“Sobering Up”

Today’s suggestion was ‘Sobering Up.’ I will be taking suggestions for running commentary from now on as I have nothing interesting to talk about, but other people seem to, and I will do my best to use every suggestion. The one restriction is the suggestion must be either one word, or a phrase, like ‘sobering up.’ This is less writing and more just thinking and roaming around my mind with little or no sense of direction. It is my mind, so things will be addressed from my point of view, with my thoughts. This is a conversation. Ask follow up questions, disagree, contribute, or just leave a suggestion below and I’ll make it happen… Anything. Literally: anything.

Sobering up for me is a tricky, if not impossible task, due to the fact that I don’t drink. I am of legal age, and have never really considered that the reason to, or to not, drink, but it was the cop-out excuse when people offered me drinks when I was under 21. The real reason I don’t drink is because it tastes like piss. If someone took a beer into the bathroom and came out I’d feel obligated to make a wise crack about the coincidental color of his beverage. People tell me “you’ll get used to the taste” or “once you start drinking you don’t even notice it” or “you don’t drink it for the taste.” That sets me off on a few directions…

You’ll get used to the taste.

I don’t understand the trouble with acquired tastes. Why would you want to acquire a taste? It tastes bad, but everyone else likes it, so you just say you aren’t sophisticated enough yet, and keep chugging away until your as sophisticated as a motherfucker. It tastes bad now. Nothing will change once I’ve acquired the taste — except now it tastes okay. Something had to change. Then it must have been me. My theory is drinking shit piss beer and wine tastes awful, but you have a great time because you get to be silly and ‘lose’ your inhibitions. I just think alcohol is just an excuse to do things you want to do anyways, or act how you want to around people without feeling bad, or god-forbid; awkward. Sociologist or Psychologists or one of those professions followed a bunch of different college students on their spring break trips to beachy places south of the border and caught some girls, who were completely sober, go around and act drunk and do stupid drunkie things just to fill that little space in their minds that tells them what they don’t want to hear. I’ve had a few drinks before, and I’m not completely talking out of my ass here, but I was pretty much the same after a few drinks. The only main difference is I didn’t ever think about where my hands were (not in that way you perverts). It just seems like people are ashamed that their base instincts are raucous and loathsome, and their searching for an excuse to set them free. Personally, I have no trouble being stupid without alcohol, so I can’t really use any excuses, and don’t want to taste them either. So if you hand me a drink and ask me how it tastes, I might respond, “tastes like an excuse,” and you’ll think I’m being an asshole.

Once you start drinking you don’t even notice it.

What I’m wondering is what are you noticing now that’s more important than swallowing piss? Do you want to be deaf or blind? If the answer is no, then why do you want to be numb? I don’t have a good answer to that question, and until I do, I’m not drinking. If I can’t taste my own excuses, know they’re there, then I’m no longer aware of myself, and thus my effect on my surroundings. Personally, I am a very aware person. Sometimes I act like I’m not just so the people around the corner, or whispering, don’t get paranoid around me. It’s not so bad if you let people know you can hear them talking ‘out of earshot;’ but when you keep letting them know, well then nobody says anything interesting anymore.

You don’t drink it for the taste.

Well then what do you drink it for? Yourself, or for others? Are you really that miserable of a person to be around that you need to drink to make others enjoy you? Are you really that miserable of a person that you need to drink so you can be happy with yourself? Is a party not fun unless there’s alcohol? Do you think I’m full of shit and just need to chill out and have a beer because I don’t understand anything? Honestly, I don’t care what the answers to any of those questions are as long as you regret nothing and stand by your choices. If you like drinking; great. Drink. Drink with confidence — just don’t talk about it the day after as if you didn’t mean to or you shouldn’t have or like you are regretting it for the seventeenth consecutive weekend.

So on the topic of ‘Sobering Up,’ now I’m thinking about “what do I need to sober up from.” Everyone’s got problems. That’s life lesson number one. But not everyone knows it… That’s a life lesson for another day.

Still

Two older gentlemen, in their 60’s, were talking about their friends and family, and the conversation landed on a friend of one of them, saying that his friend’s wife was Japanese. The other man chuckled as if it were ironic—I didn’t hear the whole conversation—and then asked if they were still married. What a question. Maybe it seems so commonplace now, but to ask if someone is still married is quite a heavy question with a light jacket.

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Rorschach

A boy had a cold and needed to blow his nose. There was no tissue in the classroom so he ran to the bathroom and blew his nose into a paper towel square; more paper than towel. Upon removing the half utilized paper from his face to inhale, he paused and examine the paper towel. The way he had blasted the low quality paper towel left a symmetrical blotted pattern of wet and dry resembling a Rorschach ink blot. He was oddly fascinated by it, albeit a disgusting happenstance. Forgetting to sneeze, he looked at it a while longer, trying to discern what the shape reminded him of.

