As anybody who’s read these essays or any of my other writings knows, I have a lot to say, and I know it may not be to everybody’s tastes. But this is the Web, I’m not bagging your groceries, and you can leave whenever you want. (But not now, please)

You see, last night as I was at a gas station filling up the IITBmobile, I remembered the IITBcave needed milk. I’ve been to this station before, and the 20-something clerks have been friendly, so I felt no qualms about doing a little late-night one-stop shopping. I find the milk, I pick up a sandwich because I’m hungry (and I can get 300 bonus [certain gas station chain] Rewards points).  And since it’s after midnight, there’s no wait, and I can get out and on my way quickly.

Or not. What follows is a rough reconstruction of the actual conversation the overweight, middle-aged (he told me his age) late-night gas station attendant had, as I’m tired, hungry and eager to get home, and he is holding my two gallons of milk and sub sandwich hostage as he “bags” them.

Him: So how much of this is for me?

Me: None, sorry, it’s all for me.

Him: None for me? The least you could have done is lie to me.

(I hand him my (certain gas station chain) Rewards card and my credit card to pay in a vain attempt to end the conversation here)

Me: (I say nothing because by now I’m rung up and ready to leave, but he’s still bagging my milk)

Him: The government’s been lying to me for 40 years. It doesn’t even matter about what.

Me: (Still not saying anything because I’m both unnerved and trying to be polite. I grab my sandwich and put it into a bag with the one gallon of milk he’s managed to finish with to hurry things along)

Him: Like property taxes. All these homes are going under, but property values are going up so they can charge more tax.

Me: (compelled to say *something*) Uh… Well *I* was never good at math. Maybe that’s their excuse. Good night. (Hurry out the door to my car).

fin

I can only imagine the palatial estate this gentleman lives in that he had to worry about paying the property taxes on. And from personal experience, the government has always been very forthright with me concerning how much money they want me to give them. I can therefore conclude that this good sir who was working his hardest to provide me with quality milk, food and information, was, in fact MISTAKEN about the government lying.

To protect you, my fair readers, from being subjected to such misinformation as this: I’m offering these five guidelines to arm yourselves with. Ready? Here we go.

1) Don’t go into stores after midnight. There’s a reason people who work this late work this late. If you do shop this late, go to a major chain that has those automatic checkout machines. It saves you time and all that pesky interaction.

2) Keep to yourself. Try to make yourself as indistinguishable and unrecognizable as possible. Try a knit cap, sunglasses and a scarf. I guarantee the clerk will not speak to you.

3) Learn sign language. I know, it’s politically incorrect to pretend you’re deaf. And in most cases it is. But you’re trying to escape from a crazy person here, so the ends justify the means. Side note: Learn real sign language. There’s a possibility, slim though it may be, that your clerk may know it too, and if you don’t, you’re just an idiot waving your hands around nonsensically pretending to be deaf.

4) Get a job there with him. He’ll come to despise you the way he did the rest of his coworkers, which is why they stuck him in the late shift in the first place, and he’ll never speak to you again.

5) Play along and start talking crazy yourself. If you’re tired and hungry enough, you could even be sincerely crazy by this point, but I’m going on the assumption that it’s an act. Warning: This is listed last because it’s the most likely to backfire, and you could end up getting stuck there in a battle of idiocy. Proceed at your own risk.

So there you have it. Feel free to try these out not just at gas stations, but anyplace you feel you may need a quick conversation stopper.

And sir, on the off chance you’re reading this, for someone who works someplace where the name emphasizes the quickness with which one can get in and out of the establishment, your service left much to be desired.

But for all the crimes celebrities commit (drugs, shoplifting, armed robbery, drugs, assault, drugs, battery, drugs , prostitution and trying to give up a successful acting career to “concentrate on (their) music”), the one that doesn’t seem to come up is stalking. And I’m not talking about one of us invading a famous person’s privacy repeatedly or, God forbid, killing yourself after getting booted off a TV show. I mean when someone famous actually stalks someone else.

Why is that? Is it because they’ve already been successful and have no reason to be jealous of another person to the point of adoration and potential harm? Pshaw. If nothing else, it’s just statistically improbable that “unhealthy obsession” hasn’t come up yet.

But, ladies and gentlemen, I think we may soon have a winner: Teen singing/songwriting sensation Taylor Swift. Taylor is 19 years old (Yesterday was her birthday, as a matter of fact) and has two albums out, one country and a new one just country enough not to alienate her initial fanbase. By all accounts, she is a phenom, writing or co-writing all her songs, and being the most popular teenager on the music scene since …  I don’t know, Hanson? Anyway, she’s had a bunch of hits and has nowhere to go but up.

But have you heard any of her music? I mean, really listened to the lyrics? There are some serious warning signs that should not be ignored. For instance, “Picture to Burn”:

So go and tell your friends that I’m obsessive and crazy
That’s fine; you won’t mind if I say
And by the way…

I hate that
Stupid old pickup truck
You never let me drive
You’re a redneck heartbreak
Who’s really bad at lying
So watch me strike a match
On all my wasted time
As far as I’m concerned you’re
Just another picture to burn

There’s no time for tears,
I’m just sitting here
Planning my revenge
There’s nothing stopping me
From going out with all of your best friends
And if you come around saying sorry to me
My daddy’s gonna show you how sorry you’ll be.

Did I mention she was only 16 when she wrote this? She’s had three more years of bitterness since then. Between songs such as this,  “Should Have Said No” (sung to someone who cheated) and from her new album “You’re Not Sorry” (sung to an ex who, well, isn’t sorry he led her on). Taylor goes through a lot of boyfriends. And these are just the ones she’s written about. (Side note, I find it odd that there was recent conjecture about her being a virgin, with all these guys she’s had jilt her. Really? None of them? Or maybe that’s why there are so many, I don’t know.)

