Super Powers

I was recently asked what one superpower I would pick if I had the choice. It's a not uncommon theoretical question, and I'm sure I probably decided on one when asked years ago, but I can't remember it now. (So, clearly it wasn't the ability of total recall. Or maybe it was. Eh.)

After a bit of musing, I decided upon flight. Not so much for the ability to soar amongst the clouds and get from one place to another quickly, but rather as a counter to a somewhat debilitating fear of heights. See, if I could fly, being REALLY HIGH UP wouldn't paralyze me with fear. Because hey! I can fly! 

It was immediately pointed that even if I could fly, my fear wouldn't necessarily go away. But I'll stand by my choice, because if I could fly, AND I was still afraid of heights, that'd be hilarious. The world would be graced by me flitting about overhead, emitting bloodcurdling screams. And every time I needed to fly somewhere, before take off I'd have to schedule in at least twenty minutes for crouching on the ground, hugging the gracious earth, crying "I don't wanna" over and over again. 

And the one thing that nobody ever thinks about with the flight superpower: speed. How fast will I be able to fly? Can I break the Mach barrier? Will I be limited to the speed of a one-engine Cessna? Or maybe the modest top speed of my trusty Honda? I mean, if we ignore all the aerodynamic issues about speed and lift, the logical conclusion would be that I could only achieve the same speed I can achieve on the ground. But even then, how would I propel myself? Without something solid to deal with the whole inverse-energy thing, could I even move at all? We're not even talking the ability to hover, here. Hover implies a certain amount of control. Without something to appease the gods of physics, I'm thinking the best I could do is float. 

So, great. My chosen ability to fly has demoted me to being the Human Blimp. I'll have to buy a really REALLY baggy outfit, get a corporate tire sponsorship, and be at the mercy of the wind. That's totally gonna help me in my quest to foil crime. (Somebody tell me - why didn't I choose invisibility?) 

At least I'll get a decent view of sporting events. 

The funny thing is, we all already have our own low-level superpowers, developed through the repetition of minute tasks in daily life. Typically speaking, these are quite useless. Some were consciously acquired. Some came quite by accident. And, no, I'm not talking genetic anomalies, like being able to roll your tongue. I have creepy arm tendons, but that's not from practice. 

I don't know what's creepier: the tendon thing, or the bulbous size of my hand. 

So, without further ado, I present some examples of worthless superpowers I've developed, and maybe you have, too! Follow along for fun!

Vulcan Greeting (and Inverted Vulcan): When in grade school back in the day, being able to do this was something of a nifty trick. Many an hour was wasted amongst my childhood cohorts and I holding our ring and pinky fingers together, trying to develop the muscle and tendon control to greet each other in a spacey way. The inverse (fat W) is also tricky. These days, twisting and holding your fingers like this in class would probably get you expelled for making gang signs. (Interesting query - do young up and coming gang bangers have to go through this with their fingers. Kinda silly picturing them twisting their fingers around in frustration before going out and putting a cap in somebody's ass). 

And don't poo-poo this one as a stupid easy trick. For the untrained, it's not as easy as it looks. They even made fun of that fact in the Star Trek movie with the guy who didn't eat a pig because it could say "Baah Ram Ewe!"

The Raised Eyebrow: Another one from Spock (dammit, Nimoy! How did you inject your mannerisms so thoroughly into our childhood?) that required a fair bit of manual muscle training. Hours were spent in front of the mirror, holding one eyebrow up, developing and training the forehead muscles for minute control over one's eyebrows. The happy result - the ability to exude indignation or confusion with nar' a word spoken! (See also - Hugh Jackman as Wolverine).

I call this the Eye Paddy Touch.
Steve Jobs is sooo gonna sue me.

Eyeball Touching: This one is really only good for ick factor. But it is rad. Anybody who wears or has worn contacts is perfectly capable of reaching up and touching their own eyeball. Hell, some of us can even push and squish it around, making everyone in the room go "eeewww!" Disclaimer - to be fair, you really SHOULDN'T do this, even if you can. There's all sorts of gross stuff on your fingers which would LOVE to settle in and incubate in your eye. And the gods help you if you have jackass friends who find it funny to 'accidentally' bump your arm while touching your own eye. Jerks.

