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.
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Brain Farts: Dog Days of Winter |
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By Kevin Gibson |
This is a Brain Fart that I wrote and then decided not to submit. I wrote it very late at night while sitting alone on the couch at a condo I used to live in. It basically echoes A Very Special Brain Farts from a year earlier, which is why I figured it wasn't worth submitting. If you're not a pet lover to the extreme, you probably won't get much out of it. Although, it does mention the Britney column that was rejected.
Please forgive me for doing this again. I tried to avoid it. My intent was to disembowel Britney Spears for your amusement this week. It didn't work out that way.
As you read this, it's Jan. 30, 2002, or after, but as I write this it's late o'clock on Jan. 24. I'm mourning the loss of a friend that happened two years ago today. I've done all the right things -- I've moved on with my life, I've loved again. The pain, however, remains.
But my friend Jan warned me it was a pain that would never go away. She said it the day I lost my friend Toby. She had lost friends before and has lost two since. She understands when many don't. To many it was "just a dog." To me, it was Toby, my best friend. Probably, the truth lies somewhere in between, but that doesn't fix my heart. Doesn't fix Jan's heart, either.
Since I first wrote to LEO readers about Toby (Feb. 2, 2000), nearly two years have passed. So many of you wrote to tell me you know how I feel. I heard you all. I heard you, Leslie Stewart. I remember and appreciate your words, Liz Shaw. Mary Oliver Humke, your e-mail is in Toby's scrapbook too. Nancy White, Lisa Vuturo, Missy Hall, Fadel Friedlander, Scott Wilhoit, Tracy Edmonds (yes, that Tracy) - you're all in there, along with the photographs of the good times, the hairs I saved, the cards and even the receipt from the animal shelter the day I adopted Toby.
And Cary Stemle, my old friend and ex-boss, he's in there - what's more, he had to feel my pain last year, and for that I am sorry. (Cary, Gertie lives not only in your heart, but in mine too. She was special.) And Karen Wellinghurst, your hug and your tears on Feb. 2, 2000, meant more to me than you'll ever know.
After two years, I still dream about Toby often. Almost every week, in fact. He's usually there, a secondary part of my dream, walking by my side. My dream self never acknowledges that he shouldn't be there. That's the great thing; hey, the natural thing is for him to be there, even after all this time. The bad part is waking up and losing him all over again.
As I write this, my new friends are playing at my feet. Asa and Sweetie, the 10-month-old Pekingese who adopted my girlfriend and me last October, have found their way into my heart in a way I thought wouldn't be possible again. No, they'll never replace Toby; rather, they've found a couple spots in my heart that hadn't yet been claimed. They help. A lot.
A good hard cry in my girlfriend's arms helped me survive another year without Toby. I'm sure next year will be no different. I'm not sure when, or if, I will make it through Jan. 24 without that. Some of you understand. Some of you, unfortunately, will understand at some point in the future.
As for the rest of you, well, you don't know what you're missing. And I mean that in a good way.
Contact the writer at kgramone@aol.com. Hurry, before it's too late.