A Humbug to a Humbug

"A Christmas Carol" is a book I've often described as my favorite Charles Dickens story, but upon reflecting today, I've decided to reconsider that.

Scrooge's becoming a miser, recluse, and misanthrope was the work of many years of bad decisions, regret, and heartache; his becoming a gleeful and charitable soul was the work of one night's fever dream. Most people with far fewer personality flaws than Scrooge don't EVER get rid of them -- even after years of therapy and concerted effort, and even if you tell them they'll die because of how badly they're screwing up. Further, none of these people are forgiven in a single day, even if it's Christmas, just for doing some nice gestures and saying they'll change their ways. Am I really to expect, Mr. Dickens, that all it takes is one night of panic, a morning of giving away some money and food and presents, and then I'll be a joyful individual who is well-liked by all who know me? Realistically, in his day and age, Scrooge would've been locked up as a madman for such a rapid personality shift, even if he left OUT the part of his night that included hallucinating these ghostly voices of conscience.

Just because he changed his ways doesn't mean the rest of the world would have to. First, give the sensible and rightfully resentful people of the neighborhood ONE good reason to lock up a man they ALREADY hate. Then watch all the money he's accumulated over the years suddenly disappear into the coffers of those not only who DIDN'T have a panic attack the night before, but those who were seriously tired of taking Scrooge's bullshit and decided this facetious and self-interested campaign of holiday cheer was the last goddamn straw. You didn't have friends yesterday, Scrooge, and the greatest present your town will have ever gotten will be 1) the joyful sight of your ass getting thrown in the twinkiemobile to get shipped off to the loony bin, and 2) the chance to raid your home and counting-house for all the dough you've squirreled away after years of exploiting them.

Screw you, Dickens. You haven't taught me a damn thing.

And Against Thou Shall It Rise

It is when the darkness falls that I feel it.

Deep within me, it stirs. A shadow. A poison. A savage and invisible mass of murderous horror that wants nothing more than to be set free and to destroy. There are days that I try to fight it, even though it claws at my insides and howls.

That’s the worst of it -- when its rages become so loud that, even when my resolve is strong and I lock the beast away, it still can be heard through the walls of its meager prison. Today was such a day -- but. The rumblings of its abominable, guttural croak. Its unremitting, unflagging pounding against the barricades I’ve placed around it. The pain -- oh, god, the pain it wreaks upon me -- not only the dread of knowing its ascension is inevitable, but the knowledge that its torturous wringing of my insides is but a fraction of the suffering it was cause me AND you. Yes. This thing within me -- it is not satisfied to destroy me. It will arise to blight you, as well. When it arises, you would beg to have back your worst day.

And I do say “when”. I won’t fight this wretched force of evil any longer. I have given into it -- and if I must suffer, then by the devil who sired me, I will wreak upon you and the rest of your world tenfold the suffering that has been inflicted on me. The evil within me will burst forth and consume you, and on this day shall we both know of each other equal anguish and hatred.

So don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Now pull my finger.



 (This elaborate fart joke brought to you by whatever the hell they were serving in the cafeteria today.)

And Soon This Poison Will Reach Your Brain

it is the spider and it is the spider's venom
it is the food that sates its own savage hunger
it is fire, stealing breath or sealing wounds
it's the claws of the vise clamped on the brain
as it is the hand that turns the screw

it's a slow and creeping poison
injected straight to the heart
it might be its own cure
but the cure is slow

the antidote
is so much
slower
still

Dave Pereyra
25 November 2012

Some Spoken Words to Pop Culture

I'm really just a boy, and a boy is like a wonder, but it's no wonder the Boy Wonder's nothing like Wonder Woman;
but Wonder Woman like Xena, Xena fought with Ares, and Ares fought with Hercules
And Hercules was hairy.
And hairy Hercules met the oracle, but never met a metaphorical, metafictional, or metaphysical Mephistophiles.
You know; Mephisto, the brother of Diablo, and Diablo was the brother of Baal,
and I killed Baal with a claymore while Namor saved the whales.
(Leaving Aquaman quite pale.)

