The Wednesday Commute, Brooklyn to ManhattanLast night, while I hoisted an umpteenth thinly sliced marbled disc of cured meet slathered in olive oil into my already over-lubricated gullet, Roger facilitated an interesting revelation: it is impossible to talk oneself into feeling something, while disquietingly easy to talk oneself out of it.
9 comments:
Todd, aren't those two seemingly opposite things actually the same thing?
No.
Maybe.
Yes?
Stop it.
Whether or not they're the same, I disagree with Roger. More importantly, don't ever Photoshop a bourbon belly on me again without my permission.
I couldn't get a pure bead on exactly what Roger was saying, but this morning, the whole talking-yourself-in-and-out-of-stuff line is what I came away with from the interaction.
I don't agree with you not showing up for soccer games. Rather, it disagrees with me.
I don't like missing games either, but every once in a while it's good to remind people what it's like when you're not around.
I think you are the only one who doesn't know what that feels like pretty well already Dan.
what?
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