have smoked all* those cigars** during my lifetime! What if I lose all my teeth and have to eat applesauce for the rest of my life? How will I chew on ice cubes ever again?
*like, five.
**well, cigarillos, actually

and...

2) It's an alien. Or a bug. Or an alien bug. Where could it have come from? It must've been all that swimming in lakes out west. It has a bony feel, just like how I always imagined the exoskeleton of an advanced, sentient, parasitic alien bug would feel. I wonder how long I have to think independent thoughts? What if it's already been controlling me this whole time?

So first thing Monday morning, I went to a Doctor to ask some questions. After looking into my mouth, he told me it everything looked fine, but that if I really wanted to get it checked out, I should go to a dentist. This didn't make me feel any more at ease. By this point, I had narrowed my two initial diagnoses down to just one. I eliminated gum cancer, because the Doctor would have recognized that. Also, the fact that everything looked fine seemed to be more evidence that it was an alien bug, because naturally it was in the invader's interest to keep me (the host) healthy as long as possible so it could do whatever it wanted with me.

Despite my reluctance*, I made an appointment with my dentist (whom I normally avoid despite his office's harassing phone calls asking me to confirm appointments I never made) for that morning, and went down to see him.
*which I attributed partially to the alien bug wanting me to avoid the dentist, and partially to my fear of being stabbed in the mouth repeatedly

Sitting nervously in the torture chair, I informed him that there was a terrifying bump (I wasn't calling it an alien bug yet - I wanted him to reach that conclusion for himself) in my mouth, so they took an x-ray. The dentist came back into the room and asked me where the bump was exactly. "This is it," I thought to myself, "he's going to tell me that its fibrous tentacles have worked their way up my jaw and are almost in my brain." I opened my mouth and pointed.

"That?" he asked? "That's normal bone growth, it happens in about 40% of people. You probably had that the last time you came in, it's nothing to worry about. But as long as you're here, why don't we give your teeth a cleaning." And so he sent in his apprentice torturer* who stabbed me in the mouth with sharp objects for the next half hour.
*I'm pretty sure this was her official title

All in all, I have to say, I didn't leave the dentist feeling much better, despite my squeaky clean teeth and the free toothbrush he gave me to make me feel better about having been stabbed in the mouth. I think the reason is I'm not sure I trust him. I still think it's an alien. And I think my dentist has one, too. If it's already taken over his mind, of course he would try to comfort me and tell me it's nothing...

So please, if anyone has had a similar experience and had the alien bug removed, or knows someone who has been completely taken over already, let me know. I want to know what to expect.

Guilt Inducing Advertising

I have a lot of respect for the men who make good advertisements. I suppose this comes from a few reasons. Firstly, some of them are paid to make people laugh and buy things (sort of like what i wish would happen to me). In that way, they're like street performers who are never hassled by police. In another light, these ad-men who work on Madison avenue (Mad Men, if you will. Huh, that's sort of catchy sounding. Maybe I'll make a TV series about it.*) are paid to prey on our deepest desires and fears. Sort of like what the boogey-man would do if he were to ever sell out and stop hiding in my closet, playing my desire to go to the bathroom against my fear of being eaten by him.

*Wait, really? They already made it? Damnit.

Of course, every now and then, this backfires, and the Mad-Men make a commercial that I find so offensive that I boycott the product. Blockbuster was recently guilty of this. Not that it matters to them; I go to Blockbuster about as often as I start conversations with pretty girls I don't know. But anyway, you can see the offending commercials here and here.

Basically, the commercials point out that Blockbuster gets new releases instantly, while you need to wait for them from Netflix. I resent this on two levels. First, the ad is appealing to my desire for instant gratification, my greed. They are implying because they are suggesting that I cannot wait for a movie, and that I should not have to. Unfortunately for them, this doesn't work. Previews released long in advance of movies ensure that I am highly skilled at waiting long periods of time for movies. Furthermore, I resent that they assume my appetite for instant satisfaction is so large that they think I'll fall for it. Acknowledging that at some level, this appeal works makes me feel guilty. At this rate, I'll wait an extra 28 days after movies are released to Netflix just to spite Blockbuster.

