Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying . . .
A little backstory before I begin: there are three of us that comprise our Friday night drinking team (we've often thought about having custom track suits complete with personalized headbands made to wear to the bar), one of which doesn't get off work until 11:00 p.m. As a result, my other buddy and I usually go hang out with him at the gas station he works from about 10:30 p.m. while he closes up shop. Occaisionally, there will be a guy there named Jason hanging out there, shooting the breeze with our comrade.
As sure as I'm writing this, Jason has to be one of the coolest guys I've ever met, not to mention the guy is just completely fucking wacko crazy.
Just to give you an idea, one evening Jason made some tea with the coffee brewers, and proceeded to hand out some samples along with some peanuts he'd bought (at the gas station, no less) to anyone who would take them. Of course, we know he means well enough, but be honest . . . if some guy offered you tea in a paper cup and a handfull of peanuts he'd obviously just purchased, most of you wouldn't give him the time of day. Again . . . I must stress what a cool, nice guy Jason is. He's just different.
So we're at the gas station, waiting for our friend to finish up so we can get to the bar. I had already started drinking, and as one sometimes does when they've been imbibing alcohol I thought myself rather intelligent and decided to engage Jason in one of his conversations again. A conversation with Jason is like a Catholic wedding in a non-air conditioned building . . . it never fucking ends. The man can talk pretty much non-stop for HOURS, and never run out of shit to say without even doing any drugs. Typical conversations with Jason in the past have included (but are not limited to):
How all money is actually counterfeit.
Why Barak Obama hates this country, and how FDR kickstarted a movement towards socialism in this country. (This was a particularly long one . . . we didn't time the whole thing, but from the point when we thought to start to when we left we had an hour and 15 minutes, and he didn't repeat himself on anything even once)
How Jesus and Satan are the same person.
His recipe for an onion sandwich.
So we walk in, say hey to Jason and our buddy, and hang out for a couple minutes without really saying much. Then, after exchanging a mutual grin with my other buddy, I turn to Jason and say "I have a question for you. Do you believe in aliens?" He got out a sentence or two before I interjected with my follow-up, "Well then do you think it's possible for us to have reverse-engineered all of our technology from crashed alien crafts?"
I'm hoping I've painted a clear enough picture of what I set in motion in asking that question, but just to make sure everyone's with me it's pretty much the equivalent of when a guy in an action movie throws a lit cigarette onto a trail of gasoline that leads to a gas station.
I wish I could describe what I heard to all of you. Unfortunately, what followed was one of the lengthiest lectures on religion I've ever heard in my life. No, you didn't misread that, and I'm certainly not so drunk that I wrote it incorrectly. He started explaining something about aliens, but eventually swayed over to religion and stayed there. Not a big deal, I'm a practicing Catholic after all, but every time I asked "So what does this have to do with rocket science?" he'd get real excited and say something that was spoken in English yet made absolutely no sense because words aren't typically used in that order. Every now and then he'd pause with a "You following me?" to which I'd usually just nod or go "Yeah." Asking more questions was basically pointless . . . the man was on a roll.
This is how my evening commenced. Listening to a guy explain how we as human beings achieved aeronautics by ignoring our egos and letting God channel his divine knowledge into us. He talks and talks and talks, but . . . I leave the conversation feeling like I completely missed everything that was said.
Oh, and while we were at the bar, I got a beer whose foam was in the shape of USA. No Canada or Mexico, but almost a perfect USA shape floating on the top of my Killians. It was neat. I actually took a picture of it. Maybe I'll put it on my photobucket and post it in my next blog or something. Which brings me to my next point.
I've been watching the blog section for a while, and it's becomming more of a forum than an actual blog section. I think a 256 character minimum isn't nearly enough, because (and no offense to the people who come in here and post them) I've seen a good number of blogs where people literally stop in, state that it's their first blog, give a very short recounting of their day along the lines of "I worked, I ate lunch, traffic sucked, I'm going out tonight" and that's it. Then, you have people having conversations with each other. This isn't really a problem, but sometimes no attempts at maintaining any sort of resemblance to a blog are even made. These are the ones that go something like:
"In response to (insert person they're speaking to's name here),"
Followed by maybe a paragraph or two in which they list their opposing viewpoint or answer a previous question. I've seen maybe one or two of these that actually maintain some semblance to a blog, but other than that they're mostly forum-style postings. Don't get me wrong, it doesn't bother me and I do enjoy reading them. They just feel like they don't quite belong.
At any rate . . . to each and every one of you, I hope you at least had a half-way decent thanksgiving. Mine was great . . . I drank beer, ate a lot, drank more beer, fell asleep in a chair to the dull hum of relatives chattering all around me for about 45 minutes, woke up for pie, then went home and played Left 4 Dead for a couple hours before crashing out for the night.
Here's to the madness which is the upcoming Christmas season. Cheers.