A fellow student walked in. He holds the sneeze blot out at the student. “What does this look like to you?”

“Oh Jesus!” The student was grossed out and completely caught off guard.

“Hmm,” The sneezer examined the paper towel again. “Okay, yeah — I can kinda see it now.”

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Blind Spot

When I’m driving and come up to an intersection where a man who has fallen on hard times is standing with a cardboard sign, I make sure I stop the car in such a way that the blind spot where the windshield meets the door is blocking my face, so he can’t make eye contact with me. I’m not a bad person, am I? I just don’t like getting dirt on my shoes — you can’t wash shoes.

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“If you want people to listen, you just need to look them in the I.”

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Silent beauty, grace to spy;
The world through a different eye,
Held captive by the figment “I;”
I am the butterfly.

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lazy

I went over to a friend’s house to work on a project. He let me in and had to use the bathroom so i took off my shoes and he scurried away. I forgot to bring my backpack in and my shoes are already off. I slip one on without tying it and hop down the stairs to my car and get my back pack. I forgot it was so heavy. My leg starts to get tired as I hop up the stairs with the heavy pack. I make it back inside, set the back pack down, fling off my shoe, and start fanning myself. I’m breathing hard and sweating. My friend comes out of the bathroom. I explain, and he says I’m stupid and inefficient. He doesn’t understand I’m really just that lazy.

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lights

I had an emotionally crushing dream on a balcony that I was a kid who had visual hallucinations and couldn’t control it. I would look out through the gaps in the railing at the city lights in the distance, and the stars. One of them would begin to oscillate up and down, or left to right, starting slow, and then dragging the other stars near it on its oscillating course as if there were some sort of resonant frequency in which the stars moved. I stared in amazement as the spectacle grew. Bright lights of blues, greens, and reds swept across the sky; tumbling, gyrating, climbing in the synchronized and syncopated patterns of my mind, and then the sky reverted to darkness. A father figure, or possibly a shrink, constantly had to tell me this spectacular lights show was all in my head, and nothing was real. I looked out into the sky again with conviction. I knew it wasn’t all in my head, I could see the lights — there it is again, see? One of the stars began to oscillate, conducting the surrounding symphony of lights to awaken in gradual stages from the shroud of the night and coalesce in a dancing rhythmic display of vibrant energy. The lights felt close; a part of me. It was me and the lights; nothing else. A hand weighed upon my shoulder. A burdened voice, like an overflowing jar, told me I was imagining this — all of this: it isn’t real. I looked upon the night sky again. I began to heave thick tears. I reached forward into the night sky, dark now, but instead fell to my knees. I watched for the lights. I was alone. Not even the heavy hand of the truthful man touched me. In despairing convulsions on sore knees I resisted the urge to go back inside, and instead waited for what mattered; waited for the lights.

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Cows Make Moo-sic

Thinking about music for a little bit, modern music kind of all has the same sound — at least the pop/whatever-you-call-it genre that plays in all the clubs and radio stations. So why does all pop music sound the same? Most songs have a predictable chord structure, layout, and constant bass beating through the song, and for the most part, these song get stuck in your head whether you like it or not. Maybe it’s because those things are what we ‘like’ to listen to, or rather, are intrinsically appealing to the ear. But it feels as though that’s not it because I know I don’t like a lot of that music. Granted, some of the songs are catchy, but I end up forgetting them a week after I hear them, and then society forgets them as well and moves on to the next thing. Could it be that the music ‘industry’ is just trying to play to our tastes? What is the musical taste of our culture; or maybe a better question would be, what is the ‘average’ musical taste so we can sell the most albums? I’m guessing the average musical taste sounds something like what all the pop music sounds like right now. It’s a safe choice, and usually something with a constant beat throughout so you can play the song at your local club. If you can’t grind along to a song, what good is it?

It seems like music nowadays is like two high schoolers in their first relationship, where you try and say all the right things and be super supportive of one another, and everything’s fine and dandy because you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing. The producers are trying to guess what we like, and we’re eating it up and saying we like it, even though a lot of artists don’t even write their own stuff, and we end up not liking it, but still listening to it. Neither party is willing to admit that this is all very fabricated and this is not how things should be in the music world because it’s not very real. It seems like once the artists are famous and rich, they wouldn’t need to sell out any more just to make an extra buck. I guess greed is a powerful thing; and very subtle. No one becomes greedy over night.