Except for a few brief moments of amusing chitchat this afternoon today has been unbelievably boring. How bored, might you ask?
Well, boring enough that this evening I updated my MySpace page with actual information. Yeah, that boring. No, no, stop laughing, it gets better. In a fit of randomness I looked up some people from my high school graduating class. I have to say that they grew up to be a lot more normal looking than I would have guessed. And also boring enough that I'm not sure what else I can say of even partial interest... um. Wow. This IS dull.
No, wait, I think I have one. I was amused today during a bit of chitchat at the way in which things I say have a tendency to stick with people. For example, I made a comment months ago about gift giving and how one should only give a gift if it's truly meaningful and not merely for the act of going through the motions of giving a gift. Well, my chitchat partner made reference to that statement from months ago and I was embarrassed in the sense that I didn't remember having said such a thing. Clearly it's something I would say but I'd forgotten the specifics. Very sad when you forget your own rhetoric. Similarly, I made an obscure callback to one of my well worn stories to someone else and they recalled what I was talking about without repetition. It seems evident that other people have a much better recollection of other's stories than I do. It's somehow very touching to me to think that people I talk to are walking around with little bits of me sticking in their brains.
Then I start to wonder who's sticking in my brain. I hear the echo of Mrs. Timmons in 6th grade, "Lying makes your guts turn green!" she'd bellow. My grandmother moves through the house singing, "... and a whippoorwill high on a hill... let out with a blue note... and pushed it through a horn... until it was born..." Grandpa and his WW2 story, "I was in Greenland and all I saw were these planes doing bombing practice on a rock".... the war was pretty boring to hear him tell it. A story of a man smuggling bibles to China runs through my mind... A man tells a story of how when he was a child he was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds and at the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved his testicles... all this crap wandering around in my head too. It makes one wonder where "I" end and "they", those cranial invaders begin.
Oh, I was also invited to a wedding. Yes, you heard that right. *I* was invited to a wedding. Not "my wife was invited to a wedding and I'm coming along" not "my girlfriend has planned a wedding with me as groom and I'm required to attend" but little old me. Yes, I know I'm overreacting but I'm determined to take this as a touching gesture so shuddup about it. Only one problem ... see paragraph three above. New baby? I've got GREAT gift ideas. Birthday? I've got some AVERAGE gift ideas. Gift just for the hell of it? My idea kicks ASS otherwise I wouldn't give a gift at all. Getting Married? No clue what to get you. Yeah, none. I'm going to need to think long and hard about this as I don't have a ton of time to fart around.
Alright.... so as it turns out that wasn't NEARLY as boring as I thought it might be. Well, not for me anyway. For you probably but heck, nothing I can do about that.
No comments:
Post a Comment