Pale like me! Like shark bait, like fish-belly white. White like what?
Like the white light of the White Lantern Corps, the White Fang of the White Tiger, and Perry White. Superman's boss! Never gave Superman a raise, and he never raised a toast,
He only raised his voice to say "Great Caesar's Ghost!"

I can please 'er like Caesar, I'm not a dummkopf like Totenkopf
I'm a smartacus like Spartacus! (But only when I'm hardicus)
And if you're parting us when I'm hardicus it's called coitus interruptus.

So don't interrupt us, me and my girl, my girl interrupted. Was that Angelina Jolie?
Holy Moly, Miss Jolie. Jolie was a Tomb Raider, I played 'er in my teenage nadir, my face all full of craters, and I'm afraid 'er place in my life made me a chronic masturbator.
Masturbator? Master Vader. Darth Vader.
You know that "vader" is the German word for the Latin word for "pater"?

Du ist mein vader, pater familia, pater patter of padded panther paws,
Peter Parker picked a peck of pickled peppers.
Peter Parker was a Marvel, Parker Posey was a DC,
A posey is a flower, and flowers go in pots, and Potts is for Pepper, and Pepper Potts is for Iron Man who's awfully salty.
Salty like the sea and that rhymes with P and that stands for POOL!
[sung] Oh we got trouble, right here in River City, with a capital T and that rhymes with C and that stands for COOL!
Cool what? Cool Runnings. The Running Man. Man on Fire. Fire in the Hole! There's a hole in your mind! Mind over matter, and size matters not! [Yoda voice]

[Kermit the Frog] But only if you're green. It's not easy being green. It's not easy being small and it's harder being big.
They call me chubby, cuz I've gained a lot of bulk. But I've gained a lot of women so I never stop and sulk.
They come in legion numbers! They say they think I'm funny! They say they have an army!
And I say, "I have a Hulk."

Sure I'm big, but I wouldn't say I'm jacked. But I'm bigger than Monterey Jack. I'm fighter but I'm no Samurai Jack,[Jack Sparrow voice] I'm a drunkard but I'm no Jack Sparrow, [Jack nicholson voice] I'm a little creepy but I'm no Jack Nicholson when he played Jack Napier or Jack Torrence. I don't work, but I don't get play, so I'm not sure if Jack's a dull boy, or Jack the grown-up boy, or if I am Jack's complete lack of surprise. I'm not a carjack so I wouldn't Wheeljack, but Wheeljack built Grimlock and Grimlock put John Locke and Sherlock in a headlock. How'd Sherlock unlock Grimlock's John Locke headlock? No shit, sheer luck.

And that sheer luck was a sheer lock, because I'm time locked like a Time Lord
I'm stuck in the time slot right over Doctor Who on BBC One and BBC Two.
[Dalek voice] But I still find time to SPERMINATE! And I germinate.
[Arnold voice] I'm not German, but I Terminate. If it's American action on British TV, I still take my Tea-One-Thousand times, and catch a couple Fireflies and then it's time for Babylon Five.

Then it's Robocop, and cops and robbers, [Vito Corleone voice] then it's a CSI of all three Godfathers!
[Stallone voice] Then I am the Law! ...and Order SVU with Judge Dredd, Judge Judy, Judge Reinhold, and Judge Fudge!
[Judge Fudge voice] I got no time to make a rhyme, I'm too busy being judicious
And if judging's inauspicious, a little vicodin's delicious
And that brings us to my House. House is a doctor, and the doctor's hair is Gray, and Gray has the  Anatomy of a Scandal. A scandal's like a vandal, a Vandal's like a Savage, a savage can be noble, and a gas can be noble, so if a savage is hurting 'em, a gas is healing 'em.  SCIENCE! Science like chaos theory. The theory of chaos and fearing of entropy and the conservation of energy and the conversation of enemies. Chaos theory, Chaos Emperor, Chaos Emeralds! Sonic snatched the golden rings, but missed the one to rule them all. He'd collect 'em and inspect 'em, sort 'em out according to freshness and only keep one and call it "My preciousssssss."