Crossing One Eye: Utterly useless; but really damn cool, no?

The Girlfriend's fantasy, or mine?

Touching Hot Things: All right, this isn't mine. But I'm aware of it because my girlfriend has it, and she uses it all the time in front of me. After years of working for a coffee shop, she's effectively deadened all the nerves in her hands, allowing her to reach into BOILING HOT WATER. It's like I have my very own Pris from Blade Runner, but without the acrobatics and burning desire to murder me in my sleep (so far as I know). 

It does suck when we're tag teaming the dishes, though. I like to wash dishes at the 'kill microbe' temperature. She prefers 'scald all the flesh off of one's hands' temperature. It's all right, though: You all know the old trick about breaking dishes to avoid having to wash them? Try washing dishes as the flesh sluffs off your hands: you'll totally get a pass. 

Dishwashing is my Gom Jabbar.
It separates me from the animals.

So there's what I've got. Now it's YOUR turn! Ponder your own personal low level superpowers, and amaze me.

Beer Made Me Smart(er)

I frequently am referred to as the Smartest Man in the Room. This isn't a title I gave myself, but one that others bestowed upon me, one that I freely accept and frequently prove the validity of. (Yes, the Smartest Man in the Room CAN end a sentence with a preposition!) The Smartest Man in the Room isn't necessarily someone with Einstein or Sagan or Hawking level understanding of complex concepts. The Smartest Man in the Room is the one in the room who, when faced with a problem or challenge, is able to iterate the simplest and most logical solution to the problem. When several people are sitting around, trying to fix a computer glitch or change a flat tire, the Smartest Man in the Room is the one who plugs the computer in or find the jack in the trunk. Sometimes we are called upon to do things that are slightly more complex or pull a piece of trivia or knowledge out of the ether, but we always step up to the task.

It should be noted that a large part of my moniker of being the Smartest Man in the Room stems not from any sort of advanced knowledge or problem solving skills, but from Vocal Mastery. I'm blessed with a loud voice. I sound like I'm yelling when I'm not yelling. And when I DO yell, the heavens quiver. I also have the ability to fire off comments with the perfect mix of snide arrogance, derisive angst, and exasperation at the stupidity of others. It's a finely-honed technique, and it's so crippling to the weak-minded that even when I'm wrong, you'll think I'm right. I'm a master debater and cunning linguist, and stubborn as a beaver. (Okay, I think the metaphor is 'badger,' not 'beaver,' but I needed a simile that evoked a similar sexual entendre.) It also helps that I've gotten really good at quickly looking things up on the Internet.

That is one HAWT badger!

Thus, I am the Smartest Man in the Room. 

But being the SMiR can be debilitating. See, when one already knows everything, one's ability to learn is diminished. And because the damn world keeps changing and evolving, one will occasionally encounter a gap in one's knowledge that has an adverse effect on one's life. 

I'll give you an example of what I'm talking about.

About I year ago, I was introduced to the world of Craft Brew Beers. It's like micro-brew, but even more specialized. The beer is aged in different types of barrels and they add all sorts of silly flavors to it. It's not unlike what happened to coffee in the 90s, although instead of a shot of Italian Flavoring, the beer needs to age in whatever ridiculous container it's in, so the process does show a little bit more commitment. We have our very own on-the-rise craft brewing company here in SoCal, and a childhood friend who lives in the Midwest has demanded that I attend all sorts of various beer tasting events and parties so that he may live vicariously through me. I'm like his Proxy High Class Alcoholic.

I'll freely admit, most of the beers are bloody awful. Some of them are like cough syrup, some are like bathroom potpourri, and there are a couple that taste like warmed-over ass. My BeerPimp assures me that these flavors are what the aficionados of Craft Beers love and appreciate, but I disagree. I'd rather vomit from drinking too much beer than vomit after the first taste of some god-awful concoction.

That's not to say all the beers fall into this category of epic awfulness. One of the advantages of being a Craft Brewer is the sheer variety of options you can generate. And I've found a trio of beers from this brewery (cleverly named The Bruery) that have expanded my beer enjoyment beyond my once limited pallet of Guinness and Moose Drool. 

