My dear departed uncle had a repertoire about 100 stories. Each one took about 15 minutes to tell, and required your full attention. It was really uncomfortable, but since he was my uncle and I loved him, I put up with it, begrudgingly.#
By the time I was in my 40s, after decades of listening to the same stories over and over, I started numbering them. As he would start the story, I'd say oh that's #285. That did it. He'd smile sheepishly, realize what he was doing, and we'd go back to being friends.#
The reason I mention it is that at a party in Woodstock last weekend I met a guy who was almost exactly my uncle's age, who looked like him, had the same wild look in his eyes, and he started doing the exact same thing. Not one of my uncle's stories of course, his own tale of conspiracy and heroism.#
I interrupted him after about five minutes and said you know my uncle used to do the same damn thing. He didn't notice, kept right on going. At some point I got up and left. It was fascinating for a while, but while he reminded me of my uncle, he wasn't him.#