So you had been planning to go fishing Saturday for pretty much the whole week, but when Saturday morning came, you were too damn hung-over to drive down the street, much less to a stream. But have no fear, you are used to this type of disappointment, as you tend to screw something up just about every day. It doesn't even really bother you anymore. Move on, change direction and try again for next week. Maybe it will happen, maybe not.
Blackouts stormed the city last week, and unfortunately you can't remember what you did past midnight anyway. You know there were a few football games. We lost, Eli Manning was shut down by the Memphis Tigers and that new kid at Miami kicked Florida's rear end.
So all the meatheads who had been watching football all day turned their testosterone fueled energy into, well, testosterone fueled drunkenness. And the slightest gestures could set off a spark of emotions, since most participants, or real fans of the teams, start preparing for the ensuing match when they begin boozing at noon o'clock.
Something new brews in the air, however. And it is by our new friend at the Spike network. That's right kids, a Japanese game show that the geniuses at this new station bought the rights to. Then they dubbed it over with a Mystery Science Theatre 3000-style commentary. Now this is reality TV; finally someone has figured out that we don't want soap opera crap, but need real, old-fashioned entertainment.
And after the slew of time wasted in front of the glass box, you decide you should quit trying to detox, since it obviously isn't working. Instead, you fall into the whims of those around you retoxing and perhaps trying again at detoxing some other day.
"But now people just get uglier and I have no sense of time," says Mr. Dylan in the jukebox playing in the back of your head.
Somehow, his cynical view of the world is comforting -- a sort of intellectual intoxicant that makes you forget your most recent problem joining in the pessimistic realism that is our great world.
If the local cops weren't bad enough already, they now have more money with the recent grant given to the department.
Don't get me wrong. Cops are necessary, but is it some sort of local requirement to have some new angry officer stationed at the corner each night, staring maliciously into your eyes as you and your friends walk by, just looking for a reason to write you up for some misdemeanor that in a court would hold no more bearing than a slap on the wrist? No, he just wants to throw you head first into the system and let it spit you out a changed man. For some reason you don't think you will change -- they can't get to you.
But maybe you need to up your dosage and chill out for a little bit.
Bob's being a little too preachy now. He's still knocking on Heaven's door and not getting a response -- his cell phone is out of service and no one's calling anyway.
Reach back into the depths of your brain and change the station. After all, it's a lovely day outside. Immediately the old advertising slogan, "Lovely day for a Guinness," jumps into your head and you realize how much you need a Guinness.
Away from Dylan, you try out Beck's last album, Sea Change, but it's so depressing that you have to turn it off after only two minutes. Maybe something more upbeat?
Wait a minute. Every song you can think of is pretty depressing. You have never thought about the words before. What if there are still tears in heaven? Has Eric Clapton been trying to tell you something and you haven't even begun to grasp his message until now?
Maybe that Alka Seltzer "Morning Relief" stuff will make your head stop pounding -- maybe you should just stop defiling yourself every chance you get.
But what is the fun in that?
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