A Lesson Learned

I am -- and let me be very clear about this -- an idiot.

Oh, sure, I scored in the 95th percentile on the ACT. And I can offer at least one intelligent contribution to a conversation on just about anything. I can explain the fundamentals of flight, the internal combustion engine, relativity, Grimm's Laws of Phonetic Shift, most household physics, electricity, biology, and astronomy. I can read and navigate by maps. And I can offer insights into the way computers think.

But I'm too stupid to make a simple note. I'll explain.

This morning, as my lady wife and I were lazing around in bed, trying to come to grips with the day, she said something. I said something back. Soon we were laughing uproariously. And I said, There's an essay for you.

And she said, No, I think it's yours.

And I said, Hmmm. Maybe I'll use it for my blog.

And she said, Excellent idea. Write it down so you don't forget it.

Bwoop! Bwoop! Bwoop!

I wrote the first paragraph in my head while showering.

I had the punchline ready before we got to the Chinese Lunch Buffet.

Now it's about 9:30PM and I've been trying for two hours to remember what the original idea was, much less any of the details.

Nothing. I got nothing. A big old blank void in my head, an empty space on the map labeled "Here be dragons."

Actually, that's not entirely true. I happen to have a very nice notepad. It's green and spiral-bound at the top, and it says "Memo" on the front. Amy got it for me and made me promise I'd jot down ideas as they came to me. And I've been pretty good about it. It has all sorts of notes in it, some of which are legible.

But right now I'm a-feared that a brilliantly funny idea has slipped past me, and I'll never recover it. And that's a pity, cause you would have laughed your butt off.

So she said, looking at my piteous moroseness, I want you to sit right down and write a paragraph on how you learned your lesson.

So I said, Better yet, I'll post it.

The moral of this story is: No matter how intelligent you think you are, and no matter how brilliant an idea is, never never never trust yourself to remember it.

Anybody who does that is an idiot.

And now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to write that down somewhere.

She Gave Me a Tagomite Sandwich

Well, it happened. Amy over at Mind Over Mullis tagged me. At first, I was pleased. Aha! I thought. I finally got a comment! Somebody's actually reading my drivel! Then I actually read the comment. Ah, crud! I thought. More work for me to do!

So here's the deal: I reveal seven little-known factoids about myself, then tag five of my blogging friends. Now, I did little research revealed that all the bloggers I know have already been tagged. So, a request for all my loyal readers (I reckon there's about three of you out there): Leave me a comment with your blog address, and I'll tag you faster than I can say something really difficult....

So here, without further ado, we present

Seven Little-Known Facts about Kindly Old Dr. Bill: the Doggerel King

Fact the first: I polled the teenagers in the room, and discovered the following surprising item: I'm a pain in the butt. Who woulda thunk it?

Fact the second: For several years I had money thrown at me while performing musical parodies at SciFi conventions in the Carolinas, the Virginias, and Washington, SC. The most memorable moment came when a real flesh and blood woman dropped a handful of change down the front of my pants.

Fact the third: I once owned a cat named Maybelline. She was a grey tabby with big green eyes. She had a habit of showing up in unexpected places (the refrigerator, on lamp shades, in the shower). And she was made entirely of cardboard.

Fact the Fourth: I'm Pentecostal by upbringing, Baptist by membership, and Lutheran by disposition. Screwed up? Me? Hahahahaha!

Fact the fifth: My ancestry is German, Scots, and Irish. This means I love to drink, I'm too cheap to buy the stuff, and that fills me with huge amounts of angst.

Fact the sixth: My favorite stress reliever: baking quickbreads. I can't explain it. I just accept it.

Fact the seventh: Because of when my nineteenth fell (after Vietnam but before the re-institution of the Selective Service) I never had to register for the draft.

Fact the eighth: I don't follow instructions very well.

There. I have answered the tag. My work here is done.