I don't have hobbit's ears, but I like hoppy beer. I'm not in anime club, but I like the Irish pub. It makes me feel lucky. And that's just it. I'm lucky. My locks are lucky, and full of ginger. Source of Samson's power! ...or whoever rode on Cringer. He-Man? Was it He-Man? No way, it's just me, man, me and the bee-man and his ay caramba, and the Black Mamba, the Black Widow, Black Lightning and the Black Panther, the Black Pearl, and My Name is Earl, and the girl with the power (what power?) the power of voodoo! (Who do?) YOU DO! (Do what?) Remind me of the boy! (What boy?) The boy who lived!

Harry Potter! Bother bother bother! What wouldn't you give to be the boy who lived? To wave a wand and soar over the pond on a broomstick, shouting THIS IS MY BOOMSTICK! A broomstick or a boomstick or another brick in the wall that needs busting down, so who you gonna call? [wait] I'll call Egon and the others! But as Dan Aykroyd references go, I've forgotten the Blues Brothers. They're on a mission from God. So KNEEL BEFORE ZOD! Take a knee, Harry, and bring all your magic little friends. Bring Ronnie and Hermione, and the legendary Seeker and Bunsen and Beaker, Gandalf and the seven sages, Doctor Strange and the techno-mages. I'll call all my old friends, the ones with all the magic! And maybe teach you a little something about the magic of friendship.

The friend ship... is it a fast ship? Well it's faster than the rest a' ya. Now if you'll all excuse me: [feminine voice] Dear Princess Celestia.

It's almost time to end the rhyme. I was caught up in the moment, and now the moment is upon me. So get gone, thee, get gone thee to a nunnery, et in Arcadia ego. But before we go, take my ego and stroke it. And if you're not gonna stroke it, just roll it up and toke it, smoke 'em if you got 'em, poke it if you wanna, let's choke up the engine and get in strangers' cars, we'll talk about Al Roker and Bram Stoker, [Heath Joker voice] and the Joker and how he got those scars.  It only makes you stranger.

Finding man in stranger places on an ever stranger day. Escape from Butcher Bay aboard the Numue, orbiting Gallifrey or a galaxy far, far away, to do some cosplay, or swordplay, have free play Friday after the end of the workday.  But if all the wordplay's left you in a cold way and wasting time on Coldplay, then I've got just one more thing to say, four little words, one plus tray:

Ive-lay ong-lay and-yay osper-pray. Live long and prosper, and the Force be with you always!

Monologue written and delivered for Geek Chic Night, 12 October 2012 at Akbar, Los Angeles, CA
(c) David M. Pereyra

The Essence of Manliness

Just as I was about to pop into the shower, I was suddenly startled upon looking in the mirror.

I proclaimed aloud, "Sweet Mother of Moses! Who are you, you remarkably sexy creature just exploding with marvelous masses of masculinity, and why are you in my bathroom?!"

The man in the mirror replied, "I was trying to break into your home unnoticed, and when I heard you coming I hid behind what I assumed to be a mirror made of one-way glass. Turns out it's more of a window, actually. I will be going now. Please accept this door-frame grease as a gesture of my apologies. It is designed for widely-built fellows like yourself to fit through narrow openings."

I quirked a brow at him, quizzically. "For a moment, my friend," I ventured, "I thought you might be my reflection, for not only am I clad in naught but a towel, but also you seem to exude a similar sort of manliness as I, myself, am wont to do. So I must now ask: why, sir, if you are breaking into my home, are you, yourself, dressed in naught but a towel? Wielding a jar of grease meant for slipping large things through small openings, no less?"

Climbing gingerly out from behind my ersatz mirror, a hand over the front fold of his towel to preserve his dignity, the man replied, "I am not rightly sure."

My confusion giving way to anger, I grabbed the jar from him and bellowed, "Well, I should say you will leave NOW, or I will find myself inclined to use this unusually specific product in ways not sanctioned by its manufacturers! Have at you!"

And he left in a flash... but as I attempted to give chase, I realized what a great boon he had handed to me; had I but used his gift in the spirit he had given it to me, I might have fit through the door to follow him. Chagrined but safe, I proceeded to shower, lamenting that soon I would nevertheless have traces of door-frame grease all over my person for the remainder of the day once attempting to leave the bathroom.

To She Whom I Miss

10 November 2012

My Estranged Lover,

You didn’t come to bed last night. You’ve done this before, but last night felt different somehow. Perhaps it’s the colder weather we’ve been having; I don’t know. All I know is that I laid awake waiting for you, saying to myself, “She’ll be along eventually.”

