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Or Kill Me / n00b+booze= No Conversion :(
« on: April 05, 2007, 02:46:37 am »
Its hard to force someone to open their eyes, you may blind them.
I'm sitting in a pub on a Tuesday afternoon. Now there is nothing unusual about this, in fact it is very much a ritual. A friend of mine is sitting next to me with a pint of what he calls lager, but I call cats urine. But who am I to talk, drinking, as I am, whisky polluted with ice and coke.
The conversation is dying. He has told me about his failure to get a driving licence, his mothers refusal to allow him to buy a motorbike and the re-write of the screenplay for an old Bond movie.
I have said very little.
In the middle of his fantasising about sending his dross to a production company, I change tack, quite suddenly, and begin talking to him about personal freedom. What it means to him.
He orders another lager, and asks me to repeat my question, which I do.
He tells me that to him, personal freedom is being able to get around without asking his mother to drive him (for the record, he lives in the sticks). I then describe to him my version of personal freedom, which in essance boils down to knowing when someone trying to lead you by a chain, whatever that chain is.
He thinks I mean this literally, telling me that doesn't really happen in a civilised and free society like there is in Britain today, so I have to explain that I mean the kind that are forged in television, banks, family, psychiatry etc (again, my personal view).
He still doesn't understand, so I drop it. I order another drink. We talk over some of the finer points of his screenplay, a subject clearly very close to his heart. We discuss music and girls. By now I've had a bit more to drink, and as always happens, I get a bit more evangelical, a bit louder and soundbite-y.
I begin to rail at him, just a little, telling him that none of us are free. We are enslaved to our perceptions, and our perceptions are currently spoon fed to us by serious newscasters, by the views and opinions of family and friends, by our education. He replies by asking me if my opinion should be his new perception. This is a good point. Am I getting through to him? But no, he is being 'witty and urbane'.
I then make a fatal error, I tell him about the PD and the BIP pamphlet.
Now he thinks I'm in some weird cult, and he most definately doesn't want to be a pope.
I scratch this first, failed attempt up to experience and drop the topic. Next time, I will try to be sober first, have more understanding of what I'm talking about and I'll certainly make sure I leave off the subject with him for a few months.
Several hours later, we swagger out the pub, still talking about his fucking screenplay...
I'm sitting in a pub on a Tuesday afternoon. Now there is nothing unusual about this, in fact it is very much a ritual. A friend of mine is sitting next to me with a pint of what he calls lager, but I call cats urine. But who am I to talk, drinking, as I am, whisky polluted with ice and coke.
The conversation is dying. He has told me about his failure to get a driving licence, his mothers refusal to allow him to buy a motorbike and the re-write of the screenplay for an old Bond movie.
I have said very little.
In the middle of his fantasising about sending his dross to a production company, I change tack, quite suddenly, and begin talking to him about personal freedom. What it means to him.
He orders another lager, and asks me to repeat my question, which I do.
He tells me that to him, personal freedom is being able to get around without asking his mother to drive him (for the record, he lives in the sticks). I then describe to him my version of personal freedom, which in essance boils down to knowing when someone trying to lead you by a chain, whatever that chain is.
He thinks I mean this literally, telling me that doesn't really happen in a civilised and free society like there is in Britain today, so I have to explain that I mean the kind that are forged in television, banks, family, psychiatry etc (again, my personal view).
He still doesn't understand, so I drop it. I order another drink. We talk over some of the finer points of his screenplay, a subject clearly very close to his heart. We discuss music and girls. By now I've had a bit more to drink, and as always happens, I get a bit more evangelical, a bit louder and soundbite-y.
I begin to rail at him, just a little, telling him that none of us are free. We are enslaved to our perceptions, and our perceptions are currently spoon fed to us by serious newscasters, by the views and opinions of family and friends, by our education. He replies by asking me if my opinion should be his new perception. This is a good point. Am I getting through to him? But no, he is being 'witty and urbane'.
I then make a fatal error, I tell him about the PD and the BIP pamphlet.
Now he thinks I'm in some weird cult, and he most definately doesn't want to be a pope.
I scratch this first, failed attempt up to experience and drop the topic. Next time, I will try to be sober first, have more understanding of what I'm talking about and I'll certainly make sure I leave off the subject with him for a few months.
Several hours later, we swagger out the pub, still talking about his fucking screenplay...