That's right, I've started writing a book. Actually I started some time ago. And still all I have is the first, short chapter. I decided that if I posted it here, one of two things will happen - a) I'll get so many negative comments I'll abandon the project, or b) I'll feel obliged, having told you I've started, to finish it.
Either way, here's the opening chapter of THE BOTTLE IS HALF EMPTY BUT THE GLASS IS STILL HALF FULL. No doubt the length of the title alone will have publishers running to hide!
And if it sounds familiar, it's a line from my song Nowhere Near The Sea, the same song that gave me the title for this blog. I didn't realize when I wrote it how much of my way of looking at life was in that one song.
1.
It was J who first said it. Men have no breast memory. He wasn't talking about some Freudian connection to our mothers that we had lost. He meant it literally.
It was early days for the Internet. Everyone knew it would be something very different when video replaced still images and poor animation. But it hadn’t happened yet. So there we were, pointing the cursor to the sweater of a beautiful blond girl, clicking and holding and with a small move north lifting the garment to free her almost perfect breasts from their hiding place.
They fell realistically from beneath the cashmere. They bounced into place, jiggling in slow motion, which hid any imperfections of the animator's art. We were fooled into thinking we were watching film. We knew we weren't, we just didn’t care. It was real enough.
It was after we had laughed like schoolboys, repeatedly, that I asked, "Why is this so fascinating?" And J gave us his theory. "Men have no breast memory" he said, "It doesn't matter how often we see them, or how recently we saw them, the second they're gone it's like we've never seen them before." He went on to explain that it's like Goldfish. Goldfish apparently have extremely short memories. So each time they swim around the bowl it's as if they are seeing the view for the first time. And so it is with men and breasts.
To prove the point, someone else was lifting and dropping the poor girl's sweater throughout the entire conversation. And getting similar responses from the other men crowded around the single computer screen. Every time.
J took control of the mouse. "Here's how it works" he said, "She's really hot. I wonder what her tits look like?" He pushed the cursor up the screen and out they fell. "Oh my god…look at those!" He then sensitively replaced the girl's clothes. "She's really hot" he said, "I wonder what her tits look like?" He pushed the cursor up the screen again and again her mesmerizing nipples came cascading into view. "Oh my god…look at those!" said J. And I understood that this could go on for hours and we'd all be quite happy.
This is not a book about naked women. Although they may enter the story from time to time. Nor is it a book about men and their computers. I tell the story of the animated breasts because this is a book about memory. My memories. And, as you can clearly see, the fact that I am a man has a significant effect on what I remember and how I remember it.
Memory is not truth. Memory is memory. It plays tricks. It changes. It is not to be relied upon.
That said, here's what I remember.
