I was watching the news on the TV that was on the watering hole’s wall, next to the oil painting of Aphrodite. When I ordered another beer. The bartender came over and put the beer in front of me and said:

“Hey fella, you haven’t drunk your other beer yet!”

I turned away from the TV and glanced at two steins of beer in front of me.

“So I haven’t, just leave them lined up, I’ll drink them.”

Just then a bearded, old fella slid onto the stool next to me and ordered a beer. He saw the two steins of beer in front of me, and said:

“My, my, you must be thirsty!”

“Yes, I seem to be ordering before finishing my last beer.”

“You’re probably getting subliminal messages, telling you that you are thirsty.”

“What’s this subliminal business all about?” I said, puzzled.

“A subliminal message is a word or phrase that we can’t see, a message that is below our conscious level.”

“You mean to tell me, I can be influenced by something that I am not aware of?”

“That’s right.”

“You mean like the cults do to brainwash people?”

“Yes, it’s also done in advertising and political campaigns.”

“Oh yes, I remember back in the 50’s, there was a fella that flashed messages on a movie screen so fast people couldn’t see them. They were told to eat popcorn and popcorn sales went up. But his experiment was a fraud.”

“Yes, but that started people thinking about subliminal mind control.”

“How do you know so much about it?” I was getting thirsty again!

“Well, I’m a distant relative of that guy in the 50’s!”

“Oh, do you do research too?”

“Yes, I do, I’m developing self-help devices containing subliminal messages to help people lose weight, improve their memory, etc.”

I drank my beers quickly and reordered.

“Remember that local politician that lost the election recently?”

“Yes, for awhile he was popular, but then the people didn’t vote for him.”

“Well, in his TV adverts, I inserted a subliminal message that turned people off of him.”

“Boy, that’s fascinating and weird,” I mumbled.

“I’m thinking about a lie detection device, now.”

“How will that work?”

“Well, let’s say a burglar was caught and you would flash a picture of the house he burgled on a screen for only two milliseconds, that’s 2/1000’s of a second. The burglar wouldn’t see it, but his subconscious would. You then could record the emotional reaction that the picture would produce. A high reaction, and you’ve caught your criminal!”

The bearded chap looked very proud of himself.

“Great stuff, but it makes me feel disconcerted because I would wonder, with all these subliminal messages floating around, if I’m in control or not!”

My stool mate smiled.

“Bartender, I’m thirsty, another beer please.”

At that point, I put my head down on the bar and started to drift away. But before I completely passed out, I heard the bartender tell the bearded chap:

“That device you put onto our TV has really worked. The “you are thirsty” messages have increased sales by 25%!”

I was on my philosophizing stool at the watering hole, when a frustrated looking fella jumped up onto the stool next to me.

“What’s wrong, you look worried?”

“Yesterday, my wife bought one of those Red Indian Dream Catchers and hung it up in our bedroom and now I’m remembering all of my dreams!”

“Well, I guess the “Dream Catcher” is doing its job.”

He ordered a margarita and continued:

“This morning, I woke up and told my wife I dreamed a beautiful woman came into the bedroom naked!”

She laughed and said:

“In your dreams, fella.”

I asked her, what she thought it meant.

She said: “You’ll know tonight, darling.”

“Well, my friend, that sounds like you’re in for a good night, don’t worry.”

“But why do we dream?” he asked quizzically.

“Scientists began to know more about dreams back in the early 50’s. They discovered REM, rapid eye movement under closed eyelids, if this was going on, the person was dreaming. When they woke up a person during REM sleep, they remembered what they were dreaming about and could report on it.”

“That’s interesting, but WHY do we quietly go insane with bizarre images and random thoughts, each night?”

“Well, Freud thought it was all to do with sex and aggression, in other words, wish fulfillment. But now, most of that has been refuted.”

“What’s the new thinking, then?”

“Some researchers believe that dreams help solve our problems.”

“Oh, that would be great!”

“Some think it’s just the mind cleaning up the clutter in out brains.”

“Do we dream every night?”

“Apparently yes, because scientists say we have at least one stage of REM sleep per night.”

“Holly Cow! Dreams every night!”

“Some say, dreams are our creative imagination at work.”

“So, if we could remember every dream, it would make us all a Shakespeare!”

I smiled at that remark.

“Where do all these weird dreams come from?”

“Researchers say much of the strangeness of dreams is due to our everyday metaphorical life.”

“Explain that, please.”

“When we say, “we’re down in the dumps”, that means we’re not feeling so good. But when that leaks into our dreams, the brain interprets it literally. So we could dream about standing on a pile of garbage!”