You weren’t along. Eventually. Ever.

Minutes turned to hours, each long span of shivering loneliness punctuated by a small needle to my heart. Each needle, a doubt. A nagging voice telling me to wonder who you’re with. A subtle taunt telling me I already knew.

You might not know that I was talking to several friends last night. Each in turn bade me sweet dreams as they reported -- no, BOASTED -- that you were soon to swaddle them in your bosomy warmth. That in moments you would press against them, all my friends -- perhaps you’d tackle this one lovingly, throwing your arms around his neck and thrusting him with playful, romantic aggression into bed so that you could work your charms on him. Or her, who said she meant to “catch” some of you -- perhaps you’d invite her to bed, crawling up her body slowly, like some tempting serpent bent on smothering her with the love you were denying me. Or the other, who claimed to be too tired for anything at all -- he must have been an easy mark, no? Just take him by the hand and lead him to bed where he’d fall right down for the pleasures you’d give so freely to anyone but me. So quickly they all fall to you. You must be laughing at me.

Have I done something to you? Have I not expressed my gratitude every morning when we part ways? Have I not stretched and yawned and, despite rueing the day ahead, found a little light in the darkness knowing that you were with me all night? What dreams would I have without you? What peace of mind would I be denied if you left me? Have I not, again and again, told anyone who’d listen how I need you, how I love you, how a few scant hours with you is never enough?

I can be enough, dearest. Please -- come back to me tonight and let me show you that I can be enough for you, my darling.

I miss you, my dear mistress Sleep.

Ever and restlessly yours,
Dave.

"My Own Grain of Sand", a little poem by Dave Pereyra

I?
I am
as an ant
glaring petulantly at the
heavens bellowing in its tiny
insectoid voice a defiant cry of

HEAR ME! I AM IMPORTANT! I MATTER!

and waving all six of its
micrometer-long legs in an
intimidating show of its
futile might in
the face
of

the infinite cosmos

with its numberless stars

and endless gulfs of nothing
and everything

and I am as
an ant with
my tiny
voice

by
which I
mean to say
I'm off to vote.

6 November, Los Angeles

And a handful of conversations.

Published 11 October, a slice of my life as a young boy:

Me: "Where does thunder and lightning come from?"
Mom: "It's when God goes bowling in heaven. Every time he makes a strike, all the lights in the bowling alley go off."
Me: "But why is it always raining when he goes bowling?"
Mom: "He's really good at bowling. He always beats the angels and they cry when they lose."
Me: "Poor angels! Don't cry, angels! I can't even bowl at all!"


27 October, at the front desk.

Him: "Is the ground floor the same as the second floor?"
Me: "No..."
Him: "So what's 'G'?"
Me: "The ground floor."
Him: "Ground?"
Me: "Yes. 'G' for 'ground.'"
Him: "And what's '2'?
Me: "The second floor."
Him: "So where am I right now?"
Me: "The first floor."
Him: "And how do I get to the second floor?"
Me: "By going up. You can use the elevator or these stairs."
Him: "Up to G?"
Me: "No. Up to 2."
Him: "TWO?!"
Me: "Yes."
Him: "This hospital is so confusing!"
Me: "Yes, sir. Labyrinthine."


1 November, in the elevator:

Her: "Como estas, David?"
Me: "So far so good."
Her: "I said it in Spanish!"
Me: "Well, I said it in English."
Her: "You're supposed to reply in Spanish."
Me: "Okay, do it again."
Her: "Como estas?"
Me: "'In Spanish!"
Her: "I think God punishes me every time you speak."
Me: "How?"
Her: "You speak."


8 November, leaving the intensive care unit with my partner, Nerf:

Patient: "Wait, we forgot my shoes. Go back for them, please?"
Nerf: "What do they look like?"
Patient: "Big white things. Can't miss them."
Nerf: "Big and white? Like Dave?" [laughs]
Me: "Well, your shoes wouldn't be very useful if they're anything like me."
Patient and Nerf (unison): "Why?"
Me: "Because they'd be ginger... and they'd have no SOLES!"
Nerf: [moment of stunned silence; then, whispering] "Goddammit, Dave."


