Skxawng

For the great majority of mankind are satisfied with appearance, as though they were realities and are often more influenced by the things that seem than by those that are.

~ Niccolo Machiavelli

I’ll just put this up here at the beginning, to save you some time: I am a pretentious moron. Those of you who wish to concur can skip the rest of this and go on your merry way. For those of you inclined toward disagreement, read on . . .

My friend Ginny published a new post this morning. On my YIPEE! scale, such an event usually registers around 9.5 or so, for her writing is concocted of wit, charm, humor and intelligence, all in subtle but potent doses. She was one of the first people I “met” here in Blogland and we’ve grown somewhat close. One reason for this is that we use the same blogging platform and have helped each other weather the sometimes-turbulent seas of coding and protocol.

In her post, she referenced a video clip, and I sensed a storm a-brewing when I read:

You’re going to have to click here to watch it. (The fact that I got frustrated over the fact that I couldn’t embed it is the most beautiful irony.  Watch it, or you won’t know what I’m talking about.)

At that point, my Brian-to-the-Rescue radar went all flashy and red and so I posted a couple comments. In one I included the video clip, and in another I shared how to properly embed video clips in posts. Quite proud of myself for having come to the aid of a friend in distress, I figured I’d take a moment to watch this clip that meant so much to her. Go ahead and give it a try . . .

Yeah. That’s what I got too. It wasn’t that she technically couldn’t post the clip, it’s that she literally couldn’t. And that is what crow tastes like. Maybe you’ve never eaten crow. It’s part of my daily diet, unfortunately. And it seems I’ll never tire of consuming it.

Not once before I chose to comment did I consider the fact that Ginny is extremely intelligent. Scary smart. That she probably tried to post the clip and got the same result I did. And that her statement above meant so much more than I read into it. Completely missing the irony to which she referred, I instead saw a chance to make myself look just a wee bit smarter than Ginny. Surely it wasn’t a conscious thought at the time, but in hindsight . . . there it lingers. Festers. A belated realization that had I taken a moment to dig up before commenting would have saved some valuable face.

Now? I just look stupid.

That’s the problem with pretentious people. We make up for our impatience, for our lack of self-confidence, for our general lack of knowledge and understanding, by putting forth stuff that is ultimately irrelevant and inconsequential. We are like the nerd who braves the high school dance only to be found out when our pocket protector peeks out from beneath our suit jacket. We try to be cool – to be smart, witty, charming, one of the crowd – but cannot for one minute separate ourselves from the accoutrements of our shortcomings.  We try to bring you a drink, and then we end up slopping it on your pumps.

Maybe that’s being too rough on nerds. Some of my best friends are nerds, and they mean well. Let’s try another angle . . .

We are that guy at the party, or in the break room, or the one you meet while standing in line at the supermarket, who lifts his chin high and stares down his long, crooked nose at you when he hears something you said and is about to add his two cents. You know right off the bat that whatever he has to say is going to be lame. Misinformed. Lacking in deep, rich context. Seeping from a well only six inches deep. Yet you know he’s going to say it anyway. So you hear him out. You maybe nod your head and say something like, “That’s . . . interesting.” And then you don’t say anything else because that will just keep the conversation going. And that’s the last thing you want.

I am that guy. Though maybe just a bit more well-meaning. I want to be a part of the conversation. I often feel that I have something of value to contribute. And yet almost always I fall miserably short. The difference between me and that guy is that I’ll realize what a moron I am later. And I’ll hate that guy. I’ll feel the need to write about it, so I’ll draft something riddled with self-loathing, contrition, and still more pretense.

But Ginny won’t hate me. I can count on that . . .

[Flickr photo is by andryone and is protected]

The Songs In My Head

Compare music to drinks. Some is like a strong brandy. Some is like a fine wine. The music you’re playing sounds like Diet Coke.

~ Pavarotti

Maybe it’s the new hours I’m keeping for work. Up too late, then up WAY too early.

Maybe it’s that.

Or maybe it’s my diet. I drink coffee and smoke cigarettes for breakfast, snack on ice cream at work, and then eat whatever I can find – rapidly – when I get home.

Yeah, maybe it’s that.

Or maybe it’s just the strange way my mind works. Jumping from this thought to that thought with nary a comprehensible segue to be found. Incongruous droplets upon a haphazard and turbulent sea.

It must be that.

