THAT SMARTS!!!

Not to toot my own horn, but I’m smart.

I’m no Einstein. I’m no Sheldon Cooper, but as he would point out, nobody is. I am also smart enough to know that there are lots of people smarter than me. I’ve considered going out for Mensa a couple times, I just never had the time or money for the test and membership dues. I was a student of the Milford Talented And Gifted program for four years in grade school, and I was accepted into New Haven’s Educational Center for the Arts. OK, y’know what? I’m bragging. I see that. But I don’t really care.

    Intelligence is something to proud of. Like I said, I know I’m not Shining Star Brilliant, but I’m no slouch, either. I retain information like a sponge, and I don’t even know where the hell I get some of it. My brain has a sort of informational static cling: shit just kinda sticks as I pass by. I’m evil when it comes to trivia, and I’ve been told more than a few times I should go out for Jeopardy. But I’m wandering again. It’s been said that if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Usually that means something physical, because when you flaunt something on an intellectual level, it’s called boasting. Or condescention.

    Some people like to say that intelligence is what separates humans from animals. I disagree. There are plenty of “dumb” animals that I feel are MUCH smarter than the average (and sometimes above average) human, and some things that “intelligent” humans do that make you long for the lackadaisical life of an animal. Just because we have logic and reason, it doesn’t necessarily make us smarter. Plus, smart people do stupid things just as easily as, well, stupid people. I shouldn’t say that. Stupid is as stupid does as the saying goes, and in reality, intelligence is a fairly flexible and relative term.

    As I said before, I grew up around smart people in various aspects of my life. My mother, though her memory is not what it was, is a very intelligent woman. My father, a retired mechanic and parts guy, is brilliant. So is my brother. I’ve often half-joked that out of the three of us I’m the dumb one. The problem with smart people is the occasional lack of common sense and street smarts. Because we are fairly socially awkward, we start out avoiding the real world so that when we’re finally forced into it, we’re not quite ready. It takes a little time to adjust to the pop that bubble makes, a little time to accept that the world we had imagined and read about isn’t the way it seems on TV. That’s when we realize there are some aspects in life in which we are NOT special, we’re just like everyone else.

    That can be frightening, especially to people who have been raised to believe they ARE special, that they are a member of an elite, select group of people who can think and perform cranial tasks above and beyond the norm. It’s that belief that makes so many “smart” people feel high and mighty above the others. We like to think and pretend that we’re not intellectually snobby or pretentious, but then you meet that ONE person (or in some cases, a few dozen people) that just make you want to twitch. You know the conversations, the ones where you hear what they have to say and you just stand there, blinking, trying to process it. It almost feels like trying to feed an antique punch-card into a supercomputer: it won’t work. You try and be genteel about it, you try and be diplomatic, so you smile and nod and try to keep from screaming out “DOES IT HURT WHEN YOU THINK, CUZ IT’S KILLING ME!!!”

    Stupid is a relative term, just like Smart is a relative term. We are only smart and/or stupid when compared to others. I go to trivia (almost) every Wednesday night with a couple of friends, and I say it (almost) every week: Sometimes I feel brilliant, other times I feel like Forrest Gump on Xanax. It happens especially if I’m stressed or tired and my brain isn’t quite functioning at full capacity. The other “big name” team on the other side of the bar usually trumps us, and it’s those days when they win by a larger-than-acceptable margin I feel like a total dope. However, there are nights when w come SOOOOOOO CLOOOOOOSE or even beat them WITH AUTHORITY that I feel that Cooperesque smugness building in my chest, and I simply have to strut out of the building with a huge grin on my face.

    Smart feels good. Having answers to the questions feels good. Solving the puzzle and solving the mystery feels good. It’s seeing everything line up and falling into place, leading you right to that finish line. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy my job: it’s puzzle solving, finding the missing pieces and putting them together, a chance to play hero and keep the plotline moving. I feel like Douglas House pulling miracles to save the next patient.

