One-man hobby lobby

Reading has been a hobby of mine for as long as I can remember. It was a hobby before i could even technically read; my father would sit me on his lap with a Dr. Suess book in hand and regale me with tales about green eggs and ham, which in children’s books apparently have nothing to do with mold.

Decades later I’m devouring the classics (if you can consider “The Shining” a classic), thankful that I’ve picked up on reading as a lifelong hobby. Because not only is it rewarding, but it has a distinct advantage over certain other hobbies: You can do it indoors.

Around these parts that’s kind of important.

I’ve never spent much time in the southwest -- a 10-hour layover in Los Angeles was the closest I came -- so I wonder what life is like for Southern Californians in particular. The reality is probably nothing like I envision it, but I picture tanned youths in undershirts and cargo shorts riding skateboards from dusk ’till dawn. Middle-aged movie executives sipping mai tais on beaches reading Variety on their cell phones. Elderly couples strolling under palm trees, comfortably silent beneath a cactus-dry sky. Outdoor hobbies. Things you do when rain and snow are things you see on television.

Mainers don’t have these kinds of luxuries, at least not in February. Sure, you’ve got the skiers and the snowmobilers, but every once in awhile you get choke-slammed by a Nor’easter so thick and nasty the only thing you can do is hunker down and ride it out. Right now I’m sitting in my living room, glancing out the window at a storm so relentless I don’t even dare poke my head out the door. If I craned my neck out for even a second I’d come back inside with a snow-beard and a pair of inch-long icicles dangling precariously from each nostril, both comprised of about 60 percent booger. Ice boogers were fun when I was 7. Now I’ve got a mustache. Do the math.

So I crack open my books and read for a while. Good clean indoor fun. But it occurred to me, as I was enjoying a novel about a serial killer who drives an ice cream truck, that not everyone reads for pleasure. They read strictly out of necessity, because otherwise they wouldn’t know that the fajitas at Applebee’s come with a side of coleslaw. Surely they must have different hobbies, things they do to combat the cabin fever. But what could they possibly be? Television? Amateur taxidermy? Bagpipe practice?

The internet is a blessing and a curse. Turns out people are even weirder than I imagined.

If you’re Chuck Lamb, for example, your indoor hobby is to play dead. Nothing fancy here. He essentially lies around and does nothing, only he does it with his eyes open and sometimes a couple of props at his disposal, like a streak of fake blood trickling down his forehead or a rubber knife sticking through his shirt. What’s scarier is that Lamb has an audience. He takes pictures and videos of his fake deadness and posts them online, with his website scoring about 32 million hits in the course of a year. That’s 32 million people who have sat at their computers or phones and watched a grown man with six kids literally doing nothing at all. This is what you would call a minimalist hobby. In fact it takes minimalism to a creepy, metaphysical level. At least his videos don’t have any weird sex stuff in them. I’d have to shower for a week to still my crawling skin.

Audrey Horncastle -- I swear that is an actual name -- takes things to a whole new level of strangeness. Her indoor hobby is knitting woolen breasts. Now in her case there’s actually a good reason for doing this: She gives them to her daughter, a community nurse, who uses them to teach new mothers how to breastfeed. It’s a good and noble purpose for what is still, let’s face it, a rather bizarre way to pass the time. What’s slightly unnerving is how … um, anatomically accurate she makes these faux body parts. I’m glad they serve a somewhat medical purpose, because if they were meant as gifts for family and friends, that would make for some super awkward moments at little Timmy’s birthday party. Although Timmy could always tell his grandma, “Thanks for the mammaries.” Zing! Rim shot! High five! OK, I’m done now.

These hobbies are not normal. In fact they’re borderline disturbing. But they’re also creative, and if these weirdos can come up with inventive ways to pass the time without leaving the house, that means there’s a chance for the rest of us. I mean, we don’t have to spend an entire blizzard reading about murderous psycho clowns, do we?

I’m tempted to do something that will land me on one of these internet “weird hobbies” lists. To invent an activity, essentially. Off the top of my head: take the black tape out of an old cassette and make a funny hat; paint my face with all my leftover Halloween makeup and do a Facebook photo shoot that’ll leave friends scared for my sanity; see if I can suspend a stapler in a gallon of Jell-O; and make a drum kit out of pillows and sofa cushions and try to keep time with the beat of “Rock and Roll Ain’t Noise Pollution.” If I digitally track my progress, at least one of these inane pastimes is bound to land me some dubious, fleeting Buzzfeed fame.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say. And lately it’s been pretty desperate. Maybe once I’m done painting myself to look like a Zebra I’ll whip out the food coloring and try to make some actual green eggs and ham. As long as I’ve got the time, I might as well see what the fuss is all about.