For over the course of the past week, on three very different mornings, I’ve woken up with these three songs in my head:

“The Curly Shuffle” by Jump ‘N The Saddle Band

“To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before” by Julio Iglesias & Willie Nelson

“Bullet Train” by The Swirling Eddies

The first two? I can’t explain those at all. No crazy dreams prefaced their arrival. Nothing of lost loves or slapstick comedy. I did write a post recently about humor and romance for another blog, so maybe there’s that. But beyond that tenuous connection, I can’t ascertain any stronger or more relevant catalyst.

But that last song? It’s a bit of a classic for me, a song I’ve loved – and yet haven’t heard – for years.

I remedied that quickly.

Terry Scott Taylor and his many side projects, like Lost Dogs and The Swirling Eddies, created some of the most memorable and unclassifiable music of my youth. And short is the list of guitarists who turn my crank more efficiently or with greater swagger than Michael Roe. His band, the 77′s, were the soundtrack of my Christian life for years, mostly because no one who took church seriously listened to them. And there are few sacred experiences that top hearing him do his thing . . .

Now that’s a song worth waking up to!

What is the strangest/most inspirational song you’ve ever woken up singing . . .

[Flickr photo is by shankar, shiv and is protected]

In Absentia

Today, I’m blogging over at The Real World where a friend and I are discussing romance. What is it? Is it overrated? I think not. Read the post here and weigh in with your comments . . .

I Will Follow

Let that day be declared lost on which we have not danced.

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

There’s this game I used to play with the kids when they were little.

And gullible.

We’d be in some random department or grocery store and I’d tell one of them to come with me. Maybe the wife had asked me to go for something she’d forgotten on the other side of the store, or I’d just grown bored and decided to wander around.

Husbands do that.

So I’d grab the kid’s hand or they’d fall in line behind me, and we’d take off through the aisles. I’d start out taking a fairly straight route and they’d keep up while chatting away or browsing the shelves.

And then I’d take an unexpected turn.

Say at the rack with the men’s swimwear, or the deli case with all the cheese. I’d wind around a bit, sometimes circle back, and then head off in another direction. I’d pretend I was lost – if they asked – or simply press on if they weren’t playing really close attention.

The best place to do this, by the way, is any clothing department. So many cool displays arranged in no discernable configuration. I’d do figure-eights and loop-the-loops and zigzags aplenty.

And eventually they’d catch on. The game was afoot. And we’d laugh our fool heads off.

I think my partner at work played this game with his kids as well.

Let’s call him Bob.

Bob is a hoot. He’s been with the company for over twenty years, and he’s done it all. And now, much to his obvious chagrin, his job, as of last Monday, entails among other things the arduous task of showing the new kid around. Showing him the ropes. Where they dangle, and where to tie them off.

Physically, he’s a slightly less-hippie version of comedian Mike Warnke and Captain Lou Albano . . .

. . . without the rubber bands and incredibly tacky vest. You get the picture.

People say that there are no stupid questions. Bob might beg to differ after a week of working with me. Being the kind of person who strives to understand the complexities residing in the simplest of things, I tend to ask for elaborations a lot. And when you’ve been doing what he’s training me to do for as long as he has, elaborating looks a lot like wasted time. But he grins as he shakes his head and proceeds to explain it to me again. He waves his arms about and points at stuff he’s already pointed at a few dozen times and repeats himself a little bit louder. He possesses a unique brand of patience.

And I’m finally starting to get it.

But the thing I like most about Bob is his determined stride. Unlike me, he knows where he’s going. And he gets there by wielding equal parts competence, confidence and efficiency. So he threw me for a loop the other day while on our way from Point A to Point B. Our task was to go to this one particular area of the building and do this one particular thing. Or so I thought.

You know the saying about how the shortest distance between two points is a straight line? More or less? Accordingly, I figured our path would look something like this:

Instead, Bob and I did this:

Holy Crap! about covers my thought process as I followed him around. At points along our circuitous journey, I’m fairly certain he had a mission. Or several. So I stuck to him like the proverbial white on rice. I looked at whatever he looked at. Said Hi! to whoever he said Hi! to. And then somewhere along the backside of the Slightly Bigger Machine, I began to wonder if there was a game afoot. I glanced at a whiteboard along one wall. April 2^nd, so this can’t be a practical joke, I reasoned. And yet there we were, appearing to be wandering aimlessly through the aisles.

And I smiled.

Though I couldn’t see his face, I’m pretty sure he was smiling also . . .

[Top Flickr photo is by cogdogblog and is protected]