“But I know the difference.”

“Yes, but during sleep, parts of the brain that distinguish between literal and figurative thinking, shut down!”

“So, the woman in my dream was naked, what’s that mean?”

I smiled and said:

“It could be symbolism, that you are unprepared for a challenge. But, the thing is, we are all really strangers to ourselves.”

“Well, I’ll see you. I want to find out what my wife says I’ll find out about the dream, tonight.”

The next day, he dropped into the watering hole and told me that he was lying on the bed, all primed, waiting for his wife. She came in fully clothed and gave him a book entitled:

“THE MEANING OF DREAMS”

I was in my favorite pub, on my favorite green padded stool, at the end of the bar. The bartender started calling my position, Dave’s Corner, probably because I do a lot of philosophizing from that stool.

I was enjoying my cold stein of beer, when a fella with a grumpy expression on his face, jumped onto the stool next to me.

“Bartender, give me a G and T on ice, and make it a double!”

“That sounds ominous,” I said, thinking I might be able to help this chap.

“I’m very unhappy, my life is falling apart and to make matters worse, I’ve forgotten my mantra!”

“Your mantra?”

“Yes, you know, the words or phrase that you repeat to yourself to help you cope with life.”

“Oh, I see, well, tell me what would make you happy?”

“I need a job that I enjoy with more money. I want to get along better with my wife. I need to lose weight, all kinds of things,” he mumbled.

“That’s quite a list. You don’t feel too good about life, do you?”

He ordered another double G and T.

“No, I don’t, life is full of loneliness and misery, suffering and unhappiness, and then, it’s all over very quickly.”

I tried to hold back my laughter, this guy was something else!

“It will surprise you to know that research shows that only 10% of people’s unhappiness is due to the conditions of their lives.”

“I don’t believe that,” he growled.

“Okay, let’s break it down. 10% of unhappiness due to your circumstances. Now we have 90% left. 50% you can’t do much about. It’s your genetic make-up, which is inherited. Everyone has a genetic baseline of happiness. No matter what happens, we usually return to this baseline. If the baseline is high, good for you. But, if it is low, it means we have to work harder at obtaining happiness.”

“Oh, that’s just great, everything is going against me and now I have to work harder!”

“The final 40% of happiness is due to our behavior. We need to be future oriented to a degree, that’s the way life is, you need to plan. But, also, you need intrinsic goals, hobbies, spending time with loved ones, things that give you a basic feeling of contentment and well-being.”

My barstool mate had a quizzical look on his face.

“Someone told me the other day, I was lucky to be miserable! Because life is divided into “The Horrible” and “The Miserable”. The horrible are the terminal cases, blind and deaf people, the crippled and people with dementia who are losing their personalities. How they get through life amazes me. The miserable is everyone else! That’s why I need a mantra!”

“All you need, my friend, is to understand that daily happiness and well-being depends on how we approach life, how we respond to what life brings us. We need a positive attitude.”

A look of contentment passed over his face as he jumped off the stool and said:

“Hey, I’ve remembered my mantra.”

“What is it?”

“IT COULD BE WORSE!”

I was sitting on my favorite green padded stool at the end of the bar, sipping my beer and staring a hole through Aphrodite’s oil painting.

When out of the blue a woman slid onto the stool next to me. I wondered what she would philosophize about.

She was a tall, stunning, statuesque, brunette with finely chiseled features. She was wearing a short black jacket over a black dress with the hem a little above the knee and killer heels. I estimated she was in her mid-thirties, she wore no wedding ring. Because I am a writer, I am very observant!

She ordered a frozen, strawberry daiquiri. It took about five minutes before it was delivered to her. It probably had quite a few ingredients.

“My, my, that’s a colorful cocktail?”

“Yes, it’s my favorite.”

“How different women and men are. You have your fancy drink and I have my foamy draft beer.”

She smiled and said:

“I guess that’s why men are from Mars and women from Venus.”

Oh, I had an intelligent one on my hands, I thought.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I goaded her.

“Well, it means we’re different, like different planets. Men from Mars,aggressive, cold, ambitious and full of testosterone. Women from Venus, warm, lovable and agreeable.”

“I guess that means we don’t understand each other.”

“That’s right, men are physically strong and pushy, women are sensitive and loving.”

“Well, I am fairly strong. I can open my own jars.”

She didn’t laugh, but she continued:

“Let me quote you some facts: 9 out of 10 prison inmates are men. There are more homeless men than women. Men are more close minded, more hostile, more narcissistic and more self-indulgent than women.”

