Notes on Dr. Bob and Other Things

Dr. Bob has occasionally crossed my mind during this Quixotodian quest. This is not only due to the somewhat Quixotidian nature of his own misadventuring (this may be a bit of a stretch), but also the nature of the Dr. Bob project itself, something that began with "noble" intentions but ultimately ended as a grand display of folly and poor self-analysis, as evidenced by hindsight and whatnot. 

I think back now not to that whole book-writing misadventure but to the very impetus of the Dr. Bob character, the point that Dr. Bob first emerged as an inkling of an idea. It all started in the basement of a university's student commons building, either before or after a late-night campus radio extravaganza hosted by another relatively unknown character (Johnny Normal aka myself). Regardless, Dr. Bob may never have taken shape were it not for the discovery of a thin blue rain jacket with the words "Dr. Bob" embroidered on the upper left flank, nipple-level, spawning not only what was soon to be frequent but reviled guest character on the Johnny Normal Variety Hour but also an idea that would take shape a hundred different ways, not the least being a misanthropic midnight dentist kidnapped, recruited, and escaped from a comically-bad collection of criminal misfits in a story that hit a brick wall just after hitting 60 pages and a mountain of authorial insecurity.

You may be saying to yourself, "self, that's a lot of text. Where, exactly, does one sentence end and the other begin?" And to that query, I would just like to say that you're absolutely, 100% right. It's rather incoherent and hard to look at, and discerning between the start of one thought and the next is nearly impossible, at least without a deeper dive into the graph, which I surely wouldn't recommend or wish on anyone. 

And while I don't really plan on breaking that paragraph up at the end of this screed, there's always a chance that I do. Thoughts linger and become second thoughts, and I often find myself succumbing to those thoughts and giving in, even or especially when it's completely unwarranted. 

But it goes without saying (then, why say it?) this article or blog or whatever has fallen far from the pear tree and its original intent, which I believe had something to do with bears or Slurpees or late-night radio deejays with no impulse control and complete disregard, no, detestation, for the rules. I'm not sure where you got off base, but it's high time to jump back on, lest you lose the reader amid depraved, unwarranted ramblings on muscle memory and drug use and such. 

Ah, yes. Dr. Bob, our proud creation that continually begged for some kind of crafting, who beckoned and pleaded until finally I gave in and thought that it would actually be a pretty good idea to build a universe around this guy... whoever he is. It felt like I had a solid chance of salvaging my 30s and my career if I could just muster up the work ethic and courage to get that shit on paper. And I tried. For a while, anyway. 

But here we are, 7 or 8 or 10 years later, and I'm again making a futile stab into the vacuum to reverse trends and salvage any hope that may have fallen between the couch cushions back then. I'm writing and carrying on and sticking to The Exercise and it's not going badly, to be honest. but it's always hard to predict how long such a thing will last, if at all. 

But I always have the failed Dr. Bob endeavor/ghost to stand on the tip of my nose and remind me that good ideas are just ideas until you do something with them. If you don't, you may as well be pissing in a pot. 

Til Tomorrow