14 November, the emergency room (this entry entitled, "Why I love having the occasional young, clever, good-humored patient"):

Me: "Are you able to stand and walk?"
Him: "Yeah, I'm walking."
Me: [German accent] "Ah, ist valken und talken?"
Him: "Ja, und drinkin und stinkin!"
Me: "Alle be stinkin, but drinkin ist gut."
Him: "Ja, dat's gut!"
Me: "In die boot."
Him: "I said gut gut?"
Me: "In die boot."
Him: "Du vanna do it in die boot?"
Me: "In die boot!"
Him: "He do it in die boot!"
Me: "DAAAAAS BOOOOOOOT!"
[short but explosive peal of laughter from both]
[pause]
Him: "No homo though."
Me: "Check."

15 November, the nuclear medicine dept.:

Tech: "What's up?"
Me: "I'm here for that outpatient."
Tech: "Oh, I accidentally made two calls for the same patient. Go ahead and cancel yours."
Me: "Got someone on the way?"
Tech: "Yeah. Sorry about that. The guy got entered twice."
Me: "That sounds painful."
[pause]
Tech, another transporter, and transport nurse all in mildly disgusted unison: "AAAAAAAWWWWWWWHHHHHHH."

Brainal Mental Thinked Thoughts, Spanning August to November

Aug. 30

So I'm using the ice dispenser on my refrigerator and a piece of ice hits the floor. I stop dispensing for a moment, lean down, procure the wayward ice cube, and toss it over my shoulder, watching the kitchen's reflection in the refrigerator's surface to see if the ice cube made it to the sink. The ice lands at just the right angle to not only land in the sink, but to use the force of gravity and
 its own near-frictionlessness to Tony Hawk its way back OUT of the sink, across the room, and down the back of my shirt. At first, I am surprised, then awed, then suddenly depressed by the sight... the latter because the coolest thing I will have ever done in my mortal life on earth has just happened, and the rest of my existence now means nothing.

It was REALLY cool, though.

Sept. 4

Hey, married couples! Stop telling me you can't understand why I'm not like you (i.e., not married to my dream girl already)! It's really condescending! Have a nice day!

Oct. 8

If I were to be a pagan god, I'm not sure what I'd be a god OF. Mischief? Humor? Parties? And what would my symbol/artifact/totem be? A Grammar Hammer? A jug of some kind of alcohol? A really fancy hat?

These things keep me awake sometimes.

(Note: I was told that if I were a god of humor, I'd have a megaphone. Other suggestions for my "god of" status were "orgies" and "gingers".)

Oct. 12

Think of my hairy nipples as the dials on the radio of MANLINESS.  That extra manly patch in the middle is the speaker. Count the hairy armpits and suddenly it's SURROUND SOUND.

Oct. 14

I think I'm going to schedule some time, hopefully for a period of one solid week, where I don't tell a single joke. Not be mean, of course; I'll still be pleasant, polite and personable, I will just also go out of my way to not be funny. Might turn out to be an interesting experience, and maybe I'll shake off the funnyman's curse for a while.

A reminder that you're a product of the Adventist Mafia: Someone walks up to you and greets you by your name, asks warmly how you and your family are doing, and out of politeness you ask the same in return, and part ways expressing best wishes -- during which entire time you have no idea who it is that is mining such intimate details from you but so genuinely wishes that your mother hears that the speaker bade her hello.

Oct. 28

I'm starting with the man in the mirror.

Well, I'm REALLY starting with the man in bed who's groaning about how he doesn't want to get up. Then it'll be the man on the toilet, followed by the man in the shower, then probably the man rooting around in the dresser for clean socks, and at some point after THAT I'll get to the man in the mirror. Seems like more logical a progression than starting with the man in the mirror and expecting everything to go as planned.

Nov. 2

I have missed the dim light of the misty dawn, and the freedom to claim it as my own for at least a moment. The drowsy night-moon lagged behind this morning; not only to rouse her brother sun, but to bid me good-morning just because I'd been kind enough to look her in the face at this gray hour. She appreciated the effort, it seems, and I appreciate her smile.