“Well, that doesn’t paint a very flattering picture of men, does it?”

“It most certainly doesn’t,” she said, smugly.

“But why, should men be so maladjusted and antisocial?”

“Too much testosterone, it makes men aggressive, dominant, competitive and full of themselves.”

“I guess our punishment for all this, is to die earlier than women, about 5 years earlier or so.”

“Probably,” she said.

I ordered another beer as she kept on and on comparing men and women on their different personalities, different cognitive abilities and so on.

Then, she shut up and quickly left the building.

The bartender came over and said:

“Man, she left in a hurry. What did you say to her?”

“I just told her, she looks extremely gorgeous when her lips are CLOSED!”

I was in the mood for philosophizing, so I went to my favorite gastro-pub. I walked through the entryway with it’s green tiles and stained glass interior doors, then through to the long bar with it’s padded green wooden stools. I sat at the end of the bar, ordered a cold stein of beer and contemplated the oil painting behind the bar of Aphrodite, Greek Goddess of Love.

Then I noticed the cage on the shelf behind the bar in front of the long mirror. There was a small monkey in the cage!

Just then, a gentleman with grey hair and beard slid onto the stool next to me. He ordered a beer and sat staring straight ahead.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” I said, pointing to the Aphrodite painting.

“I wasn’t looking at that, I was wondering what that monkey is doing here.”

I smiled. The bartender said:

“This monkey is very smart, it even has a favorite President.”

“ Who’s that?”

“Hairy Truman!”

Oh, this bartender was a gem, I thought. Too bad he left to serve some customers.

I turned back to my stool buddy and said:

“Maybe the innkeeper is trying to remind us where we all come from.”

“Oh, you mean evolution and all that.”

“Yes, that’s right. I was just reading the other day about the famous “Scopes Monkey Trial” that occurred in 1925.”

“What was that all about?” He asked, watching the monkey squirm in its cage.

“Well, Scopes was a school teacher who was on trial for teaching evolution when that was unlawful in Tennessee at the time, because evolution was against the teachings of the Bible.”

“I think it’s sort of a put down to say we come from a lower order of animals. I mean we’re different from apes!”

“Are we?”

“My brother-in-law looks and acts like a chimpanzee!”

Oh! The bartender was back!

We both laughed, as we ordered two more beers.

“So, how are we different from other animals?’

“Well, us humans have evolved much farther. The animal kingdom is still living like they always have, but us humans have created a different environment for ourselves than the one we started out in.”

My bar stool buddy looked pensive.

“I’ve never really thought about that. But you’re right, we build cities, create art and music, design all kinds of things, we’ve created an environment unlike anything else in nature.”

“Another great difference between us and other animals is our capacity for self-awareness. Other animals don’t evaluate themselves. If they look in a mirror, they think they’re seeing another animal! The exception being the great apes, they recognize their reflection.”

“Well, that monkey in the cage is looking at itself in the mirror and combing its beard.”

Just then, I noticed my bar stool buddy was combing his beard also in the mirror.

The bartender came over, laughing, and said:

“Monkey See, Monkey Do!”

I was driving back to Chicago from southern rural Illinois. I decided to stop for the night in a small town. I can’t even remember the name of it. I stopped at a motel and checked in. Then I went to the diner next door.

It was called “The Turkey’s Delight Diner”, I think because there was a turkey farm nearby. It had red flocked walls and dim lighting, about 20 stools and 10 booths, a nice place.

I grabbed a menu and noticed, Turkey fries on it as an appetizer. I asked the pretty waitress if she could tell me what Turkey fries were.

She smiled and said:

“Well, sir, they’re kind of hard to explain. You get a whole bowl of them and you dip them in a sauce.”

“Are they part of a turkey?”

“Oh, yes sir, they are part of a turkey.”

The man two stools down drawled:

“I’ll tell him, darlin’. Mister, they’re turkey balls.”

“You mean they are the testicles of a turkey?’

“That’s right, bub, you got it in one.”

The waitress laughed and said:

“That’s what they are. We sell a lot of them. You want to order a bowl?”

“I think I’ll have the spaghetti bol, instead.”

The man two stools down, wearing a string tie, a Stetson and full cowboy gear, leaned over and said:

“You ought to try some, they’re very good.”

“I’m sure they are. But the doctor told me to avoid fried foods.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“Very unusual dish, though, tell me, how do they obtain the delicacy?”

“I guess, you just catch a turkey and, snip, snip.”

