Don’t Speak (Or, Wait For The Coffee)

Morning people creep me out.

There’s just no other way to say it. If you’re the sort to “rise and shine,” then I’m pretty you’re also the sort with one or two dismembered paperboys in your cellar. Paperpersons? Newspaper carriers? What’s the preferred nomenclature?

Whatever.

The point is, I have never once, in all my years, woken up and been happy about it.

At best, I wake up with a vague idea that I slept reasonably well, and I can find the coffee pot on my first try. Usually, though, I wake up wondering what more I can do to this body to keep that sort of thing from happening again.

Don’t get me wrong–it’s not that I want to die in my sleep any time soon. Rather, it’s more that should it happen, I won’t miss the first hour of my day.

It’s an awful, awful time, marked by cups of coffee swallowed while still scalding hot, and the smoke from as many cigarettes as my lungs can absorb without turning into jerky.

And people trying to talk to me.

I’ll never understand that. And by “that,” I mean “words,” when I’m still trying to boot up.

Why do people even still try?

Until I’ve got half-a-pot of coffee in me, and had a good hour, hour and a half to get both eyes open, there isn’t a prayer in hell that I’ll a) understand what you’re saying, b) care what you’re saying, or c) remember you even said it.

And the only way my early-morning mental capacity could be more obvious would be if I dropped my coffee mug, and shuffled toward the nearest family member while groaning: “Braaaaaaains…”

Seriously, let the caffeine and nicotine clock in, turn on the lights, and get the machines going before you try interacting with me.

If you don’t, neither one of us will be happy with the results.

Indoctrination

One of my favorite things about having a kid (apart from the fact that my daughter is just straight-up awesome), is that I get to fill her head with whatever I want.

That’s a powerful drug, people.

I try to use my powers for good, of course, but every now and then I try to feed her some nonsense. Like the time I told her that a band of lemurs migrated to the United States in the 1920s after being driven out of their homeland because of their insatiable desire to do other people’s hair.

And deception like that might be reason for concern, if her first reaction wasn’t to go look up whatever I say, construct an argument to eviscerate my position, and cite her sources. She’s twelve, now, but she demolished my lemur tale, in this manner, at age eight.

So I don’t really see this so much as lying, but as training her for the next four to eight years.

Anyway, beyond sharing my theories on the career choices and persecution of strepsirrhine primates, my role as a child indoctrination specialist also affords me the ability to expose her to all sorts of entertainment options—including Bablylon 5, which only recently became available for legal streaming.

I love that show, and Alex is enjoying it as well. Yeah, we joke a bit about the dated special effects (such as the hilariously-low-budget preying mantis “fixer” that even the producers seemed quick to realize was too much), and some of the guest actors are…less than good.

But still! I think you’d be hard pressed to find one other show with as much narrative cohesion, or as many memorable moments as that one. And a science-fiction show? Forget it. There’s always been a serious dearth of even decent sci-fi on television, let alone a show that’s inarguably good.

We’re only watching one or two episodes a day, so we’re still pretty early on in the show, but she already seems hooked on it, and she has strong opinions on most of the characters.

Not sure who her favorite is, yet. But my money’s on Kosh.