    At the same time, I understand and realize that not everyone is me. I understand that not everyone’s head moves the way mine does. It can be frustrating, especially when I’ve explained something as explicitly and simply as I can and it still doesn’t sink in. It’s those conversations with people whose thoughts should cause them physical pain. I’m not saying I’m above them. I myself have done things or said/thought things that upon reflection should have given me a migraine or a Gibbs-slap upside the head at the very least. Maybe we should have something implanted in our heads to give us a mild shock whenever our intelligence level drops below a certain point, a preemptive strike against stupidity to keep us from saying or doing that ONE little thing that’ll make someone else look at us in that cock-eyed way as if to say “Does your brain hear when your mouth is saying?”

   

NOTHING BUT MAMMALS CLOSER TO GOD

It’s September now, and that means cooler weather, which means…

MORE SEX.

It’s true. Proven. Statistically proven. More babies are born between June and October than any other period in the year. The only time the stats have differed was after WWII when all the troops came home after VE Day and VJ Day and started impregnating their wives and girlfriends.

    It’s actually tradition. Seriously. Go back far enough, all the way back to the Mayflower, and you’ll see it. Women tend to get knocked up in the winter. Backinnaday you’d be sitting around in your cabin, basically sealed inside because of cold and snow, you’re trying to keep the fire warm and trying to keep yourself warm, you don’t really have anything to do… so fuggit, let’s get bizzay. Plus, like I said, you’re trying to keep warm, you snuggle up close, you lock eyes (or her ass nuzzles up to you JUUUUUUUST RIIIIIIIGHT…) and that interior Barry White starts playing “Let’s get it oooonnnn…”

    There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m all for it. In fact, I’m all for it all year round. Who isn’t? Who wouldn’t? I mean, c’mon let’s face it, there’s excuses and reasons all year ‘round. In the winter you’re cold and trying to get warm, so let’s create a little friction. In the spring the sun and warmth comes back and all the flowers are blooming and all the animals are getting it on, so why don’t we enjoy all this beauty and make some beauty ourselves? In the summer it’s hot, people are wearing less clothing and DAMN you look smoking in the bathing suit/sheer light blouse/short skirt/nothing at all, so let’s turn up the AC and turn up the heat. In the fall all the leaves are falling and it looks so pretty and it’s starting to cool down so let’s make something out of this mattress made of foliage.

    We’re sexual beings, folks. It’s plain and simple. What is the meaning of life? TO MAKE MORE LIFE. That’s why the urges are so powerful, that’s why it’s everywhere we look, that’s why, despite all the protests and all the condemnation and every person in the world denying they use it pornography is the number-one recession-proof industry out there. It’s why Playboy has been around almost 60 years. We live to procreate… or at least practice. Lots and lots of practice. I’d say practice makes perfect, but we’ve all known someone who needs just a liiiiiiiiiiittle more practice. And training. And maybe a neon sign telling them what to do and where to go. The point is, we like it, in one way or another.

    This is why you have fetishes. I like boobs. I REALLY like boobs. My girl E likes legs. Mine are like tree trunks, so she LOOOOOOOVES my legs. Some folks are into butts. Some are into hands. Some are into feet and shoes, one fetish I don’t understand AT ALL. But then again, some folks have trouble understanding other’s likes and dislikes. My former boss was an assman, and we had a discussion once about his thing for butts and mine for boobs. “You can’t do anything with those,” he once told me. “Then you lack imagination,” I responded.

    A human being can find a sexual turn-on in just about ANYTHING. The comedian Alex Reymundo compared masturbation between men and women: women will plan a masturbation session, make it an event, they’ll get a bottle of wine, light some candles, slip into a nice warm bubble bath and bring themselves to ecstacy. Men will get turned on just knowing they’re going to get themselves off later. Fairly accurate, honestly. A woman will need something about a guy to get turned on: a tight shirt, pants clinging to his hamstrings and buttocks just right, the glint of a streetlight in his eyes as he smiles… a guy just needs a girl to bend over picking up a dropped paperclip and he’s ready to go. Hell, I knew a guy in college who would see a mannequin at the Gallery Mall and have to excuse himself to the bathroom.