“To serve them by the bowl, you would need many turkeys and a lot of snipping.”

“That’s right.”

I began to wonder about the people that have this snipping job. A young man’s girlfriend would ask what he does for a living and when he told her he’s a turkey ball sniper, that might scare her off!

As I paid my bill, the man with the string tie asked:

“Where do you come from?”

“Chicago.”

“You don’t serve Turkey fries up there?”

“No, just French fries. And fortunately, for the Frenchmen, it’s not quite the same thing!”

“My barstool friend came in all agitated and said:

“I had a horrifying dream last night that I turned into a beetle!”

“Bartender, give my buddy a drink, he needs it.”

“Thanks, I’ll have a beer.”

With our beers in front of us, I said:

“Now, how did this dream come about?”

He took a big gulp of his beer, and continued:

“Well, I’m taking this night adult class in literature and we had to read Kafka’s “The Metamorphosis.”

“Oh well, that explains it.”

“Not really, because I don’t understand the story at all.”

“Well, if I remember my literature 101, it’s an allegory, a story with a hidden meaning.”

“What’s the hidden meaning?’ He finished his beer and ordered another for both of us.

“Well, it’s the way you interpret it. It’s about the human condition.”

I looked at the two beers in front of me and drank half of one in two gulps.

“What’s the human condition?”

I thought this guy needs to take a lot of night courses.

“It’s all the crap we humans face in the world to survive.”

“Yeah, I have to face my wife’s nagging about how I don’t make enough money.”

“It’s also about “transformation.”

“Oh, you mean like the guy in the story was transformed into a bug.”

“We all need to transform ourselves positively through our lives to grow. But some people transform themselves negatively to escape situations.”

“Oh, I want to escape, that’s for sure.”

I wondered if I was getting through to him.

“The main character in the story felt the hopelessness of his life, working for survival and supporting his family. He felt that was the only thing he existed for.”

“Yeah, my wife takes me for granted. I’m just a meal ticket to her. She treats me like a dog.”

“That’s a part of the story too, the animalistic tendencies of humans, that we are basically animals.”

“ I wonder sometimes why I’m working like a dog. Is that just the way it is in life?”

“In the story the fellow became a bug and he escaped his treadmill life. Consequently his family became more animalistic towards him, they don’t take care of him and they look on him as a liability. He’s a bug now and they stop thinking about him as a human being and they stop treating him like one also.”

“Boy, that’s a real horror story.”

I smiled and downed my last beer and went to the toilet. When I came back to my stool my buddy was gone!

“Hey, bartender, where did my drinking pal go, his beer is still sitting on the bar?”

“I don’t know, he was here a minute ago.”

I got up to look around the room. Then I heard it, a cracking sound under my shoe. I looked down, I had just stepped on a bug!

I drank the rest of his beer and left the tavern.

A new gastro-pub opened up in my neighborhood the other week, so I thought I’d check it out. It was fairly unassuming on the outside, but when I stepped through the doors made of wood and glass, it was another world, an escape from the world’s hub-bub.

The entryway had green stone tiles with stained glass on the interior doors. Walk through the doors and a long wooden bar ran for fifty feet along the wall, with padded green wooden barstools. A long mirror was behind the bar and above the mirror were classical oil paintings. Green Carpet ran through the whole place. Opposite the bar were tables and booths. Oil paintings of Greek gods adorned the wall behind the booths, with low lighting throughout.

I sat down at one end of the long bar, the stools were very comfortable for my kiester. I ordered a margarita and thought this would be a great place to meet people and philosophize, you know, talk about the serious issues of life. I could call it, Dave’s Corner.

Just then a well dressed fella slid onto the stool next to me. I noticed his expensive watch immediately.

“Nice watch you have.”

“Oh, thanks, it’s a gift from my wife.”

“Beautiful, but please tell me what can it do?”

“Do? It tells time, what do you think?”

“For all those bucks, it just tells time?”

I pulled up my sleeve and showed him my watch.

“This does everything, all I do is press buttons. It’s a calculator, alarm clock, stopwatch, it tells me the day, month, and year. It also keeps all my phone numbers in its data base. I merely press a button and all the names and numbers scroll across the watch face.”

My stool mate looked at the watch in amazement.

“This watch only cost me $35.95 plus tax. Yours probably costs $1000.”

My friend nodded.

“This watch conversation usually gets a rise out of people. In fact, I have an acquaintance with a $10,000 watch, that no longer speaks to me.”

“Why is that?”

“Because people like you feel foolish. You spend a lot of money to get information that is hanging on the walls of most homes and offices-the time of day.”

