What makes your eyes glaze over and slows time down to the velocity of finger nail growth? What drives you to such distraction that, when you're in a room filled with people, you visualize how each person looks naked? Of course, I don't do this, especially at family gatherings.
And definitely not at work.
The reason I ask is that this is the time of year when nearly everyone with clinical brain activity fills out a March Madness bracket. It's fun, even if we know nothing about the teams, and just want to pick based on mascot name or school colors. We join office pools, internet contests or just pick the winners for our own entertainment, and for three weeks in early Spring, everyone follows his and her brackets with rapt attention.
And the funny thing is, no one cares who you picked. No one. I listened this morning to sports radio, as three of talk jocks reviewed their results thus far, what they'd done right or wrong, whom they had going to the Elite Eight and the Final Four. They interrupted each other constantly, trying to wittily share their prowess at prognostication and creating a wall of unintelligible sports banter.
I stopped paying attention immediately, because, in my humble opinion, other people's NCAA tournament selections are the epitome of melancholy. How else can I say it? Meaningless, stupid, inconsequential...boring.
So, this is an open call. I'd love to know what you consider the capital city of Dullsville, what ritual or activity to you attend and request a table for "bored, party of one."
For my wife, it's reality television and anything to do with my illustrious athletic career thirty years ago.
For my ten-year-old daughter, it's shopping for socks and underwear and anything to do with my illustrious athletic career thirty years ago.
My teenage daughter tells me that most things are boring, especially if they're done indoors while sitting, and anything to do with my illustrious...you know.
Please reply in the comments section. I want to hear about what makes your head explode.
As long as it's, you know, not my blog.
ditto on the husband's illustrious athletic career 30+ years ago .. of which I've heard the same story embellished in many different ways over the last 12 years I might add .. hehe!
ReplyDeleteI'm told it's a guy thing but as soon as somebody starts giving driving, walking...any sort of geographical direction, I don't just glaze over but my entire cognitive function redirects to trying to recall the pain of a broken arm or the death of soil microbes with the use of glyphosate...just give me the address. I'm not equipped to process anything else.
ReplyDeleteMargo,
ReplyDeleteYour husband and I could probably polish off a half rack of Rainier before running out of tales of our feats of grandeur. Remember, you still must act like you're listening. We're fragile.
Greg,
I hear you. If I pull into a Circle K to ask for directions at the insistence of my wife, she has to come with me or I'll just return with some Ding Dongs and no memory of any instructions.
This is going to get me in serious dog-****, but anyone with kids. Baby pictures.
ReplyDeleteThrow-up stories. Cute smiles. Poopy everything.
And seriously, from a non-parent, all your babies look exactly the same: Barely Functional.
(Note: I teach kids skiing, THE KIDS are not boring, it's 100% the ADULTS)