Yesterday, for the first time, I saw an old buddy from high school that I did not stop and greet. And I'm not sure why.
I recognize ALL my high school-- and junior high, and elementary-- school friends. To me, they look the same as they did when I knew them. They generally don't recognize me, which is kind of neat (I'm a SPY! Lookit!) but I always say "hi" and ask how they're doing.
But not last night.
I walked into a 7-11 and there he was, working the counter. Immediately I knew him; Glenn B, an old D&D buddy of mine when I was in Grade 11.
Glenn was in Grade 12 at the time. He had failed English so he was in my class. He read sci-fi and played D&D so of course we got on like a house on fire. But he was in Grade 12, so after that year he became a whatever-happened-to?
I remembered his mom. Where he lived. Heck, I remembered the names of the characters we played in his D&D campaign. I remembered the campaign itself. I remembered details like he listens to ABBA. We used to play Mail Order Monsters on his Commodore 64.
But when I saw him last night, working at the 7-11, I remembered that Glenn couldn't spell to save his life. I never knew if it was dyslexia or something else, but he was atrocious at writing the English language (thus the reason he was in my English class).
And as I thought that, all of it in the space of a couple of seconds after making eye contact (and no, he didn't recognize me), I wondered if what I was seeing was how he ended up? Was this not transitional, but perhaps the best that he could achieve, given his limitations with the written word?
An absurd possibility-- how would I know what he was capable of?-- but in that moment a wall came up between he and I. Something in me felt that it would be wrong to break that wall, to acknowledge and introduce myself to him again, lest by confirming that I had seen him in that time and place that I, somehow, would be confirming the loss of all the potential he had when he was 18.
When we were in our teens, a spelling/writing dysfunction is nothing; it's a guy who has trouble in English. Still got his whole life ahead of him. But at age 36, it just might be indicative of a cap, a ceiling, on his ability to achieve. Which means that all the potential he had at 18 was gone. In a second's introduction, "Hi, Glenn, remember me?" would somehow inexorably reinforce where he was, inevitably erasing the possibilities of both the intervening years and the future ones.
It really was an odd moment. As if by defining it, giving weight to that time and place, I would be destroying a man's life somehow.
I honestly can't tell you why this hit me so powerfully. I have lots of friends that worked at 7-11 or other "lower end" jobs when I ran into them fifteen years later and it was never a thing with me, or with them (I worked at a t-shirt shop at 25); we just said "hi" and moved on.
But somehow, Glenn was different. The bubble, the wall, was immediate and threatened potential backlash as soon as I saw him. I bought my Pepsi from him, we made eye contact again, and then I was gone.
When I left the 7-11, I was disoriented. I thought I was in another store, closer to where he used to live with his parents. I was living, in my mind, in that time where Glenn had his whole life ahead of him. And when I stepped out to my car and all the landmarks were wrong-- they were all now instead of then-- I realized just how deep this fugue, this universal sense of be quiet and tiptoe around reality so it won't notice had been.
I got into my car and drove away. Glenn doesn't know it was me. I won't go back there. The moment had gone; its potential, building up to a dozen or more possible futures, had been extinguished.
I don't know Glenn's life. I don't know that any part of his goals and dreams has been denied him or that he has any regrets for where he is now; all I know is that when I saw him I was firmly convinced that admitting I knew him when could be potentially disastrous.
And for the life of me, I can't understand why.
Good luck, Glenn. I wish you every success and every potential realized. I wish you well. Travel toward your future with the assurance that whatever you can be, you will be. And I will wish the same for myself.
What exactly IS intelligence?
According to Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, it is defined as follows:
\In*tel"li*gence\, n.[F. intelligence, L. intelligentia, intellegentia. See Intelligent.]
1. The act or state of knowing; the exercise of the understanding.
2. The capacity to know or understand; readiness of comprehension; the intellect, as a gift or an endowment.
3. Information communicated; news; notice; advice.
4. Knowledge imparted or acquired, whether by study, research, or experience; general information.
6. An intelligent being or spirit; -- generally applied to pure spirits; as, a created intelligence. --Milton.
Syn: Understanding; intellect; instruction; advice; notice; notification; news; information; report.
Thank God we have dictionaries. Because otherwise, I might be confused as to just what exactly intelligence is supposed to be.
I grew up among peers for whom intelligence was the desired trait, the coin of the realm as it were, as opposed to strength or beauty. Amongst the Geeks, intelligence is the first measure of prowess, not how well you do at sports or how many beer cans you can crush against your head.
So why then do I find myself wondering if I, or the people I know, are actually smart at ALL?
Allow me to illustrate:
I knew a guy in junior high who was classified as Gifted. IQ of 170. Read LATIN so that he could read the classics in their original language. Yet he was an outcast. Had no dress sense, no ability to talk to people (unless you engaged him in a topic he already had some knowledge of, of which there were precious few of relevance to other teenagers) and was generally in that hyperkinetic class of people adolescents used to refer to as "a spaz."
