Shit, it was Crazy Person Breakfast at the old coffee shop this morning and I just wanted to drop a few observations of what I saw through the film of sleep wrapped about my eyes:
- The return of Dread Beard. As you might remember I talked briefly about old Dread Beard in a recent post. He is not a pirate, but at one point he did have two braids dangling from his dirty brown beard. When I last saw him he was being carted in to the back of an ambulance due to self-proclaimed "back pains". Before that he was telling me about cell phone lanyards, his plan to invest in a company loosely related to the sale of "Australian flags" and the search for a Kitchen-Aide for his, uh, "son". Everybody hates this guy, but not only do I find him harmless, but I think his sort of crazed rambling is damn entertaining. You don't have to listen in full, you can just sort of pick the bits and pieces you find interesting. Such as today, I have no idea what the connecting threads of these ideas were, but he spoke of these topics: the "3,000 year old argument of Communism" and it's role in a Yurt chat room he, yes, runs; the plague of efficiency engineers and their terror cell he refers to as "The Department of Vocation and Rehabilitation"; the invention of a structure he referred to as a "ply-room" and the equation for their construction that involved several hand signals and "the weight of a snow bank" (I stood slack jaw by the end of this conversation and he just said, "Simple math my friend"); and so much more that I missed as I near-slumbered behind the bar. This guy is gold and I pity those who can't revel in his absolutely lunacy.
- Hey guy wearing a flashlight clipped to your hat: you already look stupid enough wearing one of those goddamn Bluetooth headsets, the gold front tooth and ponytail aren't helping.
- Hey old guy in suit: yes, I've tasted the Ginger Ale, and the two minutes of rambling adjectives you used to describe it's flavor only confuse me. And yes, now we have your wallet, and Whiskey Pete has already spent your two dollars and thirty cents on malt liquor and 5-Hour Energy.
And that was my morning/afternoon at Fuel Coffee. I am a nexus of a oddness.
Lost is a big problem for me. Up until this season I've watched every single episode of this monstrous, fairly stupid weekly drama as they aired. For reasons I related to girl-related distraction, when the show fired up again five weeks ago I just wasn't in to following it on a live weekly basis. I had tired of the meandering plotlines, the reveals that meant nothing, the pure shittiness of some of the dialogue and acting. I was ready to give up.But like the dirty yellow sheen of crystal to a meth-heads shiny eyes, I got a glimpse of the first episode on a website somewhere and was transfixed. There were flashing lights and time travel, John Locke and a big fat knife, and Hurleys man-boobs sheathed in the biggest shirt you've ever seen. And I was right back in to it. Over the last thre days I've been sacrificing even more sleep in my quest to catch back up to the misadventures of these island dwellers. I know, KNOW, that when the season crashes to a halt in eleven weeks, I'm going to be disappointed, I'm going to swear yet again to never go anywhere near this show again, I'm going to foreswear Damon Lindelof, J.J. Abrams and all their assorted ilk.
But it'll rear it's ugly head again, and I'll be honest, I'll be right back in the thick of it.
Monday: Again, I just don't know.
1 comment:
I have become addicted to your blog. Nice to see your college education not going to waste. By the way you sound like you have a repetitive stress injury in your wrist and should have it looked at. Maybe that is not the intent of this comment section, but I had to tell you. By the way I have a hat light and recently got some blue tooth headphones. Aren't you glad we're related? -DAD
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