I Have I(rritable)B(owel)S(yndrome)

Well, I am a big fake.  Everything that seems sophisticated and polished about me is probably just some exaggeration of a very small piece of enlightenment that has slipped passed that titanium wall that guards me.  For example, if I wanted to seem like I was all hip and cool and versed in poetry, or just a forward thinking guy,  I might just post this in my blog:

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked....
 
That would be it.  Most would just read it and think it was some random thing I thought up that sounds pretty cool.  A few would recognize it as the first line from the poem "Howl" by Alan Ginsberg.  They would be correct, but they shouldn't be under the impression that I truly identify with that poem.  THe truth, I haven't read it.  Turns out it is freaking long. 

So how do I know the line?

It is first line to the They Might Be Giants song "I Should be Allowed to Think".  I didn't even know it was a Ginsberg line until I heard a reference to it on a rerun of the West Wing the other day.  Yup.  I am a sham.  I am not cultured.  I am far to lazy to pursue any culture.  This is probably true of most of my knowledge.  It is quite half-assed and thrown together but turns out looking not to shabby in the end, like the rest of my life.  Anyway, enough babble.  Here are the rest of those lyrics.

I Should Be Allowed to Think
 
I saw the best minds of my generation
Destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical
I should be allowed to glue my poster
I should be allowed to think
 
I should be allowed to glue my poster
I should be allowed to think
I should be allowed to think
I should be allowed to think
And I should be allowed to blurt the merest idea
If by random whim, one occurs to me
If necessary, leave paper stains on the grey utility pole
 
I saw the worst bands of my generation
applied by magic marker to dry wall
I should be allowed to shoot my mouth off
I should have a call in show
 
I should be allowed to glue my poster
I should be allowed to think
I should be allowed to think
I should be allowed to think
And I should be allowed to blurt the merest idea
If by random whim, one occurs to me
If necessary, leave paper stains on the grey utility pole
 
I am not allowed
To ever come up with a single original thought
I am not allowed
To meet the criminal government agent who oppresses me
 
I was the worst hope of my generation
Destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical
I should be allowed to share my feelings
I should be allowed to feel
 
I should be allowed to glue my poster
I should be allowed to think
I should be allowed to think
I should be allowed to think
And I should be allowed to blurt the merest idea
If by random whim one occurs to me
But sadly, this can never be
 
I am not allowed to think
I am not allowed to think
I am not allowed to think (I am not allowed to think)
I am not allowed to think (I am not allowed to think)
I am not allowed to think (I am not allowed to think)
I am not allowed to think (I am not allowed to think)
 
Thank you, Johns.

(Oh, and Marie, I have no idea what it feels like to be a girl hit on by a guy, but the other way around is quite nice.  Especially when the one hitting on you is a cute teller that waves the six dollar fee for getting an Officail Check.  I could get quite used to that, if only I had the need to get Official Checks with any frequency.)