More importantly, this commercial doesn't work for me because the things in questions are things I am used to waiting for. Anyone who has been in an ER knows that 28 days is a pretty accurate estimate of how long you'll be there before someone sees you. Similarly, a restaurant that makes you wait 28 days is something I would personally like. Once a month is about how often I go out to restaurants. I would just drop by the restaurant one month before I intended to go; this sounds pretty easy to deal with to me. Waiting 28 days for a dentist gives even more of an excuse not to ever go to them (as if I needed more excuses not to visit someone who stabs me in the mouth).

If they really wanted to make this commercial work, they'd make it something that I'm absolutely unable to resist for 28 days. I don't know what that is, but I can tell you this: it's not showering.

Hope everyone is enjoying the holidays!

I Mess Up While Dreaming II

I'm a firm believer that dreams can be manifestations of things that concern you. Last night, I had that confirmed in an amusing, but unpleasant way. 

Dream-Self is walking through Central Park. As I walked, I saw a bill of money flitting past me. I stopped to pick it up, and looked at it. It was a fifty dollar bill! Or at least, it was what I imagine a fifty dollar bill would look like. "Cool," Dream-self says, and pockets it. Then I noticed that there was more money whisking its way across the ground. "Ah. Money," Dream-self realizes. "This is very strange. Why is this happening?" I picked another bill up, and saw that it was a fresh twenty dollar bill. It was around then that I noticed a few people running around stuffing their pockets with the bills that were floating everywhere. "This is a socially acceptable practice," Dream-self notices. Still, I didn't follow suit and grab money by the fistful like everyone else was doing. I left the park, re-entered from another entrance. I casually stooped to pick up another twenty.  "No big deal, here. Act natural, not like there's money flying around or anything" Dream-self  thinks.

So out of thousands of dollars floating around, I grabbed 90.  "This is super-duper! Maybe I could grab a few more, and get a lot of money. Like, $250." Make it rain, Dream-self.

Anyway, it turned out it wasn't that big of a deal. Somehow or other, Dream-self found out that all of the money was counterfeit, and in a cunning (i.e. incomprehensible plan), the counterfeiters planned to get it into circulation without exchanging it for real money. So at the end of the dream, I had 90 fake dollars. I wasn't even that disappointed with this for some reason. I briefly wondered if it would be possible to spend it anyway, but then decided that it would be immoral.

This is about when I got a phone call that woke me up, but let's recap.

1) Wealth is out there for the taking. My reaction is curiosity more than interest or greed.

2) Everyone is grabbing money. I'd rather not be seen with such bourgeois interests as free money, so I wander around and act as if large quantities of money flying around are something I see often.

3) $90 sounds fantastic to me. Untold wealth is mine!

4) The money is fake. My cool indifference seems justified now, but I still don't have money.

I fear that I will never have anything nice.

Expect a flurry of blog activity soon. I'm on vacation and won't have much to do. If you have ideas for fun, break activities, please let me know!
Hope all is well!

Frightening Goodbys

For someone who is so bad at personal interaction, I spend a surprisingly large amount of time thinking about conversations. One of the things that really gets me are all of the ridiculous ways we have come up with to ending them.

"Would ya look at the time!"
"But... you don't have a watch, ma'am."
"No, no. I meant that you should go look at the time, just... someplace else."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm asking you to leave."

There are a few in particular that stick in my mind though, mostly because they terrify me. These are irrational, and I know they're not meant to be taken in the way I understand them, but there's still that split second where I have problems dissociating what someone literally says with what someone actually means. Here are three examples...

1: "Break a leg!" Of course it's not meant to be taken seriously. Still, who even says that in jest? I always imagine it with some sort of ominous leer, implying definite foreshadowing of something (maybe a broken leg, for instance). Why say that? Are you trying to insinuate that your hired muscle has it out for my shins? More frightening is the chance that you have strange hypnotic powers, and can command me to break someone else's leg. Either way, this parting comment either ends with me in a wheelchair or in handcuffs, and neither of those is too appealing.

2: "See you later, alligator!" It seems harmless enough. But it really all depends on how you understand "alligator." If it's meant in direct address, then you are confused. I do not happen to be an alligator. If, however, it's the reason you are leaving (which of course I assume it is. I know I'm not an alligator), then the way I understand it is "See you later, there is an alligator very close to us!" Alligator is an explanation, but because you are in a rush, you cut the explanation a tiny bit short, and only said the essential facts. I.e, you are leaving, because there is an alligator close to me. I should probably run, too. For some reason, "In a while, crocodile" does not convey this urgency. It sort of implies that crocodiles are slower.

