Being a Humorous Superhero

I actually laughed myself to sleep earlier this week. 

As usual, I was lying in bed with a book, but suddenly I found myself distracted with various thoughts that got me to chuckling.  This progressed into a constant giggle, and almost reached guffaw levels, and probably would have done, had I not been so tired. 

Going to sleep with a smile on your face is quite a nice feeling, I must say. 

The whole experience lasted at least half an hour, during which time I realized that many of the humorous thoughts were good blog material. In fact, I almost got up and started typing right away, so as to get the ideas down before they were forgotten.  In the end, I wisely chose to let the happy sleep come. 

The following morning, I made a feeble effort to jot down some of the thoughts from the night before into my notebook.  Like with those great dreams that are so vivid, but so quickly forgotten, my list of chuckle moments did not truly capture the whole pleasant pre-sleep experience. 

Fortunately, I need only wait a few days (if not minutes) before more funny things and happy thoughts pop into my head, frequently from personal experience.  Most people will recognize that the best material comes from the experience. 

 All of this actually started a Friday evening or two ago, when I was having a Feierabend beer in the pub; a fairly routine thing for me.  That particular evening, Eintracht were playing an early match, as their game had been postponed from the day before due to foul weather.  So, the pub was rather full of patrons at 18h, which is not so routine.  This created a little bit of confusion and frustration for a few guests who clearly were not fans of football, but instead were simply wanting to come in and grab an early dinner or a few quiet beers.  

I was standing in my usual place at the bar next to Mono, and we watched people come in the door expecting to find plenty of tables or space available.  Although the pub is not necessarily a sports bar, it has several televisions that show a match (or matches) on sporting days.  One of the tvs is directly above the front door, and I will say that it is a little intimidating when you open the door to enter the public house only to find 15-20 staring at you.   In fairness, these patrons are actually looking above the door, but at first glance, you get the impression that they have all been waiting for the next victim to walk (or try to walk) in the door, only to collectively throw them back out. 

The thing about Eintracht fans, though, is that they are all particularly passionate.  Any serious sports fan can easily understand this passion, but in my opinion, Frankfurt fans take this one step further.  By this, I mean that they all have heated discussions with the television throughout the entire match; with the players, the referee, the coaches, everyone.  True, they do this in the stadium, as well, but all the more interesting is how they do this together in every venue.  To put this in perspective, every other pub on my street was just as filled with Eintracht fans watching the game on this particular evening, all of them behaving the same way.

It can be endearing at times, but other times it can be absolutely maddening.  As a fellow fan of the sport, I have had similar moments when I have shouted a word or two to one of the players on the screen.  But with Eintracht, the entire group has something to say about each throw in, or goal kick, or some other rather minor part of the game. 

Where I might watch a match in silence until that moment when my team scores a goal (prompting me to murmur, "nice."), my Frankfurt neighbors are roaring the entire time until the goal is scored, at which point they erupt even further into pandemonium. 

On this particular Friday evening, Mono took a moment to share one of his thoughts, which was that football fans are kind of a motley crew, and as I looked around the pub, I saw what he meant.  It's not as if everyone looked derelict, and I am not trying to judge someone by what clothes they might be wearing (although I would argue that it's not always the best judgement to wear a concert t-shirt from a show back in 1986.  I was at that show, too, and I no longer wear that shirt.  Just saying)

Mono was right, though.  Most of the patrons gave the impression that they might be hard pressed to fight their way out of a wet paper bag, and that can be a little unsettling. 

Suddenly, though, the door opened, and three girls, all about 10 years old walked in the pub, greeting everyone with a general and optimistic "Hiiii!"

They all had smiles on their faces, and moved through the crowded bar, eventually reaching a spare corner of the Tresen.  There, they ordered small cokes and a packet of crisps to share.  It was in sharp contrast to the other patrons, and other than briefly smiling to myself at their innocence and confidence, I did not really give it further thought.  I assumed that the girls were coming in to locate their parents watching the game. 

A few minutes later, I could hear the young voices conversing happily, and this struck me as a rather pleasant thing.  Furthermore, it was rather impressive that I was hearing their voices above the roar of the fans and the commentator from the television.  But, I quickly realized that it was simply the contrast of such young enthusiastic voices in a crowded pub instead of a schoolyard or park or whatever.  The fact that I could not see the girls across the crowded pub, hidden by the much much taller patrons, made it all the more humorous.

