Profound vs. Complex

I am continually amazed at how moronic supposedly intelligent people tend to be. They take a few college classes, post-grad even, and suddenly they think themselves geniuses. The fact that they don’t know they are nothing special is what makes them morons.

Remember that scene in Goodwill Hunting where the Math professor is talking to Matt Damon and says something like “Only a handful of people in the world would be able to tell the difference between you and me.” I want to expand on this idea a little more. I’ve sat through a lot of classes, a lot, and have worked with many intelligent, learned people. However, there is one concept that most don’t quite grasp. The idea of doing something profound vs. something that is only complex. I emphasize only because really it is the basis for my argument. Complex just means a bunch of steps. I don’t know if it is inflated ego or just ignorance, but “The Learned” give themselves much more credit than they deserve. As a matter of fact, so do the observers of “The learned”. For example, take multivariable calculus; if you haven’t had the class, you may think that someone capable of learning this is highly intelligent and/or gifted. Sorry, it’s just a series of somewhat complex steps that, with practice, can be followed as easily as a dot-to-dot. Remember the steps, a couple of formulas, and you're set. This is only complex as is most higher level math. Now, being the one who invented Calculus, the one that thought of shrinking those little rectangles infinitesimally small to calculate that area under a curve; that is profound. This idea extends to more than just Calculus, it applies to almost everything. Laws, proofs, theorems..all memorization of steps and understanding of profound work someone else did, which to you, is nothing but complex. I give all the grads and post grads props for being diligent and working through the steps, but the truth of the matter is, almost none of you have done anything profound. I am absolutely in this category but the difference is, I know it. I am smart, but that’s it. You may consider it arrogant to call yourself smart, but my definition is nothing to brag about. Smart only means you have learned that with time and resources you have the ability to learn someone else’s work. That’s it. I’ve never been clever or inventive and never had any real talent, but I’m smart so I copy really well, like most people with a BS or MS. I’ll leave the Doctors out of it as I would be speaking out of turn.

I work with engineers all day long and they think reciting some random formula or proof demonstrates the significant brain power that they seem to mask with their daily work. Again, idiots; and I’m the worst of them. I actually memorized “The Raven” by Poe for bragging rights. It is really really long and I am really really smart. Again, anyone, anyone with too much time on their hands and the will to do so can recite someone else’s work. The tragedy is when you realize what you are incapable of doing…writing an original, inventing anything of your own, having an original thought. Unlike the high school student that says they just can’t do math, you know better. You know you can learn and think and work through problems and in doing so you also learn that you really have little more to offer than a copy machine. Sorry moms, those genius sons and daughters of yours are far from genius…you just didn’t know any better.

Bathroom Madness

It’s 10am and I am sitting in the far stall of the men’s room at work. I’m taking care of a little bit of business when the door of the bathroom flies open. I can’t see who just entered, but then again, I didn’t need to. What I heard from that moment on needs to be addressed in a public forum. He (it was a men’s room) flipped open his cell phone and made a call while walking to a stall. I could hear someone answer and a conversation commenced. To my delight, he entered the stall next to me. While talking, he turned, dropped trough, and sat for his morning constitutional. At that point I literally jumped at the volley of explosions that erupted from him. The cacophony can only be described as the unharmonious union of a bassoon and a tuba dying off into a melee of what sounded like handful after handful of gravel hitting water. Maybe the double guacamole six dollar burger with chili cheese fries from Carl’s Jr. wasn’t the best choice for lunch, but why do I and the phone call recipient have to pay for it. This man was tearing ass! All of this was outrageous in itself, but still this isn’t what put me over the edge. One may enter the bathroom unaware of how venting the billows may sound; it perplexes me continually but seems to correlate to the number of people present, as a side note. What one does have control over is the grunting and verbal utterances preceding the carpet bombing. This freak literally ended words with guttural thrusts. Still the conversation continued. I finished my work quickly and flushed about five times hoping that the person on the other end of the line would simply hang up in disgust. A quick wash and I was out of there…and the man was still talking.

Admittedly this was the worst case I have ever witnessed, but this trend is not uncommon and seems to be getting worse. I hear at least three people a week talking on cell phones in the public restrooms and imagine the numbers greatly increase at home. Stop it. For the love of all things holy, STOP IT!

Self Loathing + Self Deprecation = Fat Bigot

I guess my last post was a little mean spirited and exposed a little of the fury that smolders beneath my dermis. My wife also mentioned that it was offensive to the overweight, elderly, the poor, people with tats, the hairless, and basically 75% of the population. So I guess it is time for a little background info about my state of mind and physical self.

