My Brain on Blogs: An Apology

Hello, beloved readers... Many apologies for the delay in posting. I can't remember if I mentioned it or not in my blog, but one of the problems with me having a blog is that I'm not inherently a creative person. I have an analytical mind; a mind like a computer, but with significantly more error messages.

Also, I don't seem to have the password. Allow me to explain.

The human mind is an incredible thing, and there are actually a number of different types of intelligence that scientists have identified and labeled as being distinct from one another (this sounds like a blog for another day). My particular brain is a vast network of interconnected knowledges and memories, as most of ours are (some are not so vast). The biggest difference lies in where my strengths are. The following picture and uber-technical explanation will help demonstrate what I'm talking about:

Pictured: Neurons and stuff (probably actual size)

Those big glooby circular thingies are a mixture of memories, concepts, definitions, and other knowledges that my mind can reach up and reference for me to spout out in the midst of conversation at any given time. The obviously alien tentacles running between the gloobies are little pathways that fire pure, unadulterated goddamn magic when their corresponding glooby is activated. They shoot that magic at all connected gloobies, but the magic definitely tends to hop aboard the school bus of neurotransmission and merges onto the cognitive highway with the least traffic, or the fastest speed limit, or the (insert relevant transportation analogy here). In other words, the most powerful existing connection wins out, so when somebody says something, you'll have access to a relevant memory or interesting (sometimes) tidbit of information that you can say aloud in an effort to activate another glooby of theirs, so that they may continue to carry on a meaningful conversation with you until you've mutually exhausted each others' neural processes, or perhaps one of you activates the "Bored - Lie about having somewhere important to be right now" glooby in the other person's brain.

I could go on forever and ever and ever about the human brain (I do not have anywhere important to be), but my basic point is this: as far as brains go, I'm very, very, very thankful for the strong and vast mental network I was blessed with. Like, no matter how stupid I realistically may or may not be, it could have been so much worse. The cast of Jersey Shore comes to mind here. Also, Congress.

So back to what's wrong with my brain...

Even through what most people would consider to be the "objective" measures of intelligence, I'm actually a pretty sharp guy. I can say that because this is MY blog, and also because my mother always told me so. Although, to be fair, she often disguised her obvious praise of my intellectual prowess with statements like, "I don't understand how somebody so smart could..." or "You do some pretty stupid things for being as smart as you are," or some variation of that. I still don't know what she meant. I've been practically too awesome my whole life. She obviously misspoke. 

Anyway, so I get it, I'm wicked smart, or something. Thanks, mom. But want to see where my brain goes into full-blown neurological disaster mode? It's in the creativity department. If you ask me to generate ideas... What to be for Halloween, what we should make for dinner tonight, what to write about for a goddamn blog... BOOM... Neurological traffic jam. Keep in mind, I've experienced all these things before, and I literally have a memory that is as close as humanly possible to being photographic without actually qualifying. All of this shit is up there... somewhere. There's an expansive, organized, interesting database locked away in my mind. 

But... Seriously... I don't have the password. 

I can't access it on my own. It is, at times, nothing short of infuriating. 

You all have the password. It's whatever you want it to be. You pretty much just have to say something... Anything. I can talk about all sorts of stuff... I enjoy it, even... But it's super rare that I initiate the conversation. Those of you who text me regularly know this better than anybody. Seriously, if you don't text me during the day, and we were grading this the same way that they grade the status of football players for their upcoming games, you could safely list a text message from me as being "Doubtful." 

Don't act hurt. If you are somebody who texts me regularly, then you've known this for quite some time. If you're not, then I just saved you some trouble. 

Now, none of this means I don't care, or that I haven't thought of you, or that I'm a genuinely uninteresting person (although these are all possible), it just means that most of my contributions to any real human interaction are sealed behind a door that's locked with an advanced voice-activation system, and the only voice that can't unlock said door is my own. 

I know that sounds strange, but maybe some of you can relate, even if it's only to a certain degree. If somebody asks you to spontaneously generate an idea, you'll draw blanks every time. But if somebody tells you to tell them the first thing that comes to your mind when they say "(blank)," you've got 15 stories that are all actually pretty entertaining that relate to that one word or phrase. 

If this is you, then you have a nice database (sounds sexy, but I promise I'm not hitting on you, unless it's super nice, then uh, Hey... How you doin'?), but you don't have the password. 

Pictured: A pretty nice, but password 

protected "database."

There are others who are the opposite. They have every password to every database in existence, but their very neurophysiology won't allow them the capacity required to excel in the analytical department. They are free-spirited. They create, and almost as soon as they began, they are off on their next project or idea. 

