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Brain Flatulence

I am obsessed with examining minor menial tasks and how people perform them. Lately, I have been busting academia nuts into spoonfuls of A+ wordage. In the process of writing my essays, I have noticed there are times in which my mind sputters and I absent mindedly write the same word twice.

An example: “They call me DJ Oriental because I lay down down crazy tracks.”

I thought this tantalizing incident to be of interest only to myself, but after further debation and observation…I am not the only one suffering from this brain flatulence. It is a prevalent phenomenon that appears to be only privy to those who are aboard the key; or those who use a keyboard. I have yet to read a handwritten document that demonstrates these traits. Then again, if it doesn’t have the all powerful red squiggly line under it, I assume everything is hunky-dory. All hail the red squiggly line!

The part that is most intriguing is what occurs during that short circuiting. Where does our mind go during the brevity of the moment? Are life’s greatest mysteries solved in the blink of an eye? Well, that is a little farfetched…for everyone else that is. I, myself, am quite capable of such measures, but just as capable of forgetting them in the same breath, or blink. My attention to analogies is short, it is like the…I am sure for that instant I have stopped wondering what’s in a wonder ball and have no longer pondered over the locality of the beef. If only I could recapture my epiphanies I could make the world a bett…well, no, that’s a lie; it would probably be the same.

There appear to be different types of mind blips. They can be quite frightening too. It is one thing when they occur in the privacy of my own home, but what about when they happen while driving? I experience these on an almost daily basis. I will be driving and enter a daze only to snap out of it a few minutes later. In the process of that daze I am to recall point F and point K, but you see (or should I say U C. Heh heh) I am not able to recollect the mid section. Who knows how many people I have slaughtered or even worse how many stops signs I have bypassed. Hm, come to think of it, I always snap out of my stupor due to oddly placed speed bumps. In my defense, who places a speed bump in the middle of a crosswalk?

I know I am not the only one to have these blips, absent mindedness, stupors, dazes, brain flatulence. How has it affected you? Do you ever think, “I hope no law enforcement shows up at my door or I receive a ticket in the mail?” Or maybe it’s more simplistic for you, and you only have to worry about grammar Nazis.

Or maybe I am the only one experiencing this and people are only agreeing with me that they too are suffering from said issue so that I may maintain my last strain of sanity.

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Merging Idea

I’ve been engrossed in absent minded automobile steering during my exstintsive. (You see what I did there? To save internet space I conducted a merger of extensive and stint…Hm, although, now, this explanation of such Tom Foolery negates my initial purpose. Pooey.)  I have been incorporating the aforementioned activity to alleviate the contention that is circumnavigating the vessels of my mind.

Is this an effective strategy?

After heavy scrutinization I have established a concluded concurment. The strategy is effective given proper auditory balance. In layman’s terms that means: do not listen to melancholy melodies sad songs. To achieve happiness one has to want it. The band that puts me right in the head (Am I ever truly right in the head?) is Vampire Weekend. Even their glumified songs sound chipper. And so I just tune in, turn off, drop out, drop in, switch off, switch on and explode.

Explode you say? No. I type it apple-slice; get with it.

Anyhow, I have noticed explosions of road rage. Actually, I am unsure if what I do would be consider road rage. Perhaps it dons no classification. I question this so because during the act of, typed road rage, I am lacking true anger and aggression. Let me explain…

When performing the activity, I have this need to adhere to my code of driving. Rule #34 states that if driving on a two lane road and a merger is approaching that I should speed past the car in the opposite lane so that I am not forced to suffer sitting behind one more car. So I try to speed past them in attempt to secure the first place position. Usually I am successful in my expeditions, but I never quite think it through.

So what happens? I get to drive slowly behind the semi that is now directly in front of me.

I suppose I live for the instantaneous high. Unlike others I know, who drive like EMT’s juiced on coffee and smoothie kicks, my driving is pretty sane, so I thoroughly enjoy these little victories. Also, if you ever saw my car, you would realize that speeding or being a dare-devil is not in the CARds.

Here is one song from Vampire Weekend. I like the meaning.

The Elderly Transformation

The old gray mare she aint what she used to be. Many long years ago.

Or maybe she is? I don’t know. It’s a horse. Let me get some Elmer’s for my artwork and let’s be done with it.

I ought to have said old gray people aint what they use to be. Why you may say? Let me count the ways.