Another guy, this time in high school. Also incredibly gifted. Painfully shy, to the point of having people wonder if he was mute. Hung out in Auto Mechanics and dressed all head-bangery in order to remain invisible. Incapable of functioning.
A girl. Scientist. Won awards for it; had a stutter and also a lispy speech impediment that she couldn't seem to correct. Also dressed in Geek Chic. No self-esteem. It was like there was a glass wall surrounding her; like she was in the room but unable to interact with anyone "outside."
Flash forward to more recent times. Geek has, in fact, become chic-- but that doesn't mean that real geeks have THEMSELVES become more socially or life-experientially adroit.
I know physicists. Geologists. Engineers. Designers. People who by any definition are brilliant at what they do. Who excel in the realms of imagination and application of their ideas-- within the parameters of their chosen fields.
THERE's the crux of this entry, Agents.
Is someone who is brilliant in one area of their lives, and all but developmentally retarded in others truly intelligent?
If a person who knows everything about computers but is incapable of presenting themselves as attractive to a potential mate smart at ALL? And if the answer's yes, what good is it doing them as a human being if they don't understand-- if they don't know-- how to make themselves happy?
And, conversely, what about those people who seem adaptable to any social situation, who are the life of the party, but don't have any formal education and are of a shallow intelligence that merely borders on average? Smart people might call them stupid, but they have a life, and pleasures, that the so-called intelligentsia of my experience are craving but can never seem to achieve.
So what is intelligence, if you want something but can't figure out how to get it?
Social intelligence seems to me to be the most survival-oriented adaptive form of smart; in our industrialized culture, one needs it to be able to progress in this human community. Because it's other humans that we have to live with; being computer-savvy won't help you get along with the other kids.
And yet, if one doesn't have the intelligence that allows one to excel in the job arena-- the skills that one uses in this modern-day nine-to-five hunter-gathering that we call life-- all the social skills in the world aren't going to put food in one's mouth.
So what is intelligent? If you have money and a great job and are still single at the age of thirtysomething, are you stupid? If you have a wife and three kids, your own home, but are hauling garbage or working in road repair at that same age, are you classified as intelligent?
How exactly do we measure this property?
I'm a social guy, an observer of people. I was also classified as "gifted." And yet I never graduated high school. I went to university but dropped out after one semester and never got a degree. I'm married, one child. I act, I write, I design websites, I do voice-over work.
Am I intelligent? I think so. Do other people?
My last IQ test scored me at 137. It's still qualified as "genius" although in Grade 10 I scored 180.
God, can you LOSE intelligence?
Here's how I view it: Be as smart as you like in your chosen realm of expertise; if you can't diversify, if you can't break out of the single stream of intelligence or experience that you're currently in, then as I see it you are not possessed of true intelligence. You're more what I would call a savant, extraordinarily gifted along a limited line but an idiot in other respects.
I ran into my junior high friend with the 170 IQ the other day. Studying XML, making notes to himself. Pretty heavy stuff. He was wearing the same style of clothes as he was in junior high; as we spoke his body language was still jerky, spasmodic; his attempts to emote in his speech were sporadic.
Intelligent? All his life he's been told he was. So how come no one ever told him how to fit in? God knows it would have made it easier on him. And, if he were truly intelligent, wouldn't he use that brainpower to figure out how to fit in? If he could, one would think he'd have done it by now.
So to all my smart friends: Before you go presenting "smart" on your resume, take a step back and ask yourself if you really are. Because nothing looks LESS intelligent than a smart person with nothing to say.
The doorbell rang yesterday as I was immersed in work. Feeling chipper, I bounced up the stairs to answer the door and as I got nearer I saw two nicely-dressed young men in suits standing waiting.
The devil in me cried, "Aieee! Mormons!" and with impish glee I bounded down the steps to answer the door.
Turns out they WERE Mormons. And they'd heard me.
I was smiling though, so they weren't sure what to make of me; I grinned and told them that I hung out with Latter-Day Saints and worked closely with some. I told them what I knew of their moral dictums and sent them politely on their way.
One of the young guys asked me if "there was anything he could do for me." In a very open and serious tone of voice.
I need you all to understand that sometimes my brain gets SO MANY RESPONSES prepared at once that I am actually incapable of speech while they sort themselves out into appropriate categories-- the largest of which is usually "Worst Thing I Could Say Right Now."
We parted amicably-- my response to him was "No, I think I'm fine, thanks," and off they both went.
And I chuckled. Everyone has Door-to-Door Religious Folks stories. "Why, this one time we had Jehovah's Witnesses to the door and you should hear what *I* did..."