3: "I'll catch you on the flip side." This one just makes me feel like I'm tripping, but don't know why. Flip side of what? Is the earth flat? Do we live on a coin, and is it about to be heads or tails? I'm not adequately conveying the sense of terror I feel about there being a flip side to this existence, but trust me, I find this terrifying. Maybe you agree.



Sorry (you're welcome?) for the long absence! I've had a (generic complaint about being busy these past few weeks, yada yada yada). I really do enjoy writing these, so I'll be looking for time in the future. Things are shaping up to be a bit better now that the semester is almost over though, so now the limit to how often I post will be how often I'm funny. I guess you should expect a posting once every blue moon.

On an unrelated note, one of my friends is a great bassoonist, and auditioned for the youtube symphony orchestra. She made it to the finals, which is huge! It's an amazing opportunity for her, and you can help her by clicking this link and voting for her once a day until Friday. You can also help by telling all of your friends to do the same. You'll be helping me, too, because Brigid doesn't know this, but if she wins, she's taking me to Australia in her carry-on luggage.

Feel free to tell me more conversation enders that I might find terrifying, just please don't use them with me. Hope all is well!

ps: How great is the lego bartender I drew in? Feel free to praise my artistic talents.

You'll Never Guess (Really).

I'm pretty bad at conversation to begin with, so I really hate when people make it even more difficult for me. There are a few ways to make conversation harder with me. One of them is to put a sock in my mouth and cover it with duct tape. Alternatively, you can have a really exciting piece of news, and say "guess what!" Here's how conversations where someone tells me to "guess what" normally turn out...

Friend: Hey Brendan, guess what!
Me: You were molested as a child. I am the first person you've ever said anything to. Oh my God, it makes so much sense why I've never heard you speak of your step-dad before. Ok, your turn to guess what!

Friend: Um... No. I was going to say I have an extra ticket to a movie and was going to invite you, but now I feel sort of uncomfortable doing that. Also, I was never molested. And I've never mentioned my step dad because my parents are both alive and still married.

Me: Oh. Well, in case you were wondering, you were supposed to guess that I'm all out of clean boxer shorts as of yesterday.

But really, "guess what" is a pretty useless phrase, and only serves to sidetrack conversations. There's almost no way the person who is supposed to "guess what" could possibly add to the conversation. Also, what would happen if the person actually did "guess what?" Conversation would come to a screeching halt. Let's re-imagine that first conversation.

Friend: Hey Brendan, guess what!
Me: You were molested as a child. I am the first person you've ever said anything to. Oh my God, it makes so much sense why I've never heard you speak of your step-dad before. Ok, your turn to guess what!
Friend: Um. Yeah. That made this conversation easier. And judging by the way you're walking gingerly, I guess you're all out of clean boxer shorts. Was I right?

Me: Yup. Good talking, friend! See you!

See? The person who says "guess what" really doesn't want you to guess what. That would spoil the surprise. He just wants to create some tension. In that case, why not just say, "Hey, something exciting came up. Would you like to hear it?" Probably because that would be too easy and straightforwards.

There are other variations on this theme. One of them is "Guess who I just saw!" Sure, I'll try to guess who you just saw. Let me look around for a mutual friend, first. Then, if I see that mutual friend, I'll say his or her name. That way, I know I have a chance of being right, even if that's not who my conversation partner had in mind.

Friend: Hey, guess who I just saw!
Me: Did you see Chester on the sidewalk five seconds ago? Because I just did!
Friend: Oh. Um, yeah. I did just see him. I actually meant that I just saw Elvis, and he winked at me!

Me: Oh. Well, did you ask Chester about the cut on his face? It's a good story.

My personal (least) favorite is when people say "You'll never guess what..." Of course I'll never guess what! You could have done any number of things! But I could probably guess what you didn't do. That sounds like a way more fun game for me. "I'll bet you didn't just get laid, you annoying twerp," I would reply. But no, I could probably guess what if you gave me more hints though. I don't know about you, but life isn't a huge game of 20 questions to me. If you really want me to guess, you need to be more helpful in telling me what I won't guess. Maybe tell me something like, "You'll never guess how much money I found in my jacket pocket from last year!" That would be more fun for all of us.