    And it’s FUNNY. Sex Is funny. Don’t deny it. Something happens occasionally and you laugh, you laugh because it happened during this act that is so passionate and all-consuming. If you’re into it enough, people can fuck through the Apocalypse. But think about it: the bed squeaks a certain way, or you make a certain noise, or you fart, or something. How many times have you laughed during sex, then just dug down and got right back into it? How many times has something happened in a love scene on TV or in a movie and you just fall out of your chair laughing, because you’re thinking “I’m SO glad that wasn’t me?” or “Can you imagine?” It’s entertaining, it’s entertainment, which brings us right back to where we started.

    The religious zealots can say whatever they want, that the pleasure and entertainment value of coitus is a Test By The Devil to overcome our more primal selves, show that we are more evolved and of a higher intellect than the rest of the animal kingdom.

    Don’t kid yourself. We’re not.

    Robin Williams said it best: God gave us two heads, but only enough blood to run one at a time.

NERD FIGHT!!!

            OK, first I want to say I've decided to do a single weekly post instead of trying to do daily. Well, unless something pops up super-strong and I can't hold it back. I can think of a few analogies, but they're not for kids. So no.
    Anyhow. For your weekly dose of Bleach, I'm gonna talk about Nerdliness.
    I have a great deal of it. I am a nerd. Always have been. Geek too. I am a nerdy geeky Nerd Geek. I'm into Star Wars AND Star Trek. I love Joss Whedon and JJ Abrams and Spielberg and Lucas and comics and action figures and all kinds of weird shit.
    Not everyone feels the way I do. That's always the way, isn't it? However, I am not like other nerds. I am not a typical geek. Neither are many of my friends. We are not your typical nerdy geeks.
    We are Dark Nerds.
    It's kinda like an evil genius, but...not. We have tattoos. We have piercings. We get laid on a fairly regular basis. Yet we still have comic/sci-fi/gaming/fantasy/tech debates and arguments and act a lot like the guys on Big Bang Theory. Most of us are more like Leonard than Sheldon, but I can honestly say, as a 4-year member of the Milford Talented And Gifted Program, that I have known a few people who were very Sheldon Cooper-esque.
    The reason I decided to focus on this is because something interesting happened to me yesterday. First, I went to a aprty for my friend and his wife. I saw a guy there I hadn't seen since grade school. When I was in eighth grade, I randomly hit this guy in an attempt to start a fight so some of the In-Crowd Kids would think I was cool. I got in trouble, of course, and got lectured by one of my teachers who gave me the "being part of the Cool Kids isn't that important in life." I don't remember if I ever apologized to this kid, but I'm friends with him on FaceBook these days and though we don't really talk-talk, it's good to be in touch.
    Later last night, I went to a local comedy club with E and AlleyMac just to get A.M. out of this funk she's been in and to just plain do something different. At the door as we entered was a guy I have literally known my entire life, and when he saw me he smiled, gave me a hug, and we shot the shit for a few minutes before he took off. He's one of the regular performers at this club and has also performed at some pretty decent venues. Good for him.
    The funny thing is that this guy was one of my bullies way back in the day. I had more than my share. Being short, fat, smart, and Jewish was a perfect recipe for the Popular and Insecure to find things to pick on. There were more than a handful of times my parents had to come to my rescue as a child, and more than a few times I went to the principal's office as a result of defending myself, or even taking preemptive action against them. See, that's what I think differs me from a lot of nerds:
    I FOUGHT BACK.
