Bold Claims

I had a moment of self-revelation this weekend. While I would like to believe that I live the examined life and that I have come to know myself pretty well over the course of the past three decades, there are still moments when I am surprised to recognize overarching themes in my life that correspond to underlying trends in my behavior.

Saturday afternoon found me, amazingly, in a bar to watch a little college football. Truth be told, Saturday afternoon found me, amazingly, in a bar to drink a little beer with a group of people who were hanging out with one dude who wanted to watch the Penn State game. And, that's fine. I like hanging out with people, even people who give a damn about Penn State football. That is particularly true when those people expect me to hang out with them in places that will serve me beer.

Actually, the bar we were in only marginally fit in to that category. The waitress was short and cute with a vague, unidentifiable accent. I maintain that I probably could have identified her accent if I had heard her say more than one word an hour to me, but she wasn't really keen on the customer service aspect of her job. At the very least, she wasn't keen on the THIS customer service aspect of her job. Short, cute servers of both sexes usually love me, but this one spent most of her time avoiding eye contact with me while she was rushing past on her very determined way to do something for someone else.

Not one to lose heart in the face of adversity, I steadfastly wrangled a third beer out of her. As I contentedly worked on my hard-won pint, I turned my attention back to the conversation that had been unfolding within the rest of my party which, by that time, had wended its way into the wonderful realm of baking.

- "What should I bake for tomorrow's outing on the boat?"
- "How about brownies?"
- "I don't know. Brownies don't exactly strike me as an appropriate last-weekend-of-summer-sailing-excursion baked good. I feel as though I am obligated to bake something more summery. Kind of like wearing my white shoes one last time before I put them away for the winter."
- "Okay. Well, how about snickerdoodles?"

Suddenly, I heard myself roar in to the conversation: "THE SNICKERDOODLE IS A BULLSHIT COOKIE!"

As I looked up from my beer and in to the uncomfortably taken aback faces that had turned to me, a handful of epiphanies exploded in my brain:
1 - My supporting argument for the claim that the snickerdoodle is a bullshit cookie was nowhere near even half-baked.
2 - Based on the expressions before me, I would momentarily be expected to put forth whatever supporting argument I had for said claim.
3 - While it is certainly not at the top of my list when it comes to cookies, in my heart of hearts, I have no real beef with the snickerdoodle and fully respect its right to exist, even if I myself would never have a hand in a snickerdoodle's creation.
4 - This is not the first time in my life when I have unconsciously decided the time had finally come for me to start talking out of my ass.

Having shaken the party and not wanting it to fall apart, I decided to explain myself.

"It occurs to me that we have not hung out a whole lot and that you perhaps do not know me very well. This point here," I said, indicating the current level of my glass, "is when I suddenly develop very strong opinions about things. Like Snickerdoodles. Do not be alarmed."

Thus, this weekend I finally recognized that many of my bold claims are born somewhere in the first third of my third beer.

You've been warned.