Fortunately, there is a solution to this. The trick is the same as the fortune-cookie game. Just add "in bed" to whatever your conversation partner asks you to guess.
Eg.

Friend: Guess who I just saw!
Me: In bed?
Now I'm interested. Was it as good as I would imagine?

Friend: Guess what I just did!

Me: In bed? Ooooooh.

TMI if it's a guy. If it's a girl, I'm really interested.

Friend: You'll never guess where I was.
Me: In bed? Do I want to know?
I do guess that you are a slut, though! Bonus points?

So keep that trick in mind. If we are all obnoxious together, hopefully, everyone will stop using the phrase "guess what." But really, does this bother anyone else as much as it bothers me? Please let me know so I can tell if I'm really neurotic or not. Hope all is well!

Relationship Clarification

For some strange reason, friends often feel that I am an appropriate source of relationship advice. I find this ceaselessly amusing, because I'm no more qualified to give relationship advice than I am to give medical advice. In fact, I may actually be less competent in relationship advice, because every now and then, telling someone to "walk it off" might just be what they need.

"Oh, man. That looked like it hurt. You should walk that off."

I think a major issue I have when people ask me for relationship advice is that I have difficulty understanding the situation at hand. In my defense, this isn't my fault. There are so many terms used in so many different ways to describe relationships that it's not surprising that I don't know what's going on. For that reason, I've compiled a list of these terms and how I understand them. In the future, keep these in mind when you are discussing your relationship with me.

Here's how my thought process works for the most basic of statements.

What you say: "I'm single."

How I initially interpret this: "You do not have multiple personalities."

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "I am not romantically involved with anyone."

How I normally use this: "I'm single, mostly because I have trouble talking to girls."

Alternatively, you might say...

What you say: "I'm not seeing anyone right now."

How I initially interpret this: "I have gone blind right now!"

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "I'm single right now."

How I normally use this: "Who are you pointing at?"

It gets more complicated once you start bringing other people into it.

What you say: "I'm seeing this really great girl right now."
How I initially interpret this: "I spy, with my little eye..."

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "I'm sleeping with someone very temporarily."

How I normally use this: "I spy, with my little eye..."

Ok, now we're getting someplace...

What you say: "I'm sleeping with X"

How I initially interpret this: "I enjoy spooning."

What I eventually assume you mean: "I am spending a lot of time awake with X in places one would normally sleep."

How I use this: "I'm sleeping with my favorite stuffed animal."

More complexities!

What you say: "I'm hooking up with a cool girl right now"

How I initially interpret this: You are a fisherman.

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "I occasionally kiss a girl I would not not hold hands with in public."

How I normally use this: "While playing football, the quarterback hooked up with the receiver for a 30 yard completion"

Even simple statements can make me get lost in thought for a second.

What you say: "I'm dating X"

How I initially interpret this: You are bragging about something, but I can't figure out what yet.

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "I do things in public with a girl I frequently kiss."

How I normally use this: "I guess I'm just dating myself, now..."

But what if things go wrong?

What you say: "We're taking a little break."

How I initially interpret this: "I have a kit-kat bar. Would you like me to break you off a piece, too?"

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "We feel like sleeping with other people for a bit."

How I normally use this: "I and my multiple personalities are not going to do any work for a while."

Lastly...

What you say: "I broke up with X"

How I initially interpret this: Heck, even I can understand this one.

What I eventually assume you mean to say: "That girl I used to kiss is now kissing other guys. Or girls."

How I normally use this: Well, I guess I have to be dating someone and then actually end up deciding that I don't want to date that person, then have the balls to end it. I don't think I've ever used this one, actually.

If you have similar difficulties understanding what people mean when they try to tell you something, please let me know. We should all work together to standardize the vocabulary here.

In other news, I have been featured on another blog! Jeremy and his friend have been alarmed by my actions, but I can inform you, I have only the best intentions in my dealings with the Syndicate Blatt. For complete coverage (and a picture of me shirtless), see here.

Anyway, hope all is well!

