If I Were the New Grand Poobah

Life usually doesn’t fit into nice neat little lists, but that doesn’t keep me from trying.

Like you I am sick of politics. So, I promise that this is my absolute last blog about politics for a long time. At least until my next one. This is a list of ten policies I would implement if I were the Grand Poobah.

1. Pedantry and Reality TV would be crimes punishable by death.

2. All professional sports would be permabanned, with a one time concession that NASCAR, golf, and bowling are actually sports.

3. FedEx, UPS, and other similar shipping companies would be forced to hire drivers from the pool of suddenly unemployed NASCAR drivers, who would only be allowed to make right turns.

4. I would reestablish space exploration by sealing Lady Gaga in a time capsule and launching her into space, towards the Sun.

5. My national bird would be Woodstock from the Peanuts.

6. Chemical warfare would mean dropping dirty diapers via drone.

7. Tony Stark, I mean Robert Downey Jr., would be Secretary of Defense...and Chris Evans would have to legally change his name to Steve Rogers.

8. George Lucas must go door-to-door to every American home apologizing for Jar Jar Binks.

9. There would be no such thing as money, or dubstep.

10. I would start this thing called The Hunger Games, where once a year 24 political commentators fought to the death with whiffle bats and sock puppets.

11. No Christmas music before Thanksgiving, no exceptions.

What do I do when...

The question arises, in a not altogether sarcastic nature, What do I do when I'm not being an idiot? Maybe, in an act of questionable quandary, some nefarious interrogator has lobbed this same inquisitive rhetoric in your general direction. If so, maybe I can help. A question bridled with such lofty purpose as to ascertain the carrying on of my less-than-imbecilic moments is a weighty one. It is a question not to be rushed through, and must be carefully contemplated. My first response, a kind of mental-knee-jerk-reaction, would be to assume that when I'm not being an idiot I must, by way of opposites be doing something not idiotic. Curing a horrible illness, solving the nation's terrible financial woes, and feeding starving children in Africa are certainly not idiotic, but I have done none of those, and so they cannot help to answer the question.

Secondly, I could propose that something I do actually do might be less than idiotic, like feeding my cats, taking out the trash, or voting; but then again there will be plenty of ballots cast in a most idiotic way in this election cycle so I suppose that doesn't hold up well either depending on your particular political leaning.

Lastly, I consider that there must be a greater philosophical question at work. If I am at some point doing something that is something someone does when they're not being idiotic, then there is the lofty insinuation that at some point I must not be idiotic. I am afraid there is very little evidence to support such a claim.

Perhaps it is a requisite gender trait or a lasting permanent defect, resultant from watching far too much second hand reality TV, or ingesting a hulking amount of preserved frozen chicken. Maybe it's a systemic flaw in the great American education system. Or maybe it's nature. My nature.

Maybe my default position is idiot. Maybe I don't do anything when I'm not being an idiot because truly I'm never not an idiot.

When Your _____ Explodes

There are days, ever so often, when I feel as if my brain explodes.  Not that it is going to explode, might explode, or could possibly explode.  But that it has actually already exploded.  The type of day that I am writing about is rarely a good day.  They actually generally come off as more-than-miserable.  And to make matters worse it is beyond difficult to begin to ascertain what exactly it might be that will potentially cause the explosion.

Of course my brain doesn't literally explode, don't be silly.  How would I be writing this?

I am a smart guy, with a capacity for big ideas, small ideas, and all other sorts of shapes, sizes, fabrics, varieties, densities, and frequencies of thought.  Brain explosion halts them all.  It is most disrupting.

The uniquely pitiful precipitant of brain-explosion is that often my silly heart will follow, again not in the literal sense.  Imagine if you were keen on spending a quality amount of time in thought thinking thoughts about how you might accomplish, do, create, or manage something and that beautifully sought train of magnificent ideas were derailed by a mental malfunction of dastardly proportions?  When I think thoughts I rarely do so casually as I enjoy the thinking of them.  When that stops all-of-a-sudden it is disrupting.  It makes me sad.  My heart follows brain-explosion with sad time.  That's kind of like when you plan to spend time doing something fun, you know fun-time, but instead something sad happens, and it becomes sad-time.

What cures brain explosion?