Rugbrod is easily acquired at many places here in the SoCal area. Mischief isn't quite as common, but one can get bottles of it if one knows where to look. 7 Grain Saison is a different beast, and that's where we come back to the whole Danger of Being the Smartest Man in the Room problem.

7 Grain Saison is available as a draft only beer. That is to say, one can NOT get a bottle of it and take home to drink while watching a tear-inducing man flick like Braveheart or the South Park Movie (seriously, it gets me every time).

"Goodbye you guys!" (SOB!)

No, one must venture out into the world and find a bar or pub that actually serves the 7 Grain. And even if one is a resourceful smartest man in the room, it can be something of a feat to find a bar that carries such goodness. For months, my 7 Grain consumption was limited to the occasional beer tasting event. I couldn't have a bottle of my very own. I couldn't share it with my friends. I couldn't use it as yet another tool in my arsenal of weening my girlfriend off of fruity chick drinks.  My life was a mire of incomplete, and I walked through the world, a hollow shell of a human being.

Until I was introduced to the Growler.

I'd seen the word thrown around various tastings and parties. I even ALMOST once inquired about what a Growler was when I saw it on the menu at said Bruery. But, Because I was the smartest man in the room, I'd simply assumed it was an over-sized glass reserved for the uber-alcoholics or the Craft Beer secret handshake society. After all, I had nothing else to learn.

Turns out, a Growler is an oversized resealable jug, designed for filling with one's beer of choice to take away from a Craft Brew tasting room to enjoy at one's leisure.

Read that again. And then I freely accept any laughing and pointing that you wish to partake in.

A GODDAMN BOTTLE FOR TAKE-OUT BEER? REALLY? I've been wandering this Earth like some beer-deprived nomad for months, chasing that Holy Grail Chimera of 7 Grain that I can carry with me throughout my adventures, and it was available the whole damn time in the form of an easily acquired Growler? I was a hair's-breadth away from selling my soul to the Beer Devil for a taste of this goodness in my own home, and all it takes is $15 for what's known as a Growler Fill. They even make what's called a Growler cover - a nifty thermal lined bag for carrying your filled Growler hither and yon. Why the hell didn't any of you tell me about this earlier?

So there you go. I learned something new. And it's all thanks to beer.

NOW I'm the Smartest Man in the Room. 

Bench Warrant

Ah, the Morning Commute. Where I gleefully sip on my Jamba Smoothie while bouncing back and forth between NPR and AM talk radio. (It's a great way to start one's day in an emotionally balanced state of mind - seriously, I don't know whether to make out with a rainbow or militantly deport illegal immigrants). And while coaxing my 4 cylinder raging best of horsepower through the crawly stop and go of LA traffic, I'm frequently vexed by a recurring question: what on Earth would I do if I got a Traffic Citation? Or a DUI? Or had a Personal Injury? 

Then I discovered this guy:

I blocked out his last name because I can't pronounce it

Clearly this man is a professional. How can I tell? Because he's USING A TELEPHONE! An OLD-SCHOOL TELEPHONE THAT CONNECTS WITH A CORD! My God this guy is good. And look at him - he's not even TALKING on the phone. He's just sitting there, listening. Which means if I call him with my woes of illegal driving activity or some sort of personal injury, I know he'll listen, he'll REALLY LISTEN to what I have to say. And look at the size of that watch!

This ad is rad. (Hey, I'm a poet and didn't realize it!) 

We know he has a phone number, because he has a phone. But he's taken it a step further with a TOLL FREE phone number! So very useful, as I have one of those rare calling plans where my cell phone charges me for long distance calls (-not true). And he doesn't want me to waste my time in court, because he knows my time is better spent out in the world, getting DUIs, Traffic Citations, and accruing Personal Injuries. 

In fact, I think it should be my goal to get all three at the same time. 

My only complaint about this Commander General Prince's (seriously, look up 'Amir' on the internets; this guy is such a Boss that his very name is BOSS) ad is the placement. Bus benches are very prominent, but what happens if there's some creepy bum type or internet meme sitting on the bench, blocking his vital contact info?

If this sandwich makes me sick, where will I find a lawyer to help me sue?

Karmic Disclaimer - For this bit of mockery, I freely accept that in the near future, I'll lose my cell phone, have a Personal Injury and/or Traffic Citation, and Keanu will steal my girlfriend.