I have a friend's neighbor who I sometimes run into with a mixture of dread and awe. The neighbor's name is Henry Placard, and he doesn't seem to have friends of his own. My friend, a very liberal Chicago Public Schoolteacher, lives upstairs from Henry's apartment and gives him tomatoes from his indoor, hydroponic garden. Henry has taken the tomatoes not as a food, but as an invitation to knock on my friend's door to share whatever theory he's been working on. We can usually herd him into the foyer before he starts to expound, but no further. Henry is a ward of his parents. He's rich as shit, though he has no job, and he's not going to sit down or shut up until he's done. And then, exhausted, he's going to leave.
Henry is a genius. And I, with my digital voice recorder bought back when I thought I was a journalist, recorded him. I'd post it as a download, but since the recorder was in my shirt pocket, you'd have to listen to the recording several times before it makes sense, by which I mean before you understand the words. Here is the first of hopefully many Henry Placard monologues:
"Soooooo, I think, maybe, the increased popularity of ear-buds is really less of a function of their increased sound quality or anything like that, but more of an innovation to decrease the offense to your own vanity by wearing the ear-buds, and as they go smaller and smaller so goes the, you know, the decrease in vanity maintenance which allows you a whole lot of other energy to pursue what you want or do what you want. And that's really happiness. So, I mean, I shouldn't probably disparage ear buds at all ever because they really free up a lot of good energy to go after what you want and not to have to worry about how people will think about you if you're riding the bus with a giant pair of headphones, and, you know, you have just pissed yourself or something (cackling, coughing)."
And then, singing:
"I got a bunch of coleslaw. Mmm-mmm-m-MMmmm, Mmm-mmm-m-MMMmm, Mmm-mmm-m-MMMMm, cole-slaw, Mmm-mmm-mmm, Mmm-mmm-mmm, Mmm-mmm-MMM-mmm!"
Henry turns around and staggers through the still-open door down the stairs and into his own apartment. He leaves his door open, but he doesn't come back up. Presumably he's eating coleslaw.
Henry, I know you compulsively Google yourself. If you read this, just let me know if this post pisses you off, and I'll delete it promptly.