I’m balding, can’t be helped. No reason to put a tat on a 14 inch arm. I’m mid-30s, aged like I’m 40+. Friends say I live in a slum, not going to change soon. I am like 75% of the population, but there is one item on the list that is in my control. I am a fat pig.

You may think that bigotry against fat people is reserved for the 140lb spandex wearing guy doing high knees after his morning eight mile run. It is not. My personal battle with weight rolls back to 7^th grade when I hit my pupa stage and my little pot belly began. Oh, I’ve gone psycho several times and lost weight, but I am in a cycle of gain and loss like few ever see. In my world, I call it cut cycle and bulk cycle, but really it is a mask for outrageous gluttony and my love affair with pastries, followed by extreme exercise and self loathing. So, I am up 25lbs in the last 6 months. I’m disgusting. My ass looks like Ricotta cheese in a plastic bag. My distended belly is reminiscent of Papa Noel. My nipples, which are now the size dinner plates, hang off of me like lead weights pulling themselves toward mother earth. The zipper tangs on my dress slacks look like they are in a serious game of “Red Rover” and my pubis lard is “Coming right over”. It’s bad, the madness has got to stop.

As my reflection widens, so does my loathing of the lard and the self deprecation begins. Then, by proxy, my universal fat bigotry oozes from my oily pores. Yes, I’m an oily one. But it works, at least temporarily. I am not the touchy feely type that needs a soothing back rub or a “You can do it” pep talk to get me motivated. I need someone in my face calling me that Michelin Boy that I am. I don’t always have a good friend around to fill this void (they tend to move away), so I have to self-motivate. As I hit the weights, I repeat mantras like “Hey Fatty McButter Pants, how about another rep.” or the always effective “Maybe you are breathing so hard because of the fat crushing your windpipe” or, my favorite at dinnertime “Would you like to shovel some more butter on that pile o’ taters?” This method always gets me a few more reps, a little more weight on the bench, or a few hundred yards more on a knee crushing jog. This is during my cut cycle, of course. When I drop some weight and my arms shrink to a hearty 13 inches, I’ll start another bulk cycle and will be back to double fisting bear claws daily.

So please don’t misunderstand, I know you can only call someone fat, lazy, and utterly disgusting if you are yourself…so get to work, fat-ass.

Attention All Concert Goers

For the first time in my life, I attended a country music concert. Carrie Underwood was quite good and I actually enjoyed the musical portion of the concert more than I care to admit. The performers are not whom I am referencing today. I have a few things to say about the attendees. Admittedly, I was out of my element. I am a seasoned concert goer but most of the concerts I attend include either reunion tours of semi-famous 80’s bands, or some fairly hard core metal maniacs. At these concerts, the first 40 rows or so on the floor are generally reserved for mosh pits where “Bulls”, as we call them, take out their aggression on unsuspecting teenagers.

“Bull” – Bulky, Bald, Shirtless, 35+ years old, wasted, Tats galore, tri-toothed, spent 2 months of his mother’s salary on floor tickets, white-trash freak, looking to do damage to anyone in his wake.

The remainder of the arena is general fixed seating. The fixed seating protects you from death and most dismemberment, so while it is for those who are a little more reserved, the entire place is still moving. People are up, people are head-banging, people are excited, people are letting loose a little and enjoying themselves. Fists pound at the air and vocal chords become raw. I am familiar with this scene.

Now back to the concert I attended last night. With the exception of the floor seats, EVERYONE was sitting quietly with hands gently placed in their ample laps listening with quiet reflection as song after song was feverously sung. A few tried to rally the troops, stand and move, but they were quickly shut down and told to sit down. I watched them pop up here and there only to be reprimanded in disgust by the aged and the overweight. I was extremely uncomfortable, sitting there, trying not to tap my toe too loudly lest I be subject to a similar scolding.

Now my venom. Let me explain something to the fat, lazy, too old for their age, bottled-up, first time concert attendees. Get the @$%# Up! (Sorry, got a little excited there) Enjoy the concert. There is NOTHING more insulting to the band on stage than people just sitting like festering globules of lard. I’ve actually attended one concert where a huge band walked off the stage in frustration after completing one of the best dueling double drum set solos I’ve ever seen, only to have everyone stay quietly seated offering a proper, but not too forceful, golf clap. They walked off! If you are new to this scene, you are obliged to stand, so get up! To those sitting behind me yesterday whining about how ridiculous those who dared move were, I have a few words for you. Think about when you look in the mirror in the morning; you know, right before you jump in the shower. Your eyes glance over your rotund body, stopping as you stare yourself in the eyes. It is that moment that I wonder what you are thinking. Is it something like “Why am I such a loser? Why does my ass hang off of me like a wet pillow? Why am I friendless, hopeless, and helpless? Why won’t any woman/man let me near?” Well I have the answer. You are a loser and shouldn’t be in public and here are a few of the reasons why. If you can’t get your meaty ham hocks to lock in the upright position for 90 min. to watch a band/singer that you dropped $60 on tickets to see…you shouldn’t attend. If you are so old at the ripe age of 30, that you find the rambunctious 29 year olds too busy…stay home. If you are so lazy that the idea of even slightly swaying from left to right somewhat to the rhythm makes you cringe…just end it. Granted that while seated, my view of your back rolls and neck sausage is somewhat obscured so that is a plus, but really… you shouldn’t be out in your condition anyway.

