Self-Talk

The other night I was sitting at a red light having quite an engaging conversation with myself. I said this. I said that in rebuttal. We laughed. It was a good time until I realized that there were 3 people in the car next to me, staring. Not only was I caught having one of the many conversations I have with myself, I was caught by three coworkers, who were, in fact, heading towards the same bar as me.

Of course, I wasn’t actually verbalizing, only crazy people do that. I was just moving my lips as though I was talking to myself. Luckily, it was coworkers who had caught me, instead of three strangers who recognized me (and could potentially further sully my already sullied reputation with the local women) from the neighborhood. My friends and coworkers are all very familiar with my self-talk. They laugh at me. I laugh at myself and give the stock response, “Well, I have to have an intelligent conversation with SOMEBODY.” And all is forgotten until they catch me doing it again twenty minutes later.

But, in this particular situation, I had a really good excuse. I just saw a good movie.

Typically, I consider myself a fairly social person. I hang out with friends, I go out with my coworkers, I drink in bars a lot, and I mean A LOT. But, one thing that I have always preferred to do in the company of one is go to the movies. Staring at a screen for two hours has always seemed to me to be a somewhat personal activity. The advantages of going to the movies alone are almost limitless. I work odd hours so I get to save money on matinees, I don’t have to share my popcorn, I never make myself sit through chick flicks or suffer through a testosterone goonfest starring an “actor” who’s fake name sounds like a Dutch petroleum product, and I never whine about subtitles, as my Mom and Dad were kind enough to see to it that I learned to read. The most important advantage to seeing movies by myself it that it saves me from those enlightening post film discussions which hold phrases such as, “I thought it was funny when such and such said poop,” or “Man, Charlize Theron has great tits. I wouldn’t mind fucking her.”

Now when I see a really good movie, I mean one that is really well acted, written and executed, my brain activity (such as it is) perks. It’s just like after you have heard a particularly moving piece of music or left a fantastic art exhibit. That’s the whole idea behind appreciating art. When that soft gooey grey thing between my ears starts percolating ideas, I like to organize these disjointed gems of nonsense and turn them into a tangible thought or two. The best way I know to organize ideas is to articulate them, and when I do that, sometimes my lips move, A LOT.

So, fifteen or twenty years down the road, if you happen to see me sitting on a park bench or walking down the street screaming expletives at my left foot, don’t worry, I’m not crazy, I’m just articulating my thoughts. But please, please don’t touch my aluminum foil hat, that’s there to magnify my brain waves. If you take it off, the little Wases will climb out of the gutters and use drinking straws to suck all the pearls of wisdom out