If I Could Save Time in a Taco...Part the first by nRkangel

NRKANGEL'S BLOG

nRkangel

If I Could Save Time in a Taco...Part the first
Friday, August 27, 2004

There is a school of thought that neo-confabulist thinking is best expressed in pseudo-intellutalized satire. Which simply means, If you don't know what to say, dazzle 'em with bulls*it.

That really has absolutely nothing to do with today's blog, but it was a place to start and I always have a problem knowing where to start.

I'm wish I was more attentive to this blog, but I can at least claim that this week wasn't my fault. Since Saturday, Rod and I have sequestered ourselves at his parent's cabin east of San Diego in the Los Something-Something National Forest trying to get some work done.

This week has been a fantastic example of what makes the great outdoors the third most avoided recreational activity in America. (No phone, no TV, no internet and no hot water for showers...) Actually showering in cold water can be incredibly refreshing once your body releases it's grip on your testicles and you can breathe again.

For Rod it was a week to concentrate on our project before he and his wife have to devote most of their waking hours on their new baby girl (arrival in Nov.). For me it was a test to see how well I would adapt to putting my nose to the grindstone without a job to pressure me into it.

Still, a week is a long time and with no outside contact, which can be a good learning experience. Boredom forces you to either make up stupid word games or take note of the world around you. Often startling discoveries are,...um, discovered...this way.

Revelation: A week in a cabin with a buddy is a true test of friendship. Unlike a romantic relationship where love blinds you to the realities of the person you spend time with, friendship gives you just enough in common to think that you can survive in close quarters with someone who has a whooooole different idea of living than you do. Within a week, you either develop a sense of sympatico with each other or you repeatedly surpress wild urges to eat their heart.

Revelation: It takes a minimum of two heaping teaspoonfuls of International Coffee's Swiss Mocha mix to make hot water taste like something other than hot water with a spoonful of dirt for flavoring. (Sub-Revelation: At five teaspoons, you might as well forget the water and spoon it straight into your mouth.)

Revelation: You can make just about anything in a large electric skillet except cake.

Revelation: There is a secret part of the human brain that has evolved to be smarter than our conscious selves. This is probably why the brain has separated lobes. I know this is hard to follow, so I'll go a little in depth.

In years past, I've been able to drink large quantities of alcohol. (Typically in conjunction with some work function where it was expected...) For some reason though, as I've grown older, this recreational activity has come to make less and less sense to me.

Let me try and illustrate it another way. When you were six, you were probably told by someone older than you to do something incredibly stupid. (You can submit these to the board here for all to see if you have the need. I'd love to know that I wasn't alone in having a sadistically intelligent older brother..."Bugs taste like chicken!".)

Think that this doesn't apply to you? Try this: Place your hand flat on a table. Take a hammer (preferrably the rubber mallet type - as they don't tend to scar) and strike the center of your hand once as hard as you can (more if you have a high threshold for pain). If you found yourself incapable of doing so, then my theory may have validity. If you actually DID perform this act of lunacy, then you're living proof that evolution is a Darwinian process.

Anyway, the point is, Rod and I tried to get smashed a couple of times this week. Unfortunately, by the time we'd each made it through a couple of beers, we'd start yawning and eventually head for our respective bunks. (This is the "smart-brain" reminding the body that hangovers aren't fun and acknowledging that there is a sixty foot drop less than a football field length away from the front door. Hence the theory.)

FYI, I'm making light of something that really was good for me. This whole week was a long awaited event that I regret has to end. The ability to think and talk and laugh with a friend late at night with nothing but a porch, a cup of hot coffee and a sky full of stars is a rare and wonderful thing. I see the draw it had for Thoreau, but since guys aren't allowed to say this kind of stuff, when I snap my fingers you will think that you just read a thoroughly dirty joke that made you laugh until you get that painful stitch in your side.

Go to Part Two...

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