Nov. 22
I'd love to gnaw your breasts and nibble your cranberries... but most of all, I'd REALLY love to split your thighs open and stuff you like you've never been stuffed before, until it's time to serve up a creampie.

I love you, turkey! And I also love the desserts!

trollface.jpg

Nov. 24
I must be less rested than I thought. In coming up with a name for an underwater research lab, I came up with the Biological Observation Outpost/Geological Exploration and Research Station... which came out as the acronym "BOOGERS". Then I thought that not only was the acronym satisfying from a literary perspective, but that it was a perfectly acceptable name for an entirely credible scientific endeavor.

Then I giggled a lot while saying "boogers" over and over.

Nov. 25
Who is the man behind the mask, they wonder. I say to you that the mask is all the substance there is to him. The insubstantial thing behind that mask is not called a man.

Adventures in Pronunciation

Them: “Hi. Where’s the Valley Jew Church?”
Me: “...beg pardon?”
Them: “I need the Valley Jew Drive Church.”
Me: “Say, you know that Mexican dish with tortillas, and spicy meat that they serve you still in the pan with peppers and onions and stuff?”
Them: “What?”
Me: “Just roll with me on this. You know what I’m talking about?”
Them: “Yes.”
Me: “What’s that called? A faaaaaa-what?”
Them: “A fajeeta.”
Me: “Righto. The VALLEJO DRIVE Church is that way.”

Yesterday and today, in RPG format

RANDOM ENCOUNTER!
ILL FORTUNE appears!
DAVE used Positive Outlook!
DAVE’s attack fizzles.
ILL FORTUNE attacks DAVE with Common Cold!
Hits! DAVE takes 72 damage.
DAVE rests. Common Cold removed!
ILL FORTUNE used Chronic Flareup!
It’s super effective! DAVE takes 932 damage.
Status ailment: Returning Chronic Episode of Lower Back Pain!
DAVE is knocked out!
ILL FORTUNE flees. No XP or GP awarded.

Warp back to town? y/n
Y
You are at the inn. Rest for the night? y/n
N
DAVE used item: 1x Last Leftover of Codeine Prescription!
Nothing happens.
DAVE: "Rats!"
Rest for the night? y/n
Y
The party has restored HP! However, DAVE has not cleared status ailments!
DAVE awakens in pain. 297 HP depleted. No AP replenished.
DAVE: "Ouch! This sucks!"
Where to?

O Warp to the Pub
O Warp to the Marketplace
X Warp to the Dungeon of Employment

You are at the workplace!
DAVE used item: 1x Energy Drink!
1x Daily Grind!
The day passes quickly. 80 GP awarded. Chronic Episode of Lower Back Pain hinders progress! 12 XP awarded. 362 HP depleted.

Warp to home? y/n
Y
DAVE is still in unremitting pain! 488 HP depleted.
DAVE wants to use Alchemy!
Use which Items?
- 1x Brandy
- 1x Honey
- 1x Tea
DAVE created item: 1x Hot Toddy! Alchemy skill increased!
DAVE used item: 1x Hot Toddy!
Status ailments cured! Chronic Episode of Lower Back Pain removed!
DAVE gained status ailment: A Little Tipsy
DAVE gained status ailment: Kind of Sweaty
DAVE: “Say, if it means I can walk, I’ll drink to that!”
Rest for the night? y/n
N
DAVE used item: 1x Next Episode of “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia!”
DAVE: “Now we’re talking! Let’s go!”
DAVE used item: 3x Leftovers! All HP restored!
Rest for the night? y/n
Y

Details, Details

NOTE: Events have been hyperbolized for effect.

