Monday, December 27, 2010

A Case of Writer's Block & My Internal Bullshit Defense Mechanism


Its Monday morning.  I'm sitting in the office, trying to find something to blog about. 

Sometimes I just get a case of writer's block - no ideas floating around in this huge melon of mine.  Its probably a side effect of the massive amount of Genny Light, taco dip and buffalo mac & cheese I consumed during the game yesterday.  Or maybe its just the Monday Morning Malaise that I frequently write about. 

Either way, its not like I'm completely without ideas.  I could write about Thursday evening when I ventured out to The Place to find all my friends in a drunken stupor, but you've all heard that story before in one form or another. 

I could recap the NBA games I watched on Saturday, analyzing why the Lakers sucked and how I found myself cheering for the NY Knicks.  But there have already been a million sportswriters who've analyzed the Lakers' weaknesses, and the reason I was rooting for the Knicks is very simple: I love Amare Stoudemire. 

Tough to write more than 100 words about that.

I could tell you about all the cool stuff I got for Christmas, but people try to tell me that kind of shit all the time and I just ignore them.  I just nod and repeat the words "uh huh", "cool", and "nice" to disguise the fact that I'm not listening to a word that's coming out of their mouths. 

This happened to me this morning when one of my co-workers started complaining about the gifts that her brother-in-law got her sister for Christmas: something about a diamond necklace, an HDMI cable, and a lottery ticket.  I don't know.  I stopped paying attention immediately after the words "lottery ticket".  The words "I don't give a fuck" couldn't possibly have described how little I cared about this conversation, so I went through the motions of pretending I cared by turning on what I like to call the "Internal Bullshit Defense Mechanism" - or IBDM.  Every guy has an IBDM, but mine is particularly sensitive.  It responds to even the slightest increases in bullshit by putting my mind into a sleep-like state and my mouth on automatic pilot. 

Mom nagging me about something?  "Uh huh" 

Friend going on and on about their fantasy football team?  "Cool"

Co-worker trying to tell me about all the useless shit their sister got for Christmas?  "Nice"

Its an all-purpose substitute for the words "I don't care."  They get what they want: someone to tell their bogus stories to.  I get what I want: not actually having to listen to their bogus stories.  Its a win-win proposition.  If they notice what I'm doing and are offended by it, I explain that I chose a more polite way of doing what I actually wanted to do in the first place - tell them to shut up. 

The Internal Bullshit Defense Mechanism: nature's way of preserving relationships.