A Case of a Mistaken Identity

These past few weeks, there have been a lot of videos directed towards the homosexual community. These videos have been encouraging and supportive, which is great. I don't mean to demean them, their message, or anything else at all that might offend people. But I will say that these messages don't have much to say to me, and I do wish that my kind had as vocal a support community as the homsexual community has. See, I'm not a homosexual, but often, people seem to assume I am. What's worse is that no one has appropriately addressed this issue; often, I feel as if I'm not sure how to when someone confronts me about my mistaken 
sexual identity. Apologize for being misleading? Joke about it awkwardly and hope the situation resolves itself? Go along with it and see if I can get a free breakfast out of it? 


If anyone else out there shares my concerns, I've compiled a list of a few iterations of situations where someone has mistakenly assumed I was gay, and how I responded


Situation 1: Straight Guy Assumes I am gay.
This is often the most easily corrected and least damaging. At one point in my wilder and crazier days*, I was at a party where there was a girl I thought was pretty. I talked to her for a bit, and then wandered off for a bit. Soon afterwards, I met a male friend of hers. After the usual small talk, I asked how he knew the pretty girl. Very well, it turned out; in fact, he was her boyfriend. Then he turned the tables on me; "What about you? How do you know her? By the way, you're gay, right?" 
"Oh, I just met her," I replied. "And no! I'm not gay." We fist bumped, then talked about how much we liked football**. 
"Oh, ok. I Just got that vibe for some reason," he said. Then we chatted a little longer; he was a nice guy, and didn't seem like he had any urge to beat me up for talking to his girl.
*Ha! Like I had wild and crazy days. These were the same days where my idea of going out was drinking warm milk in pajamas.
**This is how it happened in my head.

In retrospect, that was one of the best outcomes for the situation. I found out that any more time spent talking to the girl in hopes that she would like me would be a waste of time (more so than usual, that is), and the guy didn't have any grudges against me. "What a friendly, ambiguously straight guy that was," he probably walked away thinking. 

Correct response to situation 1: Correct quickly without making a big deal about it.


Situation 2: Gay Man Assumes I am Gay.
I was in a bar over the summer. I went with two friends who were girls. They were talking about whatever girls talk about when they get together in a swarm (that's the proper term for a group of them), so I decided I would happily sip my beer, maybe scope out the bar for any pretty girls who were there. There weren't any (I told myself) so I just sort of stood around and tried to figure out what color my socks were without looking directly at them, when a guy came up to me and introduced himself as Mike (names have been changed to protect the innocent). "Oh, hi. I'm Brendan," I said, smiling because I had just remembered the answer to what was puzzling me (green). I reached out my right hand, and he contorted his left arm so that he could grab my right hand in his left hand. 
"The normal handshake is just too formal for me," he explained. At this point I noticed his well groomed facial hair - a thin mustache - and the way he looked right into my eyes as if he was trying to see my soul. My response was to go into small talk mode: a terrible mistake. All of a sudden, I knew all sorts of things about Mike, the most immediately concerning of which was that he was a chef, and had just offered to make me breakfast, if I was interested. 
"Ah, a chef! That explains the fork you have wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet!" I continued, stubbornly still in small talk mode. 
This would have continued indefinitely, or until he made me breakfast, had the girls I was with not stopped laughing at my expense, grabbed me by the elbow and said "C'mon, we're going to a different bar." They then gave me a few tips for how I should have acted if I really wanted him to take me home, because apparently, my game with the men-folk could use some work.


So, in situation 2, small talk in general is not the best response. Could I do it over, I think the conversation would have involved me swiftly correcting him. The opportune moment comes right after the question, "So, what do you do?" Should you ever feel as if you're being mistaken as gay by a gay guy who is interested in you, I think the proper response would be something along the lines of "Girls. Beautiful girls by the truckload. Sometimes not so beautiful ones, if I can't find any, but yes. Girls. Lots and lots of girls. Or is that not what you meant? Because I'm also a Straight (c)* student."
*haha.

Situation 3: A Girl I am Interested In Assumes I am Gay.
This is the most difficult situation to deal with. I don't really feel like picking out an example of this, because there are a few too many than I am comfortable thinking about, and I still haven't found an acceptable response, so whatever advice I can give will be meaningless. I've contemplated wrapping the target of my affections in a passionate embrace, saying something along the lines of "So you thought I was a man's man, huh?" And then kissing her forcefully to fix it, but I normally just go someplace and lick my wounded pride.