Me: “Good morning!”
Them: “Hi. I’m looking for a patient?”
Me: [Attempts to ask the patient’s name.]
Them: [Without stopping] “They came in like two days ago, through the emergency room? They thought they just had a head wound, but it turns out they have a renoberation of the doohickey, and the injury got all infected and stuff so they had to amputate the head and they say...”
Me: [Tuning them out.]
Them: “...that they’re gonna be fine, but what they really wanted to look out for was the cottonmouth and the hairy nipples, which is a weird development for the particular gender of the patient, a tidbit of information which I’m not going to reveal at this point in the conversation...”
Me: [Thinking about something else.]
Them: “...and anyway, they had like three MRIs done at the same time: one of the jaw, one of the left big toe, and one of the neighbor’s dog because apparently that was like an inciting factor in the whole thing, and because of that I’m told the patient has the dog as a roommate, and the room’s supposed to be on either the second floor, the fifth floor, or the third and fourth simultaneously...”
Me: [Mentally orbiting Neptune.]
Them: “...so it’s one of them, and I’m not sure what floor you keep that kind of patient or whatever. Is there like a hairy nipple floor? An entire floor where you keep people with hairy nipples? Anyway, I’m looking for this patient.”
Me: “You done?”
Them: “I guess. Why?”
Me: “The massive amounts of information you’ve given me offers absolutely no indication of where the patient might be. You know what you could lead with that is the easiest possible unit of information? The sound bite that could maximize my usefulness to you, and minimize the length of this already egregiously long conversation?”
Them: “What’s that?”
Me: “The patient’s goddamn name.”
Them: “Oh. I don’t know it.”
Me: [Violently murders the visitor.]
Them: [In the throes of death.] “I think the first name starts with a consonant... does that help?”

A Commentary on the Brain

I like to think I am generally realistic about my overall appeal. A guy like me could do way worse for himself than to step back like I do, take a good long look in the mirror like I've done, and evaluate like I like to do.

I am not a handsome man.

When I hear women talk about men they find attractive and alluring, the features of note are culled from a very narrow range. This one's tall, that one's got a great bod, this other has dreamy eyes. Even a sexy voice can take a fellow of less-than-stellar looks into the realm of male deliciousness.

I have none of these features.

I'm not even six feet tall, which seems to be a good standard baseline for one's height having any bearing on his physical attractiveness. I'm overweight; neither slim nor toned nor muscular enough to have that genuine traditional attractiveness that your average movie star has, nor roly-poly enough to be "cute". It's really this awkward state of lead-buttedness that I have, one where I can't play for either team. I'm not an overwhelming fatso, but while there's muscle under there, you'd never know it. I don't have dreamy eyes; they're perpetually just a little bit bloodshot, set a little too low in my head and have too many prematurely aged lines under them for that. I don't have a cute smile. I don't have the nice strong chin I used to, because I haven't got that nice fat-free jawline I had back in high school. My head is enormous and my ears are tiny. I have my father's nose and that is no complement at all to my father. I don't have sexy, luxuriant hair because the hair I DO have is far too wiry; the rest has surrendered to the slow recession of the hairline and thinning at the crown. I don't even have a sexy voice. It tends toward rasp and excessive variability in pitch according to the whims of my allergies from one day to the next, and I assure you it is an unpleasant thing to listen to me narrate. There is truly no factor about my physical presence that is in any way remarkable.

That's why you're missing out on my mind.

I'm probably one of the smarter people you know. I haven't read all your favorite books or seen all your favorite movies, I know; but I know all about storytelling and can still talk with you in an animated and informed way about the things you like. I know how to listen to you. I know how to speak to you rather than at you. I can convince you on Monday that I am absentminded and inattentive for the sole purpose of seeing you light up with delight on Tuesday with some clever remark or welcome gesture which acts upon what I learned about you. I can tell you things about yourself that you didn't know but probably should. I can see into the heart of a problem you have and tell you a good way of solving it that you hadn't thought of before. I can entertain you. I can make you laugh. I can make you think. I can make you see my side, and I can make myself see yours. I can disagree with you and still hold you in a place of respect. I know how to impress you with wealthy repositories of knowledge on a vast swath of subjects and still be able to let you teach me something I didn't know. I can warn you of danger. I can outfox someone who's hurting you. I can introduce you to people you'd like. I can listen to you so intently, extrapolating and deducing from the little things you say to find out what you're preoccupied with so that I can be of greater assistance to you. I can tell if you're a good person to be friends with; and after a few conversations, if we're still talking, you're already in.

I am smart enough be an agent of good in your life.

I don't look like much, though.

I'm smart enough to know that that's why you won't talk to me.

And no amount of well-wishes, of knowing what's troubling you and knowing how to fix it, or of thinking I could be really, really good to you will change the fact that my overly-lined, bloodshot eyes just aren't dreamy enough for you.