(no subject)
So I was polishing my broadsword just now[1], and I noticed I was in the middle of an internal dialogue.
Anyone who's been reading this for a while knows that my brain and my body have sort of an ongoing rivalry. Sort of. The closest visual I can use to describe it is pro wrestling: There are periodic episodes of dramatic, entertaining, incredibly shallow conflict, accompanied by flashing lights and occasional pieces of furniture flying through the air. It doesn't always make sense, but you can eat popcorn to it.
In keeping with that metaphor, the story isn't always about the brain and the body. Sometimes the bit players make an appearance on the show. Both the Brain camp and the Body camp have a supporting cast of managers, roadies, weird fans, tag team partners, and oh-look-suddenly-I'm-evil plot twist alter egos. Which is sort of how we got to this internal monologue
Regular Brain: "...What am I doing with my life?"
Alter-Ego Brain (standing next to Regular Brain via the miracle of bad green-screening, wearing glasses and a robe, which on TV would make him The Smart Brain): "Where'd that come from?"
RB: "I haven't done anything with my life. No career to speak of, no current relationship, no house yet. I don't even have a rocket-pack. When I was fifteen, I was sure I'd have a rocket-pack by now."
AEB: "We've talked about this. We're just constructing a convincing cover identity for when we go on our inevitable and fabulous bank-robbing spree."
RB: "Riiight... okay, so I think I'm going to join the army."
AEB: "Wait, what?"
RB: "No, seriously, I've been thinking about it. It makes sense."
AEB: "When've you been thinking about it? When were you going to tell me? All I remember us thinking about is movie times and that cute girl who works at the concierge desk."
RB: "I was distracting you. Also, I think while you're asleep."
AEB: "That's called dreaming! That doesn't count."
RB: "Whatever, it totally counts."
AEB: "Nothing that includes a musical number involving dancing MUNI busses and singing BART trains counts as thinking! Advertising, maybe..."
RB: "Anyway, I know you don't believe me, but it actually does make sense."
AEB: "It does not! Okay, okay, let's do this rationally. Reasons you shouldn't join the army: First, you're too old."
RB: "The army raised its cutoff age because of the dumbness in the middle east[4]. I'm way under the wire. And I'm still more than fit enough to pass the physical. Plus, all the 18-year-old recruits will think I'm wise."
AEB: "Oy, poor kids. Okay, second, you've never fired a gun in your life."
RB: "All the more reason to learn how, isn't it?"
AEB: "They'll keep you for six years."
RB: "They might. I'm not sure what the enlistment requirement is. But even if it is six years, what have I done with the last six years of my life, exactly?"
AEB: "There's a good chance you'll wind up somewhere where people will be shooting at you."
Body (suddenly alert): "Wait, what?"
RB: "Possibly. But hopefully I'm smart enough to steer away from the specialties that fall under the heading of Hazardous Duty. Besides, if it's just a matter of ambient gunfire levels, remember how we lived in New Orleans? At least, if worst comes to worst, I'll be able to shoot back."
AEB: "Isn't this some sort of mid-life crisis deal? Wouldn't it make more sense to shave your head and spend a week in vegas blowing your savings? I think a mysteriously-acquired tattoo, a drunken marriage, and a speedy, desperate annulment are better, in the long run, than the possibility of loss of life, limb, and fashion options."
RB: "That leads nicely into the list of reasons for joining. For one, I look awesome in uniform. It distracts from my head."
Body: "This is true. I do look pretty cool."
AEB: "... okay, I can't argue that one. What else?"
RB: "The army will teach me things, for free. Obviously, I'll want to try for something I can use when I get out, but I miss structured learning environments. I want to go back to school, and the army will pay me and house me[5] while I do it."
AEB: "They'll promise you Computer Sciences and Foreign Languages, and then you'll find out they lied to you, and you'll wind up in Advanced Walking Around With A Target On Your Head."
RB: "Also, speaking of that, they'll fix my head.[6] That alone is worth it."
AEB: "There are other ways to get that done."
RB: "The banks won't lend me that amount with my credit, and I'm not borrowing that kind of money from my friends if I don't know I can pay it back. And remember us talking about my lack of a career?"
AEB: "I think this is a bad idea. I mean, in your personal history of bad ideas, this is pretty high up there. Remember going to the Free Champagne table that one new year's?"
RB: "I actually don't remember much about that night..."
AEB: "I do. Trust me. This could be worse. At least you knew what you were getting into, then."
RB: "I hardly think "FREE CHAMPAGNE" is enough of a warning about what happened later. Or at least what I heard happened later."
AEB: "Well, it's enough of a warning now, isn't it?"
RB: "Ugh. Yes, I learned that lesson. Anyway, look: In the end, this'll be better than looking back in four years and finding myself in the same place, more or less, that I am now. It is, all things considered, the best option available to me at the present time."
AEB: "You're not sure of that."
RB: "I am, mostly. Besides, I bet the cute girl at the concierge desk would get a kick out of the uniform. Think about it."
AEB: "... okay, so maybe there's an upside..."
[1] Agh, no, that's not a euphemism for anything; I actually have a broadsword, at least temporarily. The short version is that it's been orphaned by its owner, or ex-owner, and since I'm really not a broadsword kinda guy[2], or a euphemism kinda guy either[3], I have to find a home for it, probably via ebay or amazon, with some misty-eyed, wildly optimistic renfair buyer. So I guess, technically, it's still somebody else's sword, but there is no way that I'm doing a lead-in to an entry with the words "So I was polishing somebody else's broadsword just now..." I mean, there're limits to what I'll do to make you people read these things.
ANYhoo, since it's about as sharp as a spoon and looks like it's been used to clear swampland for the past year, I'm polishing it. I will not be sharpening it, because it's about three or four feet long, and I'm not tempting fate. They don't make band-aids big enough for how badly that situation could end.
[2] Unless we're speaking euphemistically, in which case the Rules of Being a Guy require me, on pain of expulsion, to say that I am a broadsword kinda guy, heh heh, wink nudge etcetera, and nevermind that it leaves me open to all sorts of jokes about rapiers and daggers and darts and on and on. And thank god this is in text, because I can't get away with either winking or nudging in real life. It makes me look like I'm having a mild stroke.
[3] And even if I were, I could come up with a better one than "polishing my broadsword." Really. I mean, that just makes me sound like someone who's been spending too much time on WOW and too little getting laid. Which, when I put it that way, is maybe a little redundant...
[4] The cutoff is something like 42 years old, now. That's gotta make for some really weird boot camp interaction.
[5] I think they'll house me. That's on my list of questions to ask the recruiter.
[6] I have a medical thingy that I need fixed. Specifics withheld here 'cause it's frackin' embarrassing, at least to me, but it needs fixin', and Damian hath no money. It's this or bank robbery.