This Is My Brain On, Well, My Brain....

There once was a man from Nantucket…. Ok, now that I have your attention, let's get a little "Monty Python" and talk about something completely different: the human brain. More specifically, my brain. (I did say “different.”) As we learned from the large-headed, bespectacled child in Jerry Maguire, the human head weighs eight pounds. Do you know what else weighs eight pounds? Me neither. A lot of stuff, I suppose. A bowling ball, maybe. My sister’s kitten. Perhaps my sopping wet cargo shorts after I had to jump in the pool to prevent a lounge chair, which I had unceremoniously snagged with the hose and consequently dragged into the water, from gouging the pool liner before it hit the bottom.  The point is, a lot of stuff weighs eight pounds but that stuff isn’t attached to your spine and filled with grey goo that thinks sh*t up. Well, the kitten might, but a) it’s not attached to your body; and 2) it probably thinks stuff like “if she throws that fake mouse at me one more time I’m gonna puke up my Fancy Feast somewhere she can smell it but not find it for three days.”

See where I’m going with this? My brain does some weird things. A lot of times it’s helpful. For example, it comes in handy for the whole “employment” thing. And that thing you do with your lungs, what is that again? Oh yeah, breathing. Other times, it can be a royal pain in other body parts, creating anxiety where none should exist, or convincing you that staying up until 3:00 am drinking scotch was a good idea. (Actually, the mental jury is still out on that one – its scotch, so… yeah.) Generally, people tend to forget that the brain is the most funnestest toy you have in your possession. (It also helps you make up words.) I’m sure there are some men out there who would disagree, citing their electronics, motor vehicles or Callaway driver as their favorite play things. I’m also fairly certain that there are those women who would vehemently disagree, but let’s face it, your brain doesn’t require batteries. (SIDE BAR: I know there are those that will read this that will want to throw something at me for that seemingly misogynous, implied stereotype, but this is all written in fun, people. Lighten up, Francis.) (SIDE BAR TO SIDE BAR: Lawyers don’t really say “side bar,” however I use the term for effect and as a shout out to one who knows who one is.)

Think about it. (Yes, use your brain. Notice a theme here?) With your brain you can do anything. You can dance with David Beckham, or you can stroll through rolling surf holding hands with Olivia Wilde. You can be a spy, space pilot, hockey player, rock musician, or the president. You can frolic with your long lost pet or imagine that “wide right” didn’t dash your hopes and dreams of the Bills winning a Super Bowl. You can even picture the Buffalo Sabres sipping from the Stanley cup while Brett Hull and Gary Bettman sit strapped to chairs being spoon fed mayonnaise while being forced to watch Slapshot 2 on an endless loop with annoying children with messy food faces poking them in their foreheads and repeating “Does this hurt?” (He was in the crease. HE WAS IN THE CREASE!!!!)

What was I saying? Oh, right. The human brain is a powerful thing. Add a touch of cynicism, a healthy dose of sarcasm, a double order of imagination, and a smidge of neurosis (YES, a smidge, so shut it), and you have that gelatinous mass that occupies the interior of my skull. With it I create worlds, characters, ideas, images, and ramblings. The important thing is that I have fun doing it. You may not always like it, you may not always enjoy it. Hell, you may not always agree with it, but I have FUN doing it. If you like it, that’s great. If no one ever reads what I write, well that still kind of sucks but hey, whatever, man. At least I’m using my brain for something other than earning a paycheck or trying to understand the scoring in tennis. (I mean really: “Love?” As a score? If we’re going to go there, then I want to hear something like “Federer leads the second set by a score of hateballs to love. He's really in it today, isn't he?”) Creativity means my brain is functioning, unlike that of the guy I saw at Target trying to fit a futon in a Fiat. (Seriously, dude? You can practically fit that car, and I use the term loosely, in the overhead bin on your average 757. Did you honestly expect to cram a futon in that roller skate with a radio?)

(SIDE SIDE BAR: I’m using a lot of parenthesis today, aren’t I?)

The moral of the story: Be creative. Use your brain. You never know where it might take you. Just ask anyone who’s read my alter ego’s Facebook posts after the writer… ahem… has ingested Ambien. And if your brain hurts from reading this, then my job is done here.


© J.J. Goodman 2012. All rights reserved.