For those with a more seasoned disposition who wish to enjoy their music seated and quiet, the 1st Chair Cellist in the London Philharmonic probably appreciates your adherence to a strict decorum. Sully from Godsmack, on the other hand, prefers you just stay home and say “Yo Dominos” like every other weekday. They do have unlimited mediums for $5 each you know.

Just Friends?

So I was having a conversation a while back with my niece and a fundamental misunderstanding of relationships arose. She is 13. A few months later, I had the same conversation with my sisters. They are mid-20’s and 30+ in age, same delusion. Finally, I watched an episode of “Everyone Loves Raymond” and again this topic of misunderstanding arose. I am duty bound to inform the uninformed. Here goes. Ladies, we don’t want you as friends. There, I said it. It’s out there. Those of us of the heterosexual ilk have no business having “Just Friends” of the opposite sex. This is a universal law and no you are not an exception. Let me explain. One of the two friends ALWAYS wants more. Why don’t you people understand this? I know, this delusion can be on the male side too, but it predominantly seems to infect the brains of the gentler sex.

Side note: I am new to blogging and thought I would mention a phrase that will be commonly used yet based on the blog topic, refer to various groups of people that I neither understand nor comprehend…and they confuse me too. The perfunctory phrase is “You People”. I like it. It generalizes and seems to fire up people very quickly.

Back to the explanation: These “Just Friend” friendships can be summed up in 4 categories.

1. Guy is not attractive to Gal, she loves him as a friend. He says he feels the same. Deep down he craves her madly and will become suicidal if she mentions one more time how hot another guy is. (Reference: Ducky.)

2.Gal is not attractive to Guy. She secretly loves him. He doesn’t give her the time of day, but she thinks they have a great friendship and one day he will see past the festering goiter to the beauty within. (Reference: Every chick flick ever made, minus the bogus ending, and often minus the goiter. Only in Hollywood can Julia Roberts be considered for the role of the Quasimodoish “Just Friend”.)

3.Gal and Guy are not attractive to each other in the least. Never were friends, never will be. Moot scenario.

4 Gal and Guy are both attractive to one another, but they claim to be just friends. Great prospect. As future lovers their friendship will blossom. (Reference: The start of most long term relationships.)

Notice I used the word attractive, and not attracted. One infers an innate affinity towards the other where friendship is secondary in the mind of the attracted person. Attractive, on the other hand, means you are probably not auditioning for the role of Rocky in Cher’s newest film “The Mask II” but your reasonable looks allow a friendship to start without fear of infection or capture.

So far, I have only been referencing uncommitted, single people. A whole new world of misunderstanding is involved in those who are in committed relationships and but still tip toe across the fiery coals of maintaining friendships with the opposite sex. Do as you will, but recognize that the above rules still apply….and contribute greatly to the fantastic marital statistic of a nearly 60% failure rate. Women, it is much better to remain in ignorance of the prospects that are still out there. You made your choice, as ill-conceived as it was. Men, let’s be honest, you can’t do better, so stop trying. If you have a woman who is good to your children and lets you touch her on occasion, drop to your knees and thank The Almighty. You are a lucky man. If you are ignorant enough to say that you want nothing more than a friend who happens to be the opposite and you are perfectly happy with your companion, you are either lying or stupid. You might be lying to yourself as well, but you are a liar nonetheless, or mentally handicap. No offence to the mentally handicap.

Women, please don’t try to be one of the guys. Your breasts deny you the right….’cause we are going to look at them. Guys, don’t be the sensitive one to whom the girls can tell anything; you’ll spend weekends on W.O.W. and take lots of long showers.

It has never worked, and never will. You people try time and time again and it always falls back into the four categories I have described. So men, just live with the fact that you cannot and should not try to have women as friends if that is all that you want. Women, you can’t have men as just friends either.….and Mathew McConaughey, you can’t have either as friends because although I am 100% hetero, wow, you are a sexy man.