Brain Farts Brain Fart brain farts brain fart brain-fart brain-farts brainfart brainfarts LEO Louisville Eccentric Observer parody lampoon satire Louisville Kentucky Kevin Gibson kgramone@aol.com  kgramone humor

Brain Farts was a weekly humor column that ran in the Louisville Eccentric Observer (LEO) from mid-2000 until the summer of 2002. It was, well, eccentric. And occasionally satirical. And sardonic. Some liked it, some hated it; some just didn't get it, and that's OK. There were times when I didn't get it either. I've compiled here some of the archives from Brain Farts for the enjoyment of friends, family and anyone else who happens by. I also have written some new Brain Farts, and added some links and other trivialities that you shouldn't be too concerned with.

Unless you're as bored as I am.

I’m more or less what you would classify as “single.” As in, I’m not married and not in any sort of relationship that includes a commitment, unless you count my dog. I’m committed to feeding him twice a day and letting him outside often so he doesn’t crap on the floor. But he’s OK with me seeing other people – so technically, I’m single.

There are advantages and disadvantages to being single. An advantage is that, when someone asks me, “What are you doing tomorrow?”, I can respond with, “Any damn thing I want!”

That’s a good place to be.

On the other hand, my dog doesn’t look so great in a thong, and I didn’t get squat for Valentine’s Day. (Then again, I didn’t have to piss away any money on flowers, either. Why do women like flowers, anyway? Honestly, would you ever, say, buy a pet that you knew was going to be dead in five days? Of course not. So why flowers?)

But the key thing to note about being single is that one of the best things about it – dating – is also the worst thing about it.

It’s true: I hate dating. But I’m compelled to do it because I’m a male, and my internal programming drives me to interact with the female of the species. My instincts are telling me to spread the seed, so by golly I’m trying to respond.

But society makes dating kind of weird and difficult, especially when you’re as neurotic as I am. You know, there are all these rules and customs about dating that just make the process so freaking painful. I think this is why people get married – so they don’t have to date anymore. (Shortly thereafter, they get divorced. Then they have to start dating again. But I digress.)

I especially hate meeting people in bars. That’s the worst, which is why I avoid those situations like the plague. If I go to a bar, it’s to hang out with people I already know and/or to hear a band. Period. But recently I was at a local bar with my friend Greg when the strangest thing happened to me.

I was standing next to the bar, waiting to order beers for Greg and myself – it was $1 longneck night – when a dark-haired lady in her mid-40s approached. She was wearing beat-up clothes and looked like she hadn’t washed her hair in a while, and she said, “Excuse me, sir, but I’m homeless and I don’t have any money. Would you please give me a dollar so I can get a beer?”

I kind of shrugged and said OK, then handed her a dollar. She nearly turned to walk away but hesitated. She then turned back to me and said, “Do you date?”

There are moments in a person’s life when one is rendered absolutely speechless. This was one of those moments. To me, this was one of life’s great, undiscovered paradoxes. Think about it: If you go out and socialize in public, at some point, someone will come up and offer to buy you a drink, or ask you to buy one for them. It’s sort of a dating ritual, if you will, and something we all experience at some point.

At the same time, it’s perhaps even more common (especially in the Highlands or downtown) to be pumping gas or walking into a store and having someone come up and ask you for spare change or perhaps a dollar to buy some food. In either instance, we pretty much have stock responses that get us through the situations painlessly.

But when you combine the two scenarios, suddenly the mind starts to reel. It was like "Back to the Future, Part II." How could Michael J. Fox be playing a guitar solo, and climbing across the top of the stage overhead? It's not possible, so the mind cannot grasp it. I found my mouth opening, but there was nothing coming out. (Or at least nothing reasonably intelligent.) What am I supposed to do, ask for her home number?

But the strange thing was, suddenly I felt guilty for wanting to say no to her; I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but at the same time I didn’t want to be dishonest. So exactly how do you answer when a homeless person asks you for money, then asks you if you date? Here are a few of the things that came to mind ...

“I date, I just don’t date homeless alcoholics.” Hmmm. Kind of judgmental.

“Sure. My place or yours?” Unnecessarily sarcastic.

“Sorry, but I’m a raging homosexual.” Blatant lie.

“I have a steady girlfriend.” OK, it’s a lie, but at least it’s a polite lie, right? So that’s what I said. And yet I still felt a twinge of guilt. And that’s when I realized ...

I’m George Costanza.

I hope none of this came across as being derogatory toward this person I met; she seemed like a nice enough human being who perhaps was just down on her luck. To me, this experience was simply an interesting social paradox that may never happen again and bore discussion. And besides, I’m fairly sure she’ll never read this anyway.

E-mail the writer at kgramone@aol.com. But whatever you do, don’t ask him out.