He got up, shaking his head, and walked out of the tavern. I ordered another margarita.

Then another chap, who I hadn’t seen for a long time, sat down next to me. I noticed he was wearing one of those wafer-thin watches.

“Must have cost plenty?” I said, pointing at his watch.

“Yes, quite a bit.”

I started telling him about my bargain watch and he started laughing.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing a nerd watch.”

“What do you mean, this watch does everything.”

“I know all that. That’s why nerds love them.”

“Nerds? What do nerds have to do with it?”

“You know, the computer nuts, the calculator freaks, the number crunchers. I’ve got a young guy in my office who has a watch just like yours. He’s a classic nerd. Keeps four pens, a tiny flashlight, and a peanut butter sandwich in his pocket.”

“My watch has a three-year battery, you know?” I mumbled.

He laughed uncontrollably.

“Who would have thought it? You a nerd. Tell me, whatever possessed you to purchase a watch like that?”

“It was a gift from my wife.”

I was back on my barstool contemplating my reflection in the mirror behind the bar, when I noticed the guy next to me staring into his beer and sighing deeply.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked boldly.

He turned his head to look at me and said:

“I just ended or we just ended…” Then his voice cracked.

“Ended what?”

“We ended a relationship.”

“A relationship?”

“Yeah. She broke off our relationship.”

“I hate the word relationship,” I said.

My stool mate just stared at me.

“It’s a sterile word used by sociologists. It’s impersonal and so digital era.”

“What should I say then?” He queried.

“How about a broken romance or the end of a love affair.”

He nodded his head.

“What kind of love songs would we have with the word “relationship”, it just doesn’t work.”

What songs are you thinking of?”

“How about, “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s a relationship”—see it sounds terrible.”

He looked blankly at me and said:

“Well, okay, we broke off our love affair, and I lost my “significant other.”

“Now, there you go again, using a sterile word to substitute for girlfriend, lover or sweetheart.”

“You’re confusing me,” he said.

“Can you imagine the heart-rendering song:

“Let me call you significant other”. Isn’t that romantic?”

“No, it sounds funny.”

My barstool friend shook his head and left.

I forgot to ask him:

When his Significant Other ended their Relationship, did she at least Osculate him goodbye?

It was lunchtime and I was on my favorite park bench. I was hungry for some juicy “Bench Talk”. My prayers were answered when an old, grey-haired, guy sat down next to me.

“Hello, nice day isn’t it?”

“Not really, I feel danger coming,” said my bench mate.

He kept looking up, searching the sky.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, full of curiosity.

“Shadows in the sky from Russia.”

“Oh, you mean Stealth Bombers,” I smiled.

“Yes, that’s right, have you seen any?”

“No, I haven’t.”

I was taken aback, this guy was serious!

“The Cold War is over,” I said.

“I’m a survivalist and I know it isn’t.”

“Remember, the Berlin Wall came down?”

“That doesn’t make any difference.”

This character was beginning to bug me.

He continued: “Remember when it all started in the 50’s and 60’s? We all started thinking about civil defense planning and how we could survive nuclear war.” His eyes were glistening.

“I remember there was talk of digging fallout shelters and evacuating  cities. Sirens used to go off once a week to remind us about the danger. But I always thought it was a crock of whatchamacallit.”

He looked stunned.

“How can you say that?”

“It was all a propaganda campaign to keep the Industrial-Military Complex making money.”

I don’t think he was listening to me at all.

“When you see the shadows in the sky, you have to “Duck and Cover” to protect yourself from the gamma rays.”

I was getting a little scared, this guy was nuts!

“We have to build more bombs and then the Russians will build more bombs. The more bombs we both have, the safer we will be.”

“That’s crazy talk,” I said.

“We have to be ready to evacuate the cities,” he continued.

“Have you ever been in a rush hour traffic jam? And that’s only a fraction of the people on the move.”

“We must practice evacuation then.”

“Don’t you understand, nothing would move. It would be extreme chaos!”

“We have to plan for survival,” he had a blank look in his eyes.

“You would have 300 million or so people wandering around the country with no food, no shelter, no organization, absolute chaos!”

“You don’t understand,” he mumbled.

“No, it’s you, that doesn’t understand. The government just wants the arms manufacturers to prosper. It’s good for the economy.”

“You’re wrong, I know you’re wrong.”

“It’s a con job, trust me,” I said.

He got up and started walking away, and as he did, he said:

“I can’t believe it’s a “Crock of Whatchamacallit.”