There Once was a Story 'bout a Man Named Dave...

A salesguy of 35 lived one of those existences obit writers are so fond of calling "unassuming," whatever that means- from the moment we're born, we're at least assuming something...

What I mean to say is that Dave was a quiet man. We met at a party one year and remained in casual contact. I'd often imagined his demeanor was a detriment to his job, but it didn't seem to matter very much. I wonder why.

He talked to himself more than to anyone else. Not in that crazy way some people have. Dave just murmured quietly all the time, constantly going on as if his mind couldn't stop.

Now you know that after a certain age, people like to ask why a reasonably successful, decent looking man isn't married. I'd heard Dave field this one a few times. "I psyched myself out. There aren't a lot of happy marriages. Do you know any- do you really? I got scared or something. But at the same time, I don't feel like I'm missing anything. I love my life."

Honey, it sounds good when you talk. Very macho, very tough, in an over-analyzed Ethan Hawke sort of way. But you're the same guy you always were- someone who's talked himself out of everything. No marriage. No kids. No travel. The same string of girls you and the boys keep swapping like playing cards. There's detachment and there's deprived. There's emotional un-involvement and there's plain old depressed.

Is over-analysis in vogue now that therapists are opening offices in Beverly Hills, moving out of their back alley chop shops? Are we better for it? Or is the mistake-filled path of unfinished logic the stuff of real adventure? There are parallels everywhere, if you look carefully (or, I guess, even if you don't...)

A for instance: here's a technological nightmare- get ready.

The incongruous nature of capitalism is that it lends itself to destruction. (whaa...?)