My personal favorite song (by Taylor Swift, not ever. Yet.) is “Teardrops on My Guitar.” Here, Taylor pines unrequitedly for Drew, a boy who, if her music video is to be believed, is her dreamy lab partner. If this song doesn’t smack of “restraining order waiting to happen,” I don’t know what does. In the end, Taylor decides to “put his picture down and maybe get some sleep tonight,” and cede her love to the infamous Other Woman (referred to in the song as “she”).

I can only imagine in the future, as Taylor and her songwriting mature and she has a few more failed romances under her belt (well, maybe not under her belt, per se), she won’t be content to keep getting cheated on, unceremoniously dumped or just plain not noticed. Oh no. She’s going to get one too many 25-second breakup calls from quasi-famous teen heartthrobs, and that’ll be it. She won’t just be burning pictures, she’ll be torching that guy’s house. She doesn’t just hate that stupid old pickup truck, she’s slashing holes in all four tires (now that should be a country song). And she’s not going to just be crying on that guitar. I’m thinking there’s going to be some Jimi Hendrix-style smashing over Drew’s head, until he either sees the error of his ways and goes out with Taylor, or succumbs to blunt force trauma.

Of course, Edward Furlong taught me that the future is not set, and there is no fate but what we make for ourselves. (Hey, why isn’t he stalking anybody? He doesn’t have anything better to do.) Taylor may find the right man for her and live happily ever after. But then what would she write about? I know: A song about how nobody thought their love would last, which will become a Top 10 hit, before her marriage ends in divorce a few short years later.

Taylor Swift won't be allowed to take that guitar into prison with her.

]]> http://inaneinthebrain.wordpress.com/2008/12/14/bloodstains-on-whats-left-of-my-guitar/feed/ 0 inaneinthebrain taylor http://inaneinthebrain.wordpress.com/2008/11/26/things-this-site-is-not-named/ http://inaneinthebrain.wordpress.com/2008/11/26/things-this-site-is-not-named/#comments Wed, 26 Nov 2008 01:21:15 +0000 inaneinthebrain http://inaneinthebrain.wordpress.com/?p=3 ]]> I’d like to apologize to all of you for all the time you’re eventually going to waste here. Not because I’m immodest enough to think you’ll be riveted by what I write (although that is my fondest hope), but because I’ll admit up front that there aren’t any animal pictures or funny videos or photos of celebrities breaking my nose as they try to steal my camera (yet!). Scientists hard at work on Research have shown those are the real reasons people surf the Web. Maybe Pets.com would still be in business if they’d had some pictures of stuff on cats.

With the economy the way it is, maybe you’ve stumbled here because you were laid off and have lots of time to just browse for idiocy such as this. If this is the case, I can only assume you’re here on a break between posting “First” on the forum for the upcoming Perfect Strangers “re-imagining” and trying to figure out which of the job postings on Craigslist are legitimate. Helpful hint: you won’t find a career in the personals section.

Originally, before I settled on writing blather (name was taken), inanity (also taken) and sheer and utter nonsense (didn’t bother to look), I thought I might try chronicling the world of alien news. Abuduction roundups, UFO sightings, government denials, and the eventual takeover of humankind. It would have been great. But I abandoned this for two reasons: First, I realized that part of my duties would have to include listening to some late-LATE night talk radio, and I don’t have the time/energy/stomach for that. And second, if I’m writing online about alien abductions, one of two things would happen. First (A?), they’d either turn out to be fake, and I’d be out of business for lack of news, or (B?) they’d be real and my chances to save myself by becoming a collaborator just went out the window by exposing their Plan.

Instead, I settled on this. Like Bob Dylan, my goal is to string a bunch of unrelated sentences together and be world renowned for it.  The only difference (literally, the only one) is that sometimes his nonsense rhymes.

As we begin our trip down this river of inanity (That’s a good one. Too late to change it now!), let me take you to the bridge and give you a look at how I’m going to steer this mighty vessel. I’ll start with the name.

One of the hardest parts of any new venture such as this is coming up with a name. Especially for me. I once wrote a short story and called it Janus, after the two-faced god of something, because the main character couldn’t decide if he wanted to sleep with an unattractive girl or stay a virgin single. I was in college when I wrote it. Guess what he picked. Wrong.

So after an exhaustive 10-minute search, I found that no one had claimed Inane in the Brain. Which I like because it rhymes, I didn’t need to think of a word to leave the vowels out of, and I could potentially get some redirects from people looking for Cypress Hill lyrics.  In said exhaustive search (which only took 10 minutes because so many things were already taken; Save some single words for the rest of us, people!), I found a ton of domain names that would have been perfect for this site, but were sadly unavailable. For instance:

Inanity.com

HerveVillechaize.com

HarperValleyPTA.com

Lactose.com

IntercoursePA.com

MySpace.com (would have been perfect, because this is MY SPACE! Damn cybersquatters)

egay.com (Sadly, not living up to its potential)

RicardoMontalban.com

Some nine seconds into minute 11, I came up with Inane in the Membrane, and by 10:13 it was Inane in the Brain. It was love at first sight. Technically second sight. Just remember, it’s better than being inane someplace else.

I hope you like what you read and you don’t waste too much time here. And that you learned something. About me, about you, and about life. Until next time, adios, au revoir, auf wiedersehen.

Edward Norton (right) and Brad Pitt will play Larry and Balki, international superspies who learn they're really cousins, in "Perfect Strangers," coming next year.