Tap.
You're most likely dead.
Tap.
You're hella dead.
To use my late eighties Californian vernacular.
I'm not gonna weigh in on the pros and cons, the right versus wrong, or raise my fist, or thumb my nose. But I will say this; the double tap, aside from being a well respected method of execution, is also a social convention we use every day.
Hi. How you doin?
As in, Hi, I want to let you know that you are now in my social circle. How you doin, it is important to me that since you are in my social circle I want you to feel loved.
Excuse me? Are you using that chair?
Can I get your attention and let you know that I too have needs. Needs that right now can only be met because you clearly have one more chair than you need, and I, have one less chair than I need, and even though I'm not evangelizing a socialist world order, it would be nice, just this once, if you would be so kind as to share the wealth.
Honey? When you pick up water, could you also get some soap?
This is my wife's double tap.
Because at no point had I considered picking up water today. In fact I had no real intention of doing anything today. But rather than asking me if I would go pick up water and soap, which might solicit a negative response, she used the passive aggressive voice, which made it seem as though I would be doing her the simple favor of picking up soap since I was going to the grocery store anyway to pick up water. The first tap is only implied.
Tap. Tap.
Knock. Knock.
Bang. Bang.
Vroom. Vroom.
Cough. Cough.
The list goes on and on.
On and On.
etc. etc.
To quote "The King and I"
This also leads me to think about how socially ingrained series of numbers can be.
Three, aside from being the magic number, is also the basic form of all list comedy. A form I use all the time. Its used in speaking to an audience. Its used for childhood discipline.
One! Get your clothes on.
Two! Get your clothes on.
Three! I am getting up off this couch and am gonna chase after you and when I catch you, you're gonna be sorry, and etc. etc. . . .
Three Blind Mice, Maids from School, Little Pigs, Amigos, Musketeers, Penny Opera, and the rate at which famous people or loved ones die.
Four is the basic stanza of lyricism. Five is a limerick. Six is two haikus (but that really brings us back to three).
Seven is lucky. But that's about all. And the rest of the numbered series stretching out into infinity are just too difficult to grasp. Unless you're a nerd, and if you are, can I use that chair?
One is pretty powerful too. As in this piece of advice I will be giving to my step son as he begins his college career:
Do not eat the second brownie.
I am sure that there are a lot more important pieces of wisdom I can impart. Plastics. Wear a condom. Don't drink and drive. (Which may seem like a double tap, but the usage of the word "and" implies that you can drink and you can drive, just don't do the two things together.)
Neither a lender nor a borrower be, be true to thine self. But Polonius gets stabbed to death while hiding behind a curtain, and I have much bigger plans for my future.
Besides, he was a bit of a fussbudget.
No, what Taylor really needs to understand is that one brownie is enough. Everyone I know can tell the tale of the second brownie and the very bad that follows. Cause we all thought the same thing:
"This one isn't working,
I should have another."
And it is always a bad decision. Always.
Yet, now with a more reflective voice, he is not likely to heed that advice. We all need to learn about the second brownie in our own pathetically personal way. We all need to be doing something when that second brownie hits. Something that will forever be etched into our psyche. We all need to lie on that dirty dorm room carpet, terrified that we are so stoned that every breath takes all of our concentration. Hopefully that room will be filled with sensitive art majors who only want to protect us in our time of need, and not the room where there is loud music and an abundance of permanent markers.
People have lost eyebrows because of the second brownie.
Taylor's gonna be an Aggie. That's right. Checks have been signed, credit cards charged, and tonight we get hoodies and pennants emblazoned with the UC Davis logo. He's going to be introduced to the whole wide world of college life splendor. And he's finally going to take ownership of the kind of social fuck-ups that separate boys from real men.
I'm proud. I'm jealous. I'm scared and I'm absolutely powerless to influence the choices he makes from this day forward.
For his life is the Titanic.
And I am the little rudder that couldn't.
So when I tell him not to eat the second brownie, it is possible that a single declaration will not suffice. Maybe a first year college student requires the same kind of force a world Super Power needs to send a terrorist icon into oblivion.
I think I'm gonna need the Double Tap.
Here goes.
Ready?
Taylor . . . Do not eat the second brownie.
Trust me.
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