    Oh yeah. I know my mom's gonna see this, my aunt, my cousins, I DON'T CARE. I fought. I started some of em. Yeah. Deal with it. I've known a few people who have done jail time who have said that if you ever wind up inside, seeks someone out, start a fight, win it, and nobody will bug you the rest of your time in. OK, so that was AFTER all my fights happened, but the principle is the same: I started a few fights to avoid having future ones. I chewed on a couple guys. Literally. They were following me home, so I spun around and tried to eat a couple of them. It worked. They stopped bothering me. I slammed a kid through a locker my freshman year. Got two days suspension. Folks never found out because I intercepted the letter and erased the message on the machine. Kept me my lunch and lunch money, though.
    Anyhow, this guy at the club last night never got physical with me, but words can be as vicious as fists and you don't see those kinds of bruises. YEARS this guy tormented me, and he was three years ahead of me, which made it worse. I dealt with his cuts and jabs all through grade school. In fact, he was one of the ones who started calling me CHEWBACCA when I was younger. When I got to high school, it started again, and this time it stuck. But this time, I kept it. I made it mine. Fine, I'll be "CHEWY." What are we gonna do with this? End of freshman year, I went out for football. I did it to get girls at first, I figured the jocks got the girls.
    Yeah, no.
    So this guy was ALSO on the football team. Of COURSE he was. Playing the same position I was going for. Of COURSE he was. I had no idea what I was doing, so idea how to play, I was NEVER very athletic, so of course I wound up getting hurt a couple times. When the other guys started accusing me of faking it, I got mad and played through every injury I had. You know, except the one where I had to wear a neck brace the first week of sophomore year, or when I broke my toe doing shot-put and was on crutches at the end of sophomore year, but anyhow... I wound up going up against this schmuck during practice on a regular basis, and all these years of aggression and rage bubbled up and I plowed him into the ground at least a couple times. One day after practice as we were both leaving, he came up to me (I had been especially aggravated that day and had knocked him on his ass at least three times,) and he said something like "I know I busted your balls for a long time, and you kicked my ass today. What say we're even?"
    I was good with that.
    So I found it a little amusing when I got a hug and fond memories from him last night. It made me think of all the other geeks and nerds out there who didn't have the chances or the ability to fight back the way I did. Maybe it's my nature. Maybe it's my DNA. I'm not sure. What I find encouraging is that as I grow older, I find more like me: nerds and geeks who bucked the system and eschewed that stereotype. People see us and they're frightened, intimidated. I can't even tell you how funny that is. Think about it: you see a guy who's kinda hulked up, big earrings in his ears, wearing all black leather, shaved head, covered in tattoos, looks like he hasn't shaved in a week or so... people move to the other end of the street, lower their eyes and cease conversation as they pass us... an then we resume our Kirk vs. Picard vs. Janeway debate, or how the movies versions of comic movies fare, and who our casting choices in the next Joss Whedon adaptation would be. It's incredible how the times have shifted, how years ago people would have laughed themselves into diapers if they had been told that we would terrify people ten years down the line. Really? Afraid of freaks and geeks?
    Yeah, bitch. Fear me and my Alice In Wonderland and W.B. Yeats tattoos. Be afraid of my Star Wars t-shirt collection and my autographed Kevin Smith Buddy Christ Figure. Be afraid of my mint-in-box action figure collection. Quiver at the sight of my Star Trek Sheets.
    OK, so I don't have Star Trek sheets, but I DO have G.I. Joe and Transformers t-shirts. And I change my ringtones between the theme from FIREFLY, GAME OF THRONES, SONIC THE HEDGEHOG, and MEGAMAN 2. I used to walk the dogs with my Harry Potter "Mad Eye Moody" wand in my pocket, just in case I encountered Dementors. I owned an Anakin Skywalker lightsaber until I had to sell it to pay a bill. I. AM. A. NERD. I know it. But you know what? I'm also proud of it. ALmost all my friends are also nerds, and let's be honest: most of them are incredibly hot. We are sexy geeks. E is always telling me how hot I am, and I love it. And we rule the world now. Serious. Think about it. Where would you be without us? You realize cell phones are just Star Trek Communicators that work, right?