But all of these inspirational messages must end with an uplifting note, so here it is.
Situation 4: A Girl I am Not Interested Assumes I am Gay.
This past summer I was walking back from a bar with some friends of friends. One of them invited me to come with them back to where they were staying; they were going to continue the party in their rooms. "Cool," I thought. I was pretty drunk, so they probably could have convinced me to do anything; going to a room to drink another beer seemed like a kind suggestion, all other options considered. So I ended up in a room of a building with a fire escape. As soon as I walked in, I noticed the fire escape. "Oh, look! A fire escape! That looks so inviting," I said, to no one in particular.
"Yeah, you're right. Want to go out on in?" A girl whom I had never seen before added.
"Sure!" The path to the window could have been paved with burning coals, and I probably would have said "sure." I was in a happy place.
Next thing I know, I'm on a roof with a girl I don't know and who I'm not attracted to. Solution? Small talk mode. "Nice night," I began.
"Mhm," she said, leaning in a bit closer. 
I let the patter begin. At this point, even I could see why we were up on the roof, and I wasn't happy about it. I covered every possible topic, from baseball to what the people in the windows we could see into were thinking before her friend came up to see what was going on on the roof. They both started down, then gestured at me. 
"What about him?" The friend who saved me asked.
"Him? He's probably gay," my evening's love interest replied.
I was about to say, "Hey! Wait a second" when I realized that being taken as homosexual was the most convenient excuse for why I didn't want to hook up with an unattractive stranger - much easier than explaining to her that she was an unattractive stranger.
I shut my mouth, figured out how to get down the fire escape, and left the party.


So if you, like me, are taken to be a homosexual when you're not, don't worry. Someday, it may come in handy. And if you're still worried, look at this article about cuttlefish, and learn from it. It's relevant, I swear.


Well, that was a long post. My brain hurts.
And really, let me know if you have found solutions to any of these situations, especially situation 3. Hope all is well!

Comedy

So I owe the world an apology. Here goes.

Hey, World. For a long four days, I lost a lot of faith in you. You did not seem nearly as full of good people as I once thought you were. I thought you were filled with nasty people who lurk in shadows and, when the time is right, take my bike. I perceived your calm indifference to my plight as cruel disdain. I was wrong. You are a good place that treats me well; thank you for correcting my mistaken point of view.

What warrants this change in opinion? Well, I've been reunited with my bike, which is a pretty big deal to me. Spirits have been high; so high that many people having been asking me what drug I've been on, and more importantly, where they can get it. A typical conversation goes something like this:

Friend: My grandfather died recently.
Me: *grins blankly*
Friend: It was horrible.
Me: Aaaaaaaaah. You know that feeling you get when you have an itch on your back, and someone scratches it for you, really, really well?
Friend: He died of tuberculosis. His final words were hacking coughs in my direction. I think I'm wildly contagious, and I've definitely been coughing a lot around you...
Me: I feel like that, except plus the feeling you get when you kiss the girl you love.
Friend:  Brendan. Mortality, pain, suffering and loss.
Me: Mmmm. I feel like I'm in a Jack Johnson song.

So I may have lost a few friends this week because of insensitivity, but it doesn't matter that much to me, because I have my bike back. "But how?," you ask! Well, I suppose I should go back to the whole 'my bike was stolen' issue.

Here's the story that I didn't tell when the wound was too fresh. My friend Vick and I saw Scott Pilgrim vs. The World* on a touching man-date. We decided that the evening had gone well so far, and we didn't want it to end, so we went to the Pony bar** on 45th and 10th. I locked my bike up to a rack with two other bikes. I noticed that the rack was dangerously unattached to the ground, a lot like Shane, the wandering cowboy. "Nah, this will never be taken," I thought to myself.  An hour later, the rack was gone; Shane the rack had moved on, singing his lonesome cowboy song.  Thus began a dark period in my life; I looked suspiciously at all bike messengers, leered at bike racks, and shunned contact with the outside world and showers (not that these last two are that unusual).
*This is an awesome movie. It was like reading a comic book, playing a video game and watching a movie all at once. I recommend it if you enjoy fun things.
**This is an awesome bar. It serves beer! More specifically, it always has 20 delicious microbrews on tap for 5$ a piece.


