On brooding, male bonding, and butter chicken...

Now I've been out of the 'blogsphere' for a couple of days due to a second accident, exactly a week after the first one. This time it was a dtc that came and hit my auto from behind, screwing my back. Apparently tall people have a natural tendency to slouch, and so over the years their backs get screwy. Either way, mine is now... the bottom of it looks like an upside down narrow question mark. But excluding the medicinal (nu)patch I've got on, which I'll remember tomorrow morning as I pull it off along with some hair and skin, I'm still kind of content. But only on the outside. Inside, I've got the Badger Song going on in my head. Thankfully, I'll be gone for the rest of the week, but more on that ahead.
This will be a long, but hopefully enjoyable read, so bear with me.

Let me make a very brave statement. Men don't get women. At all. No matter how much time they spend living with one (or more), they'll never get them. Women like to be in control, and they think they are. They probably are too, but I don't know how effective their control is when us men couldn't be bothered in the first place, considering we have our escape, the holy Brood.
Let's be honest. Women don't get men either. If they did, they'd know that two men locking horns the first time they meet is not attitude, but male bonding. There are several topics that men bond over. Sports is not one of them. Women think it is, but the biggest, is in fact homosexuality. Men bond over a shared distaste for gay men, and failing that, and (or well, in the rare case that they haven't been hit upon by gay men), an even more shared fascination for lesbians. Men also bond without knowing a thing about each other. They can look at a group of men indulging in our holy Brood, and strong brotherly sentiments flow across. Some chauvinists claim the world goes around because of men. They're both right as well as wrong. Behind each successful man is a woman, twisting his arm, and behind each successful woman is another woman, her bosom buddy, telling her she doesn't need the man getting the arm-twisting. Women don't get along like men do. Women don't connect to other women deep down. They have to examine each other, look for flaws, convince themselves there's something wrong with the other, even if the other is a best friend. But the strong connection each man has to his fellow man balances this negative energy and ensures the world keeps spinning.
Let me give an example. A man is upset. He meets four men for a Brood at say, barista. While women would discuss what's upsetting them, these five men will avoid that topic like the plague. Unwritten instructions stand, instructions as deeply etched in all men as the rule that states that in a group of six urinals, if one is occupied on the left side, the one on the far right must be taken, that the moment the upset one mentions the topic, he is to receive a smack. Often enough, he gets the smack(s) from men smaller than himself, men who would never get away with it in the first place. Now a woman on another table looking at this spectacle has those same thoughts. "What the fuck are they hitting him for? I mean he could easily hit them back, but he isn't. Hell, he actually looks grateful." A man on the same table looks and knows exactly what's going on. He smiles to himself and sends some positive energy their way. Now suddenly, the one being bruised flicks one of them in the face. This leaves the woman watching even more confused. She's thinking, "Why the hell didn't he just do that earlier? Oh wait, the little one hit him again. What the hell's going on?" But the man with her nods to himself and thinks "He shouldn't have hit him on the nose with the menu. That's going too far." Along the same lines, the woman probably doesn't even know that they're brooding.

Let me get on to the most important topic- The holy Brood. It's a faith that men the world over, regardless of race, religion, color or creed, share. Each man is born knowing how to brood. Each man knows the various ways, styles, locations and positions, but for the sake of my female audience, I'll disclose that their are many. In fact, there are as many unique ways for men to brood as women have bags or pairs of shoes. Men with long hair can brood sitting behind their hair. Men standing next to a bookshelf can lean on it and concentrate on the space between Gone With the Wind and Life on the Mississippi. Men can brood in the middle of an argument. Men can even brood while playing video games, something that doubles up as a male bonding technique. Finally, men can brood over food. Hand a woman a can of pressurized whipped cream or a tub of ice cream, and she'll sit through Jerry Maguire obsessing over what she misses. The munchies men get while brooding exceed anything women can come up with. Two men brooding over things upsetting them, but with the company of butter chicken can get through anything. I don't remember what mixed bag munchies I had in my vegetarian days, but ever since I've known butter chicken, my own brooding has definitely improved.
I have a dear butter chicken buddy. He's german, and nearly as tall as me, but when push comes to shove, and its time to brood, we head down to krips, and consume over two and a half chickens between the two of us. The brooding metabolism is apart from the normal metabolism, so anything consumed over the course of a brood will not contribute in any way to our size. In fact, within fifteen minutes, a brooding male will be ready to eat again post a butter chicken, half a tandoori chicken, a dal makhani(his own), and four naans. Not to mention those little pickled onions. Can't forget those pickled onions.
Another aspect of brooding. Men can brood on command. When a fellow man needs a brooding session, his comrades will give him just the brood he needs. Group brooding can happen with alcohol, food and video games, or even singing. Put four men with deep voices in a car outfitted with a 'thumper', and throw in a tape of aerosmith and james blunt and you've got some serious brooding. They'll have those windows down, singing in their horrid falsettos and put any punju boy with his dhinchak tunes to shame. Not only will they be sharing the brood with the one who needs it, deep down, they'll all be brooding from the heart. That's the beauty of male bonding and our holy Brood.
Another great group brood style is the 3 am testosterone movie with a few laptops on wireless with counter strike on them. I had one of the best group broods on new year's. I was at a rather large party with a ton of old friends who I met after ages, and once all the drunk stumbled out, we went back up to my buddy's room where we'd been playing some counter strike. Now there's something about running behind your buddies with a gun, shooting them in the face (virtually of course), and screaming "GOTCHA MOTHERFUCKER!" that brings you closer to your fellow man. It enables you to share a single bed with two other equally large men and watch the dullest actor in hollywood in blade trinity up until 4 in the morning. True, I made many script changes, none of which I can remember at this time, other than the fact that they could've swapped Wesley Snipes for someone else, and Ryan Reynolds was not to be taken seriously with a sixpack after watching him in Two Guys a Girl and a Pizza Place, that greatly upset one of the guys, my butter chicken buddy incidentally, but it was an excellent brood, and a great beginning to the new year.
Actually, come to think of it, the time I was brooding with a buddy over forgetting the last date to apply for the hutch marathon, we were armed at 3 in the morning with omelettes and Lion King 1 1/2. Okay, so any movie will do...

Tomorrow morning, I head out of town with some of the guys for an intense Brood that will last until the end of the week. This is a brood I've called. We still have no clue where we're going to go, but that's part of the magic that is our Brood. No phone, so no calls from college, asking us why the hell we aren't in class, no calls from work, asking me to come in and do the last voice over, and no calls from any of the women in my life outside of the 'once a day, or maybe less' quota I've given myself. Just three CDs especially prepared for the occasion with one full of James Blunt, Live and Dave Matthews for singing to, one of Santana and Nirvana for 'whinging' to, and a third mixed one with lots of Apocalyptica for quietening the badgers, an assortment of liquor for the alcoholics, and ingredients for butter chicken we aren't likely to find in Mussoorie or Nimrana if we end up going there.
I bid you all a fine week ahead, and I know all you men will brood in your hearts for me, and perhaps you women have gained a greater understanding of us men, and why we brood.

EDIT: Our out of town Brood plans got scrapped last minute... I'm trying to make up for it myself at the moment...