thinking

I’M BA-AAACK! SOUND THE ALARMS!

Greetings, dear People, I have at last returned to this pleasant planet Earth. Been a while, hasn’t it? I dare say, it’s been almost two months; now that’s far too long to be away.

Just so’s you know, I’ve been busy. Not like I went off the radar and ate raw fish in the woods–trust me, the raw chicken’s way better. No, no, I have had college and two novels and work and life and a bunch of stupid excuses no one wants to hear.

Either way, here I am. If you could see me, I’m smiling. Or am I? Wait, am I?

Now I am.

What have I done? Well, lots. I got money, assignments, grades; somewhere along the line, I think I picked up a bit of self-esteem? I dunno. Things happen so much around here, it’s hard to keep up with the tiny details.

I went bowling…if anyone cares…

It was in this real seedy joint, Summit Entertainment–well, okay, not seedy in the day, but at nighttime–

Went with a few coworkers, chatted, encountered a guy who hung out in the girls’ bathroom to give out his number. Typical bowling cliches; I’m serious, nothing special.

I got third place, yes, me, Mr. I-Can’t-Catch-A-Damn-Football-To-Save-My…Or-Someone–Else’s-Life. No trophy, no kiss, nothing–and, y’know, I was looking forward to getting a plushie. Nope. Just me and a few sympathetic claps. Oh, there was one “You go, man,” but that might’ve been the weird deejay.

Wait, he left before then, didn’t he? Went to the bathroom, I think.

Now, Laser Tag was a different story. I didn’t get third place. I got eighth. Also, I almost ended up in a fight with these two linebacker-sized dudes ’cause one of my coworkers decided to flip them off.

To be honest, though, I’d have mopped the floor with them. Of course, we’d have to pass the mop off to one another; you can’t expect to mop an entire building without some teamwork.

I suck at Laser Tag, anyway. Always trying to act like I’m in an action movie, then some forty year old guy gets my chest, and–yeah, no, that’s depressing enough.

Making myself cry here. Didn’t know this was going to be such an emotional experience. Let’s bring it in, guys. C’mon, team hug, okay, not too close, no–ouch, you’re stepping on my foot!

Can cross Bad Idea #10 off the list now.

Ah, who am I kidding? All my ideas are bad! Everyone gather around the bonfire! Gonna burn this mother down!

No, we’re not. You can take off your Angry Mob costumes.

What we are doing is reconnecting, right? Heh…get it, ’cause connections and Angry Mobs, eh?

I have no idea what I’m saying.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

P.S: Feels nice to write that again.

 

Image Credit: Golda

 

What is Smart?

How do we measure intelligence? Why, seriously, do we care? Most of the time a number doesn’t determine how smart someone can be, or how much they can accomplish with what they have to offer.

Smartie pants, what we call people who rank, I guess, between the high 190’s and the 230’s. I’m kinda making up numbers now, so follow along if you can–it’s okay if you get lost along the way.

List of famous Smartie Pants:

Albert Einstein

Nikola Tesla

Thomas Edison

Bill Gates

Steve Jobs

Ronald McDonald

You get it. Lotsa smart folks walking around the world, inventing new-fangled thingamabobs and questioning the norm. They’re not typically looked on as so smart in the beginning; in fact, many of the people on that list are social outcasts, with the exception of Ronald McDonald: he has all those young adults to sit on benches with him in his restaurants.

But, I am asking, honestly, how is it measured? Any of you can do a Google search and give me the answers. Um…it says here, they pull you into a nondescript building with a nondescript medical professional who has nondescript Rorschach tests. Fair. Okay. Not the answer I needed, but o-kay.

We put certain people on pedestals, those we think to have a certain level of intellect; we call them Einsteins and Edisons–and why? They can recite Newton’s Laws while standing on their head? They solve Calculus equations on ham and rye sandwiches–ew, by the way–then eat it after explaining the Theory of Relativity in French? Points for whoever can do that last thing.  You are an impressive human being.

Do some individuals automatically acquire this aura of genius about them; but, because our collective eye is so blurred and foggy part of the time, we mistake them for average? For the typical klutz? I am puzzled by that–it’s why I asked you all the question, how is it measured?

I don’t believe it’s the way many others do. What they think is up to them. What I think…well, perhaps intelligence–real spunk–is not about how much a person can hold, but how they can use what little they know with tact and creativity. Use, not storage, is what I believe is the true measure of intelligence.

It’s not how well someone does on a pop quiz.

It’s not how high you score on an online intelligence test.

It’s the present, the future, and the past: what you have done, have created, to make someone think or act to make themselves change, for the better, or for the worse. Intelligence is the popsicle stick house of kindergarten, the argument with your friend at eight years old. It has substance and texture. It has a voice and hands. It has a personality. It’s like us because it is us.

What is smart?

Smart is doing what you did yesterday today; and, tomorrow, doing one part of it a little different.

Think daily,

A Southpaw