  • Speed – I have noticed that old people have two speeds. They are either a tortoise or a hare. There is no casual acceleration. The bearing’s in which this occurs most frequently is on the road. There are old people driving 25 MPH in a 50 MPH zone. Yes, I know you may have driven a Model T and are use to the 25-30 MPH speed, but see that number “50” on the speedometer, it’s okay to push your Buick to those blazing speeds.  I feel like Flash each time I pass one of them on the road. I have super power abilities!…Dang, it is just an old person. Oh fecal matter! And no I am not talking about your colostomy bag sir. Then there are those old people speedsters. The ones that make me look like a chump for going 80 in a 65 when they are charging forth at 90-plus. These are daredevils. No, not like the blind superhero, more so the risk-taker variety. It could be that, or that they fell asleep at the wheel. Nap-time down the stretch. Or they could be trying to match their speed with their age. Not sure, but they are swift and hazardous.
  • Patience – Old people seem to lack patience. I noticed this in my retail experience. They are complacent with counting out their $4.56 worth of pennies, but when it comes to me doing my portion of the work, they will not stand for it. Quite literally, I have had to get chairs before. I have put some thought into it and I cannot fathom why they are so impatient. At eighty-two, where do you have to be? A doctor’s appointment? I know they have limited time, but come on, what else are they actually going to accomplish? Is that blood test the highlight of their day?
  • Eye sight – Eye sight fades. Look at me for example, I never had much of it to begin with. So I am sympathetic to their loss. Others do not share my compassionate ways. I have a friend who often thinks old guys are looking at her. A week or two ago we met up and she stated the same case. Two old guys were staring at her. Rightfully so, I bet all guys look at her. Modest in her clothing, but worth a double-take. So why is it that she only notices old guys? It is not because they are perverts. It just takes longer for their eyes to focus. They are not as quick as the young whippersnappers.

 

Once normal people, they have now transformed into old people, the last stage of life. What are you going to do? It’s the elderly transformation.

Original Facebook Status Update:

You always catch old guys checking out girls. It’s not because they are more perverted, it’s because their eyes need more time to focus. Give a guy a break.

Driving the Idea Home

There is a certain tranquil sensation to driving. It is a soothing experience. It provides me with the chance to alleviate my woes and explore my thoughts. These thoughts may correlate into ideas for blogs, or they may just delve into my psyche. Lately, I have depended on these thoughts for post ideas. As I drove the long black roads back to my house, I forced my brain to churn butter thoughts (better thoughts).

Butter…When I was younger the word butterface was an accusation thrown at females. I remember asking what butter had to do with faces. Did she have a fat face? Was she one step away from being a cookie? Could I slather her face across my toast? Was she one step past milk?  What was it that made her face butter? Then I was informed. It meant everything about her was alluring but her face (butterface). It made sense. I was able to follow their thought crumbs and come to a similar conclusion. I then wandered naively to butterfingers. Did that mean that these people will never have careers in hand modeling? I even questioned butter knives. After all, if you really look at a butter knife, they are fat and lack the cutting potential other knives have. They are unattractive knives. Then there are buttermilk pancakes. Whoa…Wait just a tick. Buttermilk pancakes are delicious. This theory is flawed!

There must have been a bump in the road and I must have struck it. I was jarred into song. For the next thirty minutes I sung. There was no music and it was not multiple songs. I drove thirty minutes singing the theme song from Married with Children. It was a song coma, but I was completely satisfied. I a cappella’d the crap out of it.

Then, a light came on and my attention pulled. It was not one of those exquisite animated moments where a lightbulb pops up overhead. This light came from the dashboard of my car and read “Low Fuel.” Gahh! I was too ingrained into my singing stupor that I forgot to get gas. To make matters worse I was entering a stretch of road that lacked any appeasement. Remember when I proclaimed that driving was a serene experience? It can quickly go from serene, serendipitous, to misfortune. I am happily driving (serene). The low fuel light turns on. I see the only gas station (serendipitous). There is road work being done on the off-ramp and it is closed (misfortune). While driving is a calming feeling; running out of gas is one of the worst. Fortunately I was able to chug another fifteen to twenty miles to a gas station. The tension that arose in me subdued and I was able to continue my brainstorming. Unfortunately, the forecast predicted no brain-rain. It was clear and dry brain-weather the rest of the way home.