Monday, March 24, 2008

Bleak Future

I think I may be dead in the future. Either that, or time travel will not be perfected in my lifetime.

I mean, I have invited my future self many times to come have a visit. I've provided express times and places, set meetings, as it were, for future me to travel back to.

Perhaps, time travel will be an inexact science. Perhaps, future me just keeps barely missing the appointments...

Now, the first invite, if I understand correctly, has been destroyed. So, it doesn't really count.

It was a Thursday night, sometime back in 1981 or 82. My mother had choir practice and my sister was asleep on one of the front pews.

It was a big old building, built in 1910, apparently by an architect who did not believe in straight lines. The balcony swooped and curved, spilling in the center like a tsunami over the faithful below. The fluid curve was matched, in tidal-fashion, by the lower-level pews, and I had taken station behind them, far in back in the shadows.

The redheaded girl with cute freckles and big boobs, who usually made out with me in the basement during these interminable choir nights, was not there. So, I was left to my own devices.

I had already broken into the candy locker in the kids' choir rehearsal room. I had already snuck into the upstairs girl's bathroom to poke around. I had folded a fleet of paper airplanes out of the attendance cards. I was bored. I wished the red-haired girl was there.

Fidgeting, I discovered that the royal blue carpet scrap, left over from the 1978 renovation, used to line the pew-back hymnal rack, simply came out when I tugged on it. It then dawned on me that I should leave something there, hidden forever, out of sight.

Quickly, I got to work scribbling a note to myself. I carefully dated and timed the note. I assumed if time travel were possible in the future, then I could go get the note, and know when and were to go visit myself.

Sitting alone in a dark pew, a visit from old-me seemed like a good idea. Unfortunately, I never showed up.

Now, out of curiosity, on a visit back down to California in the mid 90s, I drove through the city of Pomona and visited the old sanctuary. Amazingly, with little looking, I quickly found the old note. Carefully, I put it back in place, covered it back up with the dusty carpet scrap, and replaced the mouldy song books.

Sadly, however, that sanctuary, my note with it, was demolished just a few years later.

My second attempt at directing future time travel may still be in play. A year or two after writing that unsuccessful note at the church, I wrote another. This time, with more specificity and planning. I detailed when and where I would be willing to meet, which was on my driveway, during an hour-long window on a Saturday, just to make it easy on all of us.

I folded the note and wrapped it in tin foil. Then, I put the foil-wrapped letter in a plastic bag, which was further wrapped in Saran Wrap. This was stored in a Quaker Oats canister, and sealed with more plastic, tin foil and duct tape.

I buried the message deep in my back yard. Oddly, that following Saturday, at the appointed time, I again failed to show up from the future. I, of course, have no way to verify that the letter is still there.

Lastly, during a lonely summer night in 1988, as Tom, Brian and Dave were out on the town, raising a ruckus, I was alone, back at the yogurt shop, taking an inventory of gummy bears, Oreo crumbles and bags of plain liquid yogurt.

It was late, and I was bored. I decided, once again, to attempt an invitation. Once again, I wrote a note, naming the date and time. This time, I simply slipped it up over one of the suspended ceiling tiles in the back room. I mean, how often do those things get changed?

Sadly, old-me did not come walking in through the front doors. No body did. So I closed early and went home.

Apparently, that night was indicative of the future of that little operation, and it closed its doors permanently shortly thereafter. The crappy-looking fast-food Chinese restaurant that moved into the spot (which Dr. B will tell us whether is still there) did not seem to change out the old ceiling tiles. Therefore, barring an unforeseen roof leak, the note should still be up there.

Carl Sagan once hypothesized that time travel was impossible because we've never been visited from the future. It's possible, though, that we're just not interesting enough to come visit.

I still hold out hope for a visit, though. I dream of a future, where everyone is able to buy their own set of sexy servant clone girls, and if that's the case, I do hope future me brings his with him...


  1. Dumbass - everyone knows when you time travel, you're not allowed to visit yourself. That's the golden rule.

    As for Girls Aloud (the "pop group" in your pic)- please take them...

    It's payday - I feel the urge for shopping and new undies :)

  2. My future self visits me all the time. Last week he told me that your future self spends all his time drinking and looking at porn and is too lazy to visit you. When asked about this, apparently your future self told my future self, "Hey, it's scotch and porn or traveling back in past self would understand..."

    Oh, and apparently in the future you are bald.

  3. Anonymous6:26 AM

    If you do the math, you will find out that you can't time travel to a date earlier than when the time machine was invented. Really, look it up.

  4. future Brian9:44 AM

    ...I don't have much time... I am sending this blog comment from the future!

    Remember one thing... Don't clone the squirrels....

    oh god, they're coming!


  5. My guess is that your future-self's time travelling involves Christina Ricci, and hiding away several cases of scotch to do your own aging experiments, not hanging out in ye olde yogurt shoppe, which even present-tense Brian looks back on with contempt.

    And, while I won't use the word "blathering..." about certain segments today, I will say that pleather does wonders to perk up a blog...

  6. Shopping? New undies? Hope you suppressed that urge ;-P

  7. As a regular lounger, I am used to your exaggerations, but really - making out with big boobed freckled red heads at 11??

  8. Mitch, I think if you saw the effort it would take to put that pleather number on, you wouldn't think it was so sexy....just sayin'...

    And Lisa, shop away girl, get sexy panties though, not "undies."

  9. I think you should go back to Mr Wilson's class and kill everyone like in the cartoon we did.

    Booooks? What booooks?

  10. Marge, you are obviously not yet familiar with my have to be matching sexy underwear obsession. But alas today I found nothing

    And after the effort it would actually take to peel those catsuits off - you guys would have no energy to do anything at all...

  11. Well, Lisa and Marge,
    Then perhaps Brian needs to focus on the whole matching bra and panty philosophy for future posts.

    And by future, I don't mean the ones that his time travelling alter ego nevermind...

    As for the pleather - I just felt that it balanced Brian's rambling nicely. Though, I'd be just as content with some shots without the pleather...

  12. Mitch - just be glad you can ogle girls Aloud in their pleather and don't actually have to listen to them "sing"

  13. Joseph Smith2:13 PM

    In the future, after the return of our heavenly father, everyone will wear only the holy undergarments.

  14. With all due respect Mr. Smith, I don't believe that's what Lisa was shopping for, nor the preferred wear for Girls Aloud...

    But that's just my opinion.

  15. Mitch's future prostate2:24 PM

    Young Mitch:

    Keep up the daily milking. You'll live to be 150!

  16. Lisa, good when you said 'undies' it made me think big granny panties. I'm sorry your shopping adventure did not turn out as planned. It's always fun to get new sexy panties and bras.

    And, you're right, let alone getting that pleather suit on, getting it off?

    And yes, Mitch, Brian should focus on more realistic outfits, matching bras and panties would be a good start

  17. Brian knows he faces my wrath if he posts uncoordinated underwear

    Once he posted a girl in white panties and red bra - clearly the girl was retarded

  18. Woooooonderful blog you got going here, slick.


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