Bullshitting, Bryan, and Rice Pudding

Eric's Living Room Floor
Music Swapping
Waco, Texas
2:42 pm
Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Bull Shitting, Bryan and Rice Pudding

Those not luck enough to have been born into Southern Culture and Heritage seem to lack an appropriate sense of awe, wonder, and astonishment for The Art of Bullshitting. There is a special grace, manner and appropriate demeanor needed to Bullshit correctly. Like most things of pure quality, I can't exactly define it but I know it when I see it. Standing around on the porch, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, talking shit to the hurricane. Heckling each other, telling outrageous stories, all while being generally loud and disorderly. But there's more to it then that. It's indicative of a whole way of life, an ease and gayety coupled with a spirit of endurance, hardworking, loyalty. It's stopping by at a neighbors, chit-chatting, shoo ing the breeze, bullshitting, then you're on your way. Maybe drinking a beer, catching up about people you used to know, talking about the future. It's a pervasive characteristic of the South thatsubtlysubtley ingrained into all aspects of social discourse that I almost missed it. As Bryan puts it, I am good at communicating. Sure, I'll communicate with you. Why the fuck not?

When I made it to Texas, Texarkana to be exact, stopped at a gas station just to be in Texas for a moment. I stretched my legs, bought some cigarettes, and got a soda. I decided to buy Texas shot glass, and ended up having a pleasant conversation with the attendant while she wrapped my purchase carefully. No sense of hurriedness, no sense of unfamiliarity, distance, alienation from those around you. I like that.

And Bryan has proved to me, yet again, that he's the most amazing man I know, outside my father. As I told him, I'd like to get to know his parents because they did an fabulous job raising him. Damn, I'm thankful to have him in my life. Dad said he's my Betsy, and that makes my heart smile. He's coming to Chicago with me after Paris for New Years. We're going to catch a show, good bands with standing. Who's with me?

We met up with Sydney Friday night, and Bryan and I stayed up all night watching Rita. It was good times, let us catch up, listen to music, bull shit. After that lovely encounter with the existential, Bryan (complete with Phish beanie), Phillip (hung-over, fantastic roommate), and I (in my hippie dress, forgot my bra) go to Bennagin's to eat and drink Margaritas. Yes, Bryan and I are still a bit off, but it's all good. As we're eating our appetizer, I happen to over-hear this man at another table. Try as I might I can't help but listen, and trust me, it was the most boring story ever. His companions seemed inraptured by his telling of this supposedly amazing rice pudding he once had.

Jesus Christ. I told Bryan, and he listened. This guy just kept going on and on, leading us back to a conversation we'd had earlier that night/morning. We were talking about people that aren't interesting, who fail to add to conversation, provide pleasant company. Bryan said that he finds himself interesting, and that as long as he can say that, he figures he's coming out all right. I agreed. At Bennagin's that I've had some pretty dank rice pudding, but that's not the point. The point is, I have other more interesting things to talk about, be it bullshitting about the Goddamn Hurricane (my new catch phrase), or discussing plans for graduate school and financial planning.


I then realized I know some people who tell Rice Pudding stories, and I wonder, Do I Tell Them?

The question goes far beyond me merely not wanting to hear rambling about inconsequential, inane shit. I know these people, people I love and respect have more worthwhile topics for conversation. How do you say, Dude, I don't give a shit about [insert inane comment here]. Can we please talk about something worth engaging about? And for some people I know it makes me wonder why they fell the have to fill every second with something, no matter who trivial, which besides being annoying, makes me wonder: what are you afraid of? Why can't you be silent. Lord knows my head is loud, but I can be quiet. I can listen.

That's it for stunning, brilllent observations for this evening. More about Austin, etc later.