It turns out that the girls just were having a snack before continuing their own little evening adventure.  Mono had seen all of this, too, and smiled as he said, "Stadtkinder."

True.  City kids (even though Frankfurt is far from a bustling metropolis) learn to be very independent at an early age. 

I laughed to myself as the girls exited the pub a few minutes later, all enthusiastically exclaiming "Tschüss!!!!" as the door closed behind them.

That little happy incident started the accumulation of happy thoughts that converged right as I was falling asleep at the beginning of the week.

Over the rest of that weekend, I remembered when I first became a superhero, back in college.  I had a friend who simply could not say my name without adding ",man."

Back then, he was a good friend, so we spoke often.  "Bryan, man," he would start off, before asking me about one of our classes, or about something on campus.

One day, another friend happened to point out that it sounded like, "Bryanman" when spoken, and suddenly, I was "Bryanman."

And yes, I have been known to leap the odd building in a single bound, and I am kind of speedy.
Combine this with my tendency to be rather sarcastic and bitter, as well as having moments of somewhat harsh wit, and suddenly one had to watch out.

More than once during college, despite me reputation for being a pretty good guy, some people could remark that one had to have a tough skin to be around Bryanman.  I cannot deny that, and know good and well what I was (and am) capable of.

For a while, I actually believed a mantra that I was saying all to often:  Happy people piss me off.

I am glad that period of time was brief, and ultimately I found more of a compromise to use dark humor to offset my pessimism.

Now, to help clarify (if not justify) my feelings at the time, I will give the example of music.  Back then, I never liked country western music, and to be truthful, I still don't like it.  But, back then, I would have berated you for liking the music.  That's what Bryanman did.

Fortunately, I matured, and realized the foolishness of my actions and thoughts.  I have many friends who quite enjoy CW music, and that is just fine.  The scorn that I had back then faded away, and has all but disappeared.  Thankfully.

And, to be clear, I could take it as well as I could give it.  Like the other guy, I, too, have my kryptonite, which seems to be in the form of household cleaning goods.  Just the other day, only weeks after the last incident where I somehow managed to get an eyeful of windex, I was checking the batteries on my little airwick thing, and again, almost as if I was using binaca, found myself going "bleahhh!" in disgust as I inadvertently swallowed a spray of "scent of bambu, melon and beach."

(little known fact - the antidote is actually a shot of Febreeze...)

So, happy thoughts are good thing.  And funny things are also good things. 

Bryanman still exists, but is more smiley and thoughtful and respecting.  These days, I will not rip into someone with a harsh statement like, "wow, are you an incapable Eintracht fan still wearing a Jethro Tull t-shirt from 1982?" when they make a questionable statement like, "I would like to go buy some contact lenses for reading."

Instead, I will probably just kind of chuckle and respond, "Wow, when did someone invent those? And how do they work?"

Switching back to happy thoughts, I have been reading a series of books by an author who is incredibly good at developing her characters.  The Canadian author is in her early 60s, and I have spent January and February reading about 15 books, all about the same detective in a small village in Quebec.  I quite like the writing style, and I absolutely love the subtle references to things that I recognize.  It's a style I have always admired, and am aware that I use it frequently in my own work.

You have to be prepared that not everyone will catch the reference, but that is entirely the point.
 Just this week I was mentioning Dr Seuss to my friends at the Kiosk.  They all looked at me blankly, not recognizing the author whatsoever.   

Anyway, this Canadian author frequently brings the family pet into the story.  The other week I read a charming little paragraph, where the master took the shy German Sheperd puppy out for a walk in the snow.  Upon returning to the house, the master then carefully and lovingly took a towel and dried off the wet, cold paws of the dog, who was quite grateful for the affection and care.

I recalled similar moments from my childhood, when, after playing outside in the rare times that it snowed, I would come back inside, usually unhappy at the uncomfortable feeling of being wet and cold.  But, my mom or dad, sometimes both, would grab a towel, help me take my snow stuff off, then put me in front of the heater, and then dry me off from head to toe.  And of course, this prompted me to wag my own tail and give them a little lick on the face as a way of expressing my gratitude. 

It seemed to be the right thing to do.

See you out there
bryanman