One of these two traits, creativity or the ability to be thoroughly analytical, usually comes at the expense of the other. When it doesn't, we find ourselves in the presence of a genius. Einstein, Da Vinci, Michelangelo... These are people who possessed not only the ability to create, but also to refine. I'm not like them, and, if we're being completely honest here, you're probably not either. That's not to say that none of us are smart and stuff, just more that we tend to really excel in certain areas, and kind of suck in others.

This is me. And you. We are all like this. Let's resort to the universal example that we can all relate to in Facebook. Each of you has a friend that posts or forwards something six times a day, minimum. You know what they post about (hint: everything). Then you have somebody who posts once a month, and what they say is, at its worst, insightful, and, at its best, life-changing. If you're posting six times a day, and each post is immeasurably wise, then you have some real genius in you. If, on the other hand, you post once a month a generic and uninteresting status about some cats you saw on the internet (LOLZ), you're either disinterested or you're a real simpleton. 

We all fall somewhere in between the lowest of the dullards and the highest of the genii, and that's good. We can't healthily have our minds blown six times a day, and we already have enough pictures of cats from our own extensive Google Image research (I mean, they're actually pretty funny little bastards).

Seriously though. My blog. Cats are funny. 

And awful. Own at your own risk.

So this, in a super weird way, is a multi-faceted effort to combine an apology with an unusual request. Writing is actually really good for me, and I enjoy sitting down and thinking about some of the things that are going on in the world around us. My previous entries on gun control and finding the strength to follow your own convictions in a mature manner are two of my favorite things that I've ever done. The biggest problem is that both of those came from a picture or a post that sent chills up my spine, and I can go a long while without encountering something so flagrantly offensive that I need to write about it right away. 

Writing is a good way for me to sit down and outline some of the thoughts that fly through my head at a million miles an instant. There's really nothing that I don''t want to talk about, so, I'm asking for help. If there's something you've been thinking about a lot, or wondering lately, whether it's about politics, or astrology, or people, or relationships, just shoot me a message or use whatever means you have at your disposal to reach out and ask me how I feel about whatever you want me to have feelings about. Now, this isn't to say that you need to ask me about life's mysteries because I have all the answers... Holy moly that's not even close. I see the world as being significantly less "black and white" than most people, so the only answers you'll typically get from me, with a few exceptions, look like, "Oh, yeah, whatever feels right for you." 

Don't ever say I'm not helpful.

Rather, this particular plea is a request from me. I have a couple blogs in the works, but I'd like to write more... Lots more... And I think you can help. I'll keep names and such anonymous, but if there's some sort of issue you feel strongly about, issue you feel nothing about but think you should, perplexing moral conundrum, stressful internal conflict, or just funny story that I could tell, you should shoot a memo my way. It will take you 6 or 7 seconds, and then I get to work on it for however many days until I'm satisfied. I'm not perfect, but I do tend to approach just about every topic with an open mind, so for those of you wondering how anybody could possibly feel different, or for those of you on the fence looking for somebody to identify with, I probably have ten or twelve thousand words for you (seriously, these things never come out short). 

I've had a couple people ask me for some advice lately, but it's usually via text message or something, and, despite what some people will tell you, most answers in life are not even remotely simple. There's but the smallest of chances that these thumbs are going to adequately churn out advice that is as satisfactory as I'd like, or as comprehensive as you need. If you know me, you know that I love to discuss controversial issues from a devil's advocate-esque perspective, but I want to do it from the privacy of my own blog. That way, when you're creeping on Facebook (Oh you don't do that? Me neither...), you'll see an ambiguous title of one of my blogs like "Hip, Hip, Abortion!" or something like that, and instead of it being shoved down your throat on your news feed, you'll have to consciously click the link in order to find out how I feel about it. Then I don't get in trouble for spamming your news feed with radical ideas, and you knowingly accept the chance that your mood will either improve or worsen over the course of the 4 hours that it takes to read one of these godforsaken things.

Now, I can come up with my own ideas, but I won't do it at a satisfactory pace. It takes me a while to hack my own database, and even then it's not a sure thing ("Now, what should I search for? Ah... I know... C... A... T... S...). 

I hope that you accept that sparkling example of human intellect as an apologetic gift from me to you. I need to write more. I've been promising things that I haven't delivered. I have a couple projects in the works, but, much like the federal budget deficit, if this is something that's really, genuinely bugging you, you're going to have to help out a little bit (BOOM! Blogshadowing). 

I'd throw something encouraging your way here, like, "Seriously, anything. There are no stupid questions," except that's simply not true at all (see above picture). 

Thank you in advance, my friends... And stay tuned for the rejuvenation of this temporarily derailed train of a project I call a blog.