BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

In order for this to make sense, I really have to start with a couple of definitions…

Rhetorical Question: a question asked solely to produce an effect or to make an assertion and not to elicit a reply.

Pedantic: overly concerned with minute details or formalisms

Remember those. They might not make sense right away, but they should if you just keep reading… In theory, anyway…

So, here’s the thing – many years ago I read a Sci-Fi novel… yes, actually I have read many Sci-Fi novels, but this one in particular has something to do with my inane rambling today… Unfortunately, I don’t recall the title of this  book, but I do remember the gist of the story. Basically, due to the constant expansion of the universe and the fact that we are simply traveling through it, our solar system emerged from some manner of interstellar radiation cloud that was acting as a damper on our brains. In short, it was making us stupid. So, as Earth moved out of the cloud, people with sub-par IQ’s became what our current definition of “normal” seems to be, those with “normal” IQ’s became geniuses, and those who were already geniuses made a sudden leap to a level that made Einstein and Marilyn Vos Savant look like toddlers.

Well, apparently this wasn’t Sci-Fi after all, as it seems we have started to move out of the “Stupid Zone”. Unfortunately, it also seems my head is still  hanging out in the clouds, so to speak.

Allow me to wax poetic as to why I think this…

Lately, it seems as if a good number of folks have become absolute, raving geniuses, whereas I have remained utterly stupid. I say this because they are pointing it out to me constantly. And, at the same time they turned into these super geniuses, they were also infected with the “pedantic virus” and are now suffering from debilitating cases of pedanticoritis. (Yes, I just made that up…)

Now, I am sure you are wondering just what the evidence may be that has led me to this bizarre conclusion?

Simple. The humble rhetorical question.

I ask them. I ask them all the time. I tweet them, I use them as status updates on BookFace and Myspank. What’s more, I ask really off-the-wall rhetorical questions. Things like, “why don’t grapefruit taste like grapes?” or “did you ever notice hot dogs don’t actually contain any dog?” – Things so outrageous as to not even beg an answer. The only way to make the joke any more obvious would be to put flashing lights around it with a giant arrow and sign that reads, “EAT AT JOkES.” (Hopefully everyone got that…)

So what is my point here? Again, simple. People are answering me.

Now, if folks were answering me with equally as silly answers it would be one thing, but instead they are answering me with serious, in-depth, incredibly ostentatious explanations. What’s worse, more than a few of them have adopted “What, are you stupid or something?” attitudes to go along with them.

I suppose if I was up on stage at a comedy club, then maybe folks would get “it”. But in all honesty I’m not so sure they would…

Which brings me to this…  Even though it would seem that my head is still floating around in the “Stupid Cloud” while everyone else has moved on to the land of “Brainiac”, I figure it’s only fair for me to point out something that may have been missed.

I’m nowhere near as stupid as I look.

Yeah. I know. Hard to believe isn’t it? I mean, after all, I look like a big, goofy moron. But in reality the opposite is true. I actually have some highly developed skills, which may be considered archaic by some, but still serve me well. Things like the ability to operate a Dictionary… Encyclopedias… Reference books… (don’t tell anyone, but I actually know where several branches of the public library are located.) And, when I’m really feeling lazy, I look up things on the Internet, cross reference the sources, and voila… And, if that’s not enough, I really and truly can count to ten without using my fingers. Amazing, I know, but I really can. Just ask E K. She’s literally witnessed this incredible feat.

And, just in case you might not have noticed, I tend to joke a lot… And by a lot I mean A LOT…

So, the next time you happen across my FB page, a random tweet, or even run into me at a bookstore and I say something like, “You know, I wonder if pine cones are just baby pineapples?” you’d probably be better off to not offer an explanation as to why they aren’t.

Why? Because I will just point and make fun of you. Believe it or not, there’s a very good chance that I’ll be better at it than you are…

More to come…

Murv

It was the late 60’s.

The most important things in my world were my bicycle, Shakey’s Pizza, and committing my multiplication tables to memory so the teacher wouldn’t frown at me. Television had three channels – on a good day – and it came at you from behind a wall of staticky snow on a thirteen inch, black & white Philco with tin-foil molded around the rabbit ear antennae.

Yeah. Back then they made foil out of tin instead of aluminum. Probably because it was a better conductor for the airwaves and they knew damn well that just as much of it would be used as antenna boosters as it would be for wrapping foodstuffs.

So, that was my world, living in that little house on Baltimore Avenue.  However, on a daily basis I heard about a place called “Vietnam”. It was a faraway land. The ghostly TV screen images of newscasters like Walter Cronkite told me all about it, and convinced me that it was someplace I never wanted to go.

Then, one morning, my mother was opening the drapes on our front windows. As they slid apart she gasped, then muttered, “Oh no…”

My father joined her at the window and his expression turned grim. Being a kid, I had to know what had elicited such a reaction from my parents. I ran to the window and peered out. What I saw didn’t fit with the way they were acting – at least, it didn’t to my young mind. But then, I didn’t understand what I was seeing and I hadn’t lived through the things my parents had.

The tableau on the other side of the picture window was normal as far as I could see. The street. The houses. Nothing had changed. The only difference I could detect was the dark blue, four door sedan parked in front of the house across the street. On close inspection, one could see some official looking words stenciled on the driver’s side door, although they were unreadable at this distance. The only other things out of place besides the car were the two solemn looking men in uniform standing on our neighbor’s front porch.

Back then, I didn’t understand. There are those times now that I wish I still didn’t. But, I am also thankful that I do.

Yesterday I posted a Facebook status update lamenting the fact that I hadn’t yet written my Sunday morning blog entry, and wondering at what the subject should be. I received many suggestions, most of which will probably end up as future entries. However, when I sat down to pen this one something dawned on me…

I have an uncle buried at Jefferson Barracks Cemetery. He saw action with the Navy in Korea. I have a great uncle who saw action in Korea as well. My grandfather was in the National Guard during WWI. My father-in-law was in the National Guard. At least one of EKay’s uncles saw action in WWII.

I have an uncle who was in Vietnam. I have friends who were in Vietnam. I have friends who were deployed during Desert Shield and eventually, Desert Storm. I have relatives who pulled multiple tours in Iraq. I have friends whose children – kids that I watched grow up at our weekend BBQ’s and float trips – who have seen action in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Friends in the Air Force. A nephew who was a Marine. A nephew who is going into the Air Force…

The list goes on, and on…

So, today, instead of writing something funny, I thought maybe I’d take a moment to say thanks to all of my family, friends, and everyone else in uniform who is separated from me by a mere six degrees… I may not always agree with the reason behind a given war, (conflict, or whatever they may want to call it), but I’m thankful for those who defend my right to be funny the other 364 days out of the year.

More to come…

Murv