Saturday, March 5, 2011

I'm On Greasy Time.

Have you ever noticed that sometimes time flies, and sometimes it just drags on. According to Einstein, this phenomenon is called time dilation. Einstein theorized that time flows and ebbs like currents in a river.

This explains why time perception differs; it just flies by when you're having a blast and just drags on when you aren't. Consequentially when somebody is sucking the life out of you with incessant yammering, time almost grinds to a standstill. Here's a few examples.

1. Hot Rod Breakdown.

You decide to drive to Vegas in your hot rod. You have a freshly rebuilt engine, tons of nachos, 48 beers, 10 black t-shirts and two cans of hair grease.You're rarin' to go and have planned for every contingency; except for the part about breaking down two hundred miles from home in a really bad part of town. That's when time really slows down. As night falls an dirtbags appear from nowhere eyeballin' your obviously broken down car, and time slows down even more.

As you manage to find a tow truck to haul your car home, you experience the longest two hundred miles of your life. Even longer still, is when you realize that the breakdown occurred because of a 5 dollar part. Because you are rollin' a vintage hemi, it will take two weeks to get the part from North Carolina. The fact that you completely missed Viva Las Vegas takes about 3 seconds.

The ensuing cursing will last for days.

2. Drunk Tank.

Let's say that you somehow managed to end up in a drunk tank. ( I'm only speaking hypothetically of course, *ahem*, *cough*, *cough*) you will find that time comes to virtual standstill. The grinding wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly indeed. As the alcohol slowly wears off, you will munch a state sponsored baloney sandwich and wonder what the fuck is taking so long.

They will eventually let you go and you will scare folks as you exit into the street sporting beady eyes and a messed up pomp.  This is a prime example of why you should always have emergency beers in the fridge.  When you finally arrive home, you will drink those beers to get your Circadian rhythm back on track as you ponder the fact that had you fucked off quicker, the cops never would have seen you. One microsecond in Einstein's universe.

3. The Bad Guitar Player.

Those of you out there who have ever experienced the joy of playing with some smoking musicians and rocking a room will know firsthand what I am talking about. If you haven't, let me elaborate.
 A gig usually consists of two or sometimes three sets. Rockabilly songs are short, so there are usually about fifteen songs or so in each set. When you are really rockin', last call is soon upon you and you wonder where the time went, but you know that you had a total blast.

Not so if you happen to have the misfortune of playing with that time killer known as the bad guitar player. Each song will seem as long as some longhair 70's rock epic and you will despair as you look at your set list on the floor before you and realize that you have 14 more to go.

After he mangles the intro, you will soon realize that guitar man is also in the wrong key. This may have something to do with the huge joint that he smoked before the show, or maybe he just sucks. You will feel mounting anger as the solos deteriorate into a self-indulgent foray into guitar-wankage and try to pick up the pieces at the 63rd bar or thereabouts.

By the time the second set rolls around your apprehension will be visible by some audience members. Halfway through people will hear you audibly saying "fuck" into the microphone. When you finally get to the point where it's time to say "thank you, goodnight!' your eyes are rolling around uncontrollably and you are grateful that you had  the self control to not thump bad guitar man in the head with your acoustic.

You can probably bet that that was a very, very long two hours, but it ain't over yet. Chances are guitar man is too stoned to lift anything, so you will end up toting that Fender twin reverb up the stairs for him. Next weekend, you get to do it all over again.

4. The Vampires.

I think that we've all been in the unfortunate position of having somebody yammer at us while sucking all the energy from our bodies. There are certain social situations where you cannot simply walk away, yell at them to shut-the-fuck-up or punch them in the mouth.

It could be a relative at a xmas party, a friend of a friend or some retard that you're trying to sell shit to on Craigslist. Sometimes you just gotta shut up and take it, but time does indeed drag on.

It never fails, however, if you are at a party, There will always be one cretin who simply can't handle his booze. Time is inversely proportional to how well you or your friends know this fool. If you've seen around but don't really know him,you may punch him after 15 minutes of obnoxious behavior, if you sorta know him have some big greasy friends eject him form the party. If he's a total stranger , feel free to kick his ass immediately. Once the offending idiot is removed, the party will seem to go by way quicker.

The same applies to unwanted sounds. It never fails. You will be trying to enjoy a beer on a patio somewhere and someone will be there to distract you and your friends. Loud talkers may be told to shut up immediately, cel phone yakkers can have their phones stomped on after about 5 minutes and anyone playing bongos in your immediate vicinity can have their bongos destroyed in 2 milliseconds.

5. Gimme My Shit.

Once in a while, a friend will need a helping hand, whether it is lending a bit of cash, tools, beers or guitars. Time lag ain't so bad, because you know that your friend is good for it. Some folks, on the other hand, ain't so good for it. Nothing will make time drag on interminably as somebody owing you dough or  hanging on to your tools, beers and guitars. It may even dawn on you that that person is avoiding you and you ain't never gettin' your shit back.

After a month you are entitled to piss in his gas tank. It will be hilarious when you see how long it will take him to try starting his car.

After two months you are allowed to break in to his his house and steal all his beers, except two. Even more hilarity as he drunkenly attempts to count beers on his fingers at 4 am after a night of partying.

After three months you are legally entitled to shove a ball peen hammer up his ass and see how long it takes to extricate it.

After four months, you tell the local bartender that he is stealing tips.

After 6 months you may the local bikers that he was bad mouthing them.

That's a lot of elapsed time, but well worth the effort.

I hope that clears things up a little in the grand scheme of time management. In the meantime, I haven't had a beer in seven days. It feels like seven weeks, and by the time I've drank my seventh beer, I'm sure that I will feel like only seven minutes have elapsed and will be forced to go out and buy seven more beers. See you all next time, as it were.

No comments:

Post a Comment