On Memory and Repetative Behavior Behavior

I was hanging out with Dean last night when his girlfriend called. I hear this:

"The clue you give me is, 'The Time I Fell Asleep?!' Do you know me? How often do I fall asleep??"

Well, every night, usually.

"How long have we been dating? Three years! Okay? So there are 365 days in a year … plus I fall asleep a lot more than once a day … 1400? 1500 times??"

Math. This was getting difficult.

"Oh, wait, I figured it out. I know which time you mean. Yeah."

He turned to me when he got off the phone. "You know what she said that made me remember? 'It was recently.'"

On Commercial Radio

"Tell me what to blog about." This is what I said to Dean less than a minute ago. His suggestion: Bad radio commercials.

Now, unfortunately for this conversation, I stopped listening to the radio after I left college and found out the only radio station I could tolerate back home went digital and had its frequency bought out by some hip-hop/trance station featuring Nick Cannon talk in the mornings. As it stands, I do not listen to radio because I do not enjoy the commercials on the radio. Also, I don't like the music.

But Dean listens to the radio. Mostly sport radio, but also Nick Cannon. He seems to hear a lot of commercials that try to make sports analogies. Bad ones. Like the kind that just piss yo off because they sound forced and pathetic and just plain sad.

Lawyers: "To put it in sports terms, we're like the quarterback, leading you to a win." … Unless they get sacked. Great job, guys.

Call me old fashioned, but I don't know if I could take advice from any lawyer who isn't wearing a ten gallon cowboy hat.

On Just Your Everyday, Regular Guys, You Know?

"I want to ask this question, but I don't want to- I know it'll make me- I don't want to sound like an asshole."

This is what a very dear friend said to me a few hours ago. It was somewhat leading, based on the conversation we had been having, but the question itself was in no way obvious from context. Given two normal, everyday people alone in a room, I would not expect one to know where this discussion was going more than, say, 30% of the time. It is precisely this issue that allowed me to know exactly what question I was about to be asked, because it's not normal and I've already wondered countless times, but I've never asked because it does make you feel like an asshole.

"'What the hell do normal people think about all day??'"

It was a good minute before I could hear anything but raucous, almost disbelieving laughter coming through the receiver in my cell phone–that and occasionally a few syllables of "DAA-AAAAVEEE!!"–but this was enough to tell me I hit the nail on the head. With a sledgehammer.

You see, there are two types of people in this world, as loath as I am to use that simplified stance on anything. There are people who with great consistency wonder what other people must think about at all hours, thinking, "Well I think of these things, but I'm considered weird, so normal people probably don't think that. Maybe they think about football? Or hockey. Maybe people think about hockey.It's already Fall. They play hockey on ice all year but I thought hockey season would be in Fall and Winter since they traditionally must have started when there was ice out. Crap. What was I thinking about? Oh yeah, 'what do normal people think about?'"

The other type of people are normal people, and I have no idea what they think about because as far as I can tell they're not inclined to ever wonder that. The only people who seem to ask that question are the type of people who ask that question. Somewhat circular logic, I know, but frankly you just have to split the difference when you can. Some people ponder how introspective other people must be, while other people don't wonder about wondering.

Which is not to say they're incapable of it. I avoid asking the direct question because I don't want to come off as a complete douche, but my friend Dean has answered once or twice. He seems to indicate that he thinks about whatever it is he's been tasked with doing, then maybe thinking about what he's going to do on the weekend or something. If he's at work and bored, he might check Facebook to see if anyone's RSVP'd to do whatever it is he wanted to do this weekend to spend the money he has earned by working. There's a correlation of thought processes.

I asked Dean once, "What do you think about when you're going to bed? Right before you actually fall asleep but the lights are out and you're actually trying to become asleep, what thoughts are going through your head? What do you think about, right then?"

Dean indicated that he didn't. He just goes to sleep. I asked if he thought about what he had done that day or try to plan out what he has to do tomorrow. He seemed to indicate more towards the latter, but it really petered out around 'go to work, have dinner with dad Thursday."

I'm always thinking. Weird thoughts, too. I cracked the meaning of Donnie Darko's time vortex in the shower. The Terminator time travel. I came up for a mode of faster-than-light telecommunication that is scientifically sound but can't possibly exist for at least 50 years, also in the shower. I do a hel of a lot of thinking in the shower. Before bed, my life tends to swing between feeling so contented in my nice cozy sheets that I drift lazily to the most restful sleep reserved usually for new-born babes and the cruelly, psychotically remorseless … or I just think about every mistake I've ever made and how stupid I am for it and why my inability to not fuck up will leave me forever ruined and without love. One or the other.

On the other hand, Dean has the most amazing ability to fall asleep anywhere, doing anything, and fight through every possible stimulus against waking. Last Sunday he fell asleep at the movies and a hard slap across the face only managed to wake him gradually.

So maybe he's not the best source to ask about pre-sleep thought patterns.

On The McGangbang

If I had to describe my friends in only the simplest terms, it would be this:

We consciously make bad choices because we know they will be fun, however we are prepared to responsibly handle fallout from these decisions and in doing so are the kind of people you want around when bad things go down.


Case in point: we are adventurous eaters, so long as we have access to drinkable liquids, a ride home and maybe a garbage can. There was the Wendy's Classic Sextuple Incident. There was the Double Down Affair. Now we'll have to add "the McGangBang Plot."

Yes, the McGangbang is a McDonald's off-menu item that can be purchased by it's component parts or, for those adventurous enough to ask for it by name, assembled in-house. Utilizing a McDouble and a McChicken from the Value Menu, you can have an outrageous concoction for $2.15 ($2.16 in some states).

Yes, that's an entire McChicken sandwich sandwiched between the patties of a McDouble cheeseburger. With extra pickles, as Dean got it.

And a 4-piece.

Anthony had two of these monstrosities. And a third made out of a McDouble wedged inside an other McDouble.


For the record, I limited myself to just a McChicken since within the last hour I'd just stuff myself full of steak and salad. I know, I'm a disgrace to gluttony. I'm barely even worthy of being slaughtered as an American Infidel and a servant of the Greater Satan.

Well, except for being Jewish, I mean.



For sport, here's a picture of Dean eating his McGangbang. We assembled ours ourselves, as it was 10 p.m. and our local McDonald's only has about two people working each week who are fluent in English.

On Sno-Caps

According to Dean McGowan:
"Arguably the best candy ever."

"Very arguably," according to Jay.

I must say, the man who invented Sno-Caps must have been a genius.

"Yeah, I can get chocolate chips wet, pour sprinkles on top and sell 'em for three dollars a box. Sure!"

On Friendship, Pt. II

As I got out of my car tonight to throw out some garbage, leaving the keys in the ignition to keep the radio playing, I thought to myself, "What id Dean steals the car?"

Dean and I have been friends for 15 years. I do not believe he will be stealing my car. At the very least his living situation with regards to my own living space is measured in feet rather than miles.

Still, I was concerned Dean would steal my car. Or be stolen with it. Perhaps we were being watched. No, that was unlikely timing. More likely Dean has been waiting fifteen years for this moment. This is the culmination of our friendship. Perhaps it was a ploy this whole time and Dean has only been my friend on the off chance that one day he could steal the car I might have had.

Dean did not steal my car. Perhaps he was let down I didn't have a better car by this point in my life.