And yet, these churches, these religions, still do it. They take their message door-to-door and preach, in effect SELL, their faith to whoever is buying.
I find it SO LUDICROUS. Folks who need something in their lives will seek it out. Those that don't, even if they need it, are the type that can be swayed into ANYTHING, so being "sold" religion doesn't actually make them faithful, it just makes them feel like they belong to a group-- no matter that they don't really believe what the group believes as long as they belong.
I'm a firm believer in the "let 'em come to you" theory. Folks who want it will find it. They may have to look a long time, but they will find it. And...to proselytize, to preach, in such a direct door-to-door way-- I mean, there are TV shows and websites and radio programs, all of which are nice, passive ways to get the information. You can have it or turn it off. It's up to you.
But when it's "ding-dong Salvation calling," you're on the spot. Make a choice. Join the gang or tell the family of tambourine-wavers in suits to sod off. And only THEN do they try to leave literature with you.
How about just leave the literature in my mailbox? Or on my doorstep? Why the confrontation? Why the drive to recruit?
I mean, according to the Jehovah's Witnesses' beliefs there's limited seating in Heaven. Not everyone can get in. So why, pray tell, would they be out recruiting more people to join them? Yet there they are, doing it.
I don't bear the door-to-door people any malice; sure, it bugs me when they interrupt my day but at the same time, I feel sorry for them. They have one of the worst jobs on earth; recruiting people to BELIEVE in something. Sheesh, good luck. Do you REMEMBER the 80's? Nobody believes ANYTHING any more; least of all when it comes to the door and ding-dong wants you to stand there and agree with them or invite them into your house.
Funny old world. Y'know what? I came to my beliefs on my own, thanks. After some looking around and some questions, I came to mine out of good old-fashioned, honest seeking for my own personal truth. And even when I found others who professed the same belief, I learned over time that I still had a slightly differing view from them.
I can do it myself, thanks. You don't need to bring it to my door. And maybe--just maybe-- you door-to-door folks could put more energy into leading by example than in trying to swell your numbers in the name of salvation. That's just my theory anyway.
So, Agents, the next time strangers come to your door, give a hearty shout of "AIEEEE! MORMONS!" and let them understand that you can come to the Divine on your own, thanks.
Well, well, well. Happy 2004.
I could post a review of 2003, like everyone else is doing. But I don't read the papers or watch the news, and any news I DO hear goes out of my short-term memory and straight into oblivion, so any major events that happened in 2003 I don't remember.
And personal stuff that happened to me is, well, PERSONAL stuff that happened TO ME so who the hell else would care?
Nah. 2003 is over, we were all there, don't need me to re-hash it.
2004, though: Now that has potential.
This is the time of year that we're supposed to make our New Year's Resolutions; promises to ourselves that we have no intention of keeping.
Gym memberships sell more in January than at any other time of the year; the whole post-Christmas-goodies guilt setting in, no doubt. And by March at the latest, most of those memberships will be getting dusty from lack of use.
Smokers manage-- I'll have to check with my ex-smoker friends-- to quit for, what, a week or two?
The INTENT seems to be there, all good intentions of course, for self-improvement and general well-being, but ultimately they just sort of lose their lustre and the intentions are quickly forgotten in favour of one's comfortable routine.
One guy I spoke to had decided to give up fast food as his resolution. "Hey," I said, "It's not LENT. And you're not Catholic." And as he's an animator working 18-hour days I bet that won't last, either.
No, the goals I have in mind are career goals:
1) Shop scripts around to real comic companies. I want to have a story PUBLISHED by the end of the year by a major company. Furry stuff shall NOT count, since anyone with one hand and lacking a total lobotomy can get published in Furry circles. (Yes, Mrs. M and I once got published in a furry comic. Don't make me re-live it. Okay, maybe later.)
2) Become a cartoon. I've made inroads into getting AUDITIONS for voice-over gigs in the animation industry-- but it's all well and good to say that; I won't be satisfied until I actually am DOING the VOICING.
3) Improve my craft where possible. That means learning. That means taking courses-- voice, acting, whatever-- anything that would make me more marketable, more professional. Call it Professional Development, Improvement, whatever-- one should never stop doing it. And I've learned that it pays off.
My current short-term plans: New Head Shot and New Voice Demo. Those cost money, so I have to wait til I HAVE money-- but that's what I'll be spending my cash on. Rolling it right back into the business, as it were.
There. Three serious, attainable, professional goals. And if I accomplish them before the end of the year, I'll just make some more.
It's ongoing, Agents. You don't STOP when you achieve a goal. You have a celebration of achievement and then you make the next goal and go for that. I'm hoping 2004 will be the Year of Momentum.
Gathering speed, gathering mass, until I'm the veritable Juggernaut of My Own Life.
Happy New Year, 2004. Now I gots to get ready to kick your ass.