Well, I went past the location where Shane the rack had disappeared from this past Friday. He was back; he didn't bring my bike with him, but he was there all right. "Those thieves are at it again!," I thought. I swore to myself angrily, and went up to a messenger who was unlocking his bike from that very rack. I noticed for the first time that the rack was stationed in front of a restaurant.

Me: *Trying to be as intimidating as Humphrey Bogart (I think I was as threatening as Elmer Fudd, in reality)* Is this your rack? 

Be very quiet. I'm hunting my bike.

Messenger: "Yes..."
Me: *Menacingly* Did you know I had a bike stolen from here Monday?
Messenger: Oh. A white one?
Me: Um... yeah?
Messenger: Yeah, it's inside. Want it back?
Me: Um... yes please?

I was so vewy, vewy wrong about the wocation and status of my bike. I also need to change my underwear from shock.

That was it. He went inside and talked to his boss, who rolled my bike out of the kitchen in the same shape it was in Monday. They had cut it off of the rack, and then they just took it inside and held onto it. They didn't sell it; the messengers weren't using it. They just didn't want it to be stolen if I left it there overnight. I was stunned, and in no state to talk. I fumbled for my wallet, handed the messenger a 20 dollar bill and hugged him through the tears. I then made out in public with my bike (more or less); after some PDA, I raced my way up Amsterdam avenue, emitting whoops of joy every time a taxi came within inches of killing me.

So, my bike is back, and all is well with the world, at least far as it pertains to me. And you know, I went back to where my bike was recovered that night because I was in the neighborhood. When I passed by, Shane wasn't there. "Come back, Shane! Come back!" I screamed to the empty city. And that's when the girl I was with ran away as quickly as she could.

God bless us, each and every one!

I Mess Up While Dreaming

I've been busy these past few days with remarkably mind-numbing, soul-crushingly boring stuff. One of the real downsides of this is that I haven't been able to do anything fun during the day, which means that I can only have fun at night. So yeah, the most excitement I've had recently has been in bed. I wish this had any of the implications you might be thinking of. What it actually means is that what little excitement I've been having recently has all been in my dreams. This will also have an adverse affect on my posting. Sorry.

A while ago, I got really interested in dreams (mine, in particular). I went so far as to think about keeping a dream journal. I never started one, but I often bored my breakfast friends by trying to tell them what had happened in my dreams. This, of course, never worked well, first off because my breakfast friends were all imaginary. Furthermore, my dreams, like most people's, rarely made sense, so there I was explaining that 'I didn't know how I ended up in a room that looked sort of like this place we had been to, but different' to myself. Yeah.... 

Anyway, one of the things that really interested me was lucid dreaming. The idea is that, mid-dream, you can recognize that you are actually in a dream, and then take control of your dream. The trick to do this is apparently to pay attention to minute details at all times. Then, in the middle of a dream, if you notice some detail that doesn't make sense, you can say, "Aha! I'm dreaming!" and instantly start flying, or in my case, make more friends. This is dangerous, because if you find yourself often saying "that doesn't make sense" in the middle of the day, like I do, you might think you're always in a dream. I'm not sure what affect this would have on your life, other than to make you a bit more philosophical.

So no shit, there I was, asleep in my bed, dreaming. I dreamed I was camping on a trail. I wandered down the trail to look around, and I saw a pond that had the most amazing fish in it, bright blue with white stripes, yellow dots like eyes on its tail, 6 feet tall, swimming around gazing at me. The woods were amazingly beautiful, there was some furry creature wandering around, all sorts of things that I would want to take a picture of. So I dreamed to myself, "I should get my camera so I can take a picture of this!" That was exactly when the lucid dreaming started: "Wait. There's no fish that looks like that, and what's more, I think he's floating above the water. This doesn't make sense. This is totally a dream." Now, this is when I should have fulfilled my wildest dreams. I had recognized I was dreaming. For a few minutes, I could have had anything I wanted. Wealth. Fame. Popularity. A pet dog. Any useful skill at all. Instead, I thought to myself, "Huh. But I'll bet if I could get my camera, I could take pictures of these, and then they'd be on my camera when I wake up! That'd be sweet." Then I got distracted on my way back to the tent and never even took pictures.

Good job, dream Brendan. You're an idiot.