My friend was talking about a movie the other day. It was a heist or crime movie her partner had shown her. “It had that musician guy acting in it.” She said. That musician guy? Which musician guy? My mind immediately had an answer.. “Was it Harry Connick Jr?” I asked. Of course it wouldn’t be Harry Connick Jr. Why in fuck’s name would it be Harry Connick Jr? First off, he’s not a notable enough name to be memorable. Secondly he’s been in very few movies (scratch that, way more than I thought). Unless she had misconstrued The Iron Giant as a crime/heist movie, the chances of Harry Connick Jr being involved were slim to none. Still, my mind has an aptitude for making pretty strong pop cultural synaptic connections. Was it really so off base to imagine that this random 80s crime/heist film would just so happen to feature potential son of Harry Connick Sr, Harry Connick Jr in a notable, if not prominent role? “What? No. Who the fuck is Harry Connick Jr?” She responded.
Turns out it wasn’t Harry Connick Jr, folks. My brain was fucking with me. It does that from time to time and it feels kind of pointed. Intentional. Like it’s getting back at me for all the mindless white noise I make it sit through. The endless internet browsing, pointing, clicking for unblinking hours. My mind craves puzzles and challenges in order to work its mind muscles and I give it naught.
I feel shitty about how little I read. I feel even shittier about how little I read when it reflects in poor Scrabble games. So I had a friend over a few weeks back and she was literally beating me in her sleep. Scenario: She’d brought her Travel Scrabble and laid it out on the bed. Things started out lively enough. She got 30 or so points off her first word. I countered by claiming a triple letter score off a Q to get a decent 35 points or so. She turned my word “Quest” into “Quests” horizontally and “Rusting” vertically off a double word score. Strike up a cool 80 points from her. From that point I begun to take things a little more seriously. Watched out for potential ins where she could hang word. I played defensively and the more effort I took cultivating my board position, the longer my turns took. Soon enough 5 minute turns took 10, 20 minutes. It was late, so she just snoozed between rounds. I’d take 20 minutes to find a mediocre word while she slept, then I’d rustle her. She’d come to, gaze at her tiles then place a few down in a mere minute. She’d consistently double my previous round’s score with one or two tiles, then go back to sleep. My mind was lagging. I had a turn take 40 minutes out of fear of turning in a sub par word. I ended up throwing in the towel, giving up and joining her in bed. She was the master, she was the Harry Connick Sr.
I was merely the Harry Connick Jr.