ORIGINS

I have come to realize that I am a Super Hero. However, not in the traditional, square-jawed,

Spandex and cape sporting fashion. My particular proclivity for heroic deeds tends to be in

the "Say what needs to be said" discipline of crime fighting. The tag line at the beginning of
my comic might read, "I am the bane of social injustice and unbalance. I will boldly laugh at
the emperor's new clothes. I shall deftly yank the slack-jawed heads of the ham and eggers' from the sand and kick the ever-living shit out of the 800 pound gorilla in the room!"

"For I am, ... The Social Batman!"

Well, at least that's the delusional horse shit that plays out in my head. It's how I justify disregarding the status quo, pissing on political correctness and not giving a flying fuck about the consequences. In short, it enables me to be an asshole. And for the record, writing that first paragraph gave me such intense douche chills that my spine was nearly broken from the ensuing shutters.

I've never been comfortable in certain social settings. For instance, those conversations we

find ourselves in where it would actually be less painful to shove hand fulls of razor blades

into our open eyes than to endure another word of. Mostly these crimes of verbosity are

perpetrated by a villain I refer to as "The Prattler." We have all encountered The Prattler

from time to time in our lives. It is the individual who feels compelled, usually unsolicited, to

explain their latest medical condition, spew on about the weather, or some religious or

political situation that they have no clear grasp upon. Or, worse yet, they brag about their

kids.

Ah yes, their magical progeny. These wonder children, who against all odds have escaped

their parents' mediocre genes and have somehow managed to become budding Nikola

Tesla's and Michio Kaku's.

One of my wife's friends used to prattle on about how "advanced" her kids were because of

their mind bending ability to to count and say the alphabet at an early age. These were not

free and open exchanges of ideas so much as a circumstance where you waited your turn to

brag. A rite of passage I suppose for new parents. To keep tension in the Social Bat Cave at an even keel, we shall call her Jasmine, and her Uber-spawn, Jessica and Joline.

No amount of carefully crafted subject changing could derail Jasmine's Soul Train of thought

once she began singing her offspring's praises. Any topic, no matter how obscure would lead

directly back to a dissertation concerning her kid's cerebral prowess. For instance, while
being regaled for an improbable eternity by tales of masterful popsicle stick and macaroni
art composition, a futile attempt would go something like this...

Me: "Jasmine, have you tried the jalapeno dip?"

Jasmine: "Yes, it's very good! You know, jalapeno has a silent "j" and that reminds me, Jessica and Joline said the most interesting things yesterday..."

This was early in my marriage and my first foray into the mundane world of "adult"

conversation. It really seemed quite pointless to me to even try to pretend and keep up my

end in these petty discussions. Often, I would suddenly remember some extremely important

appointment doing something, anything, anywhere else away from the brag-off and
disappear. Of course, my wife would inform me later as to how rude I was and how embarrassed she was by my behavior. She would tell me that my disdain for idle chit chat
was painfully transparent and how our guest was surely left in some egregious state of emotional disrepair. Something she still reminds me of with great frequency some 20 years later about a never-ending procession of conversations that I would like no part of.

If I am The Social Batman, she is surely The Social Butterfly. And if I were to be completely

honest, my absolute better in these situations.

So what act of heroics did the young Social Batman perform when faced with his first 

nemesis, The Prattler? I can assure you that today, a well seasoned social crime fighter such

as myself  would have administered some hard core justice. I may caught Jasmine off guard

with the fact that all empirical and anecdotal evidence garnered thus far in a study by 

esteemed psychologist and Nobel laureate, Daniel Kahneman, pointed to a direct 

correlation between young female children displaying an early verbal and mathematical aptitude and a predilection for pole dancing later in life.

This of course, is a complete fabrication. While maintaining a long and illustrious career 

where he has enlightened us to many of the amazing secrets behind the psyche of the 

human condition, Kahneman has yet to draw the connection between such early 

developments and strippers. I will go out on a limb here and make the assertion that he 

might not ever.

Stan Lee said, "With great power comes great responsibility." Which may be so, but I also subscribe to the notion put forth by principal Claude Rolle in the movie "The Substitute"- " Power perceived is power achieved."

Having such a useful tool in my utility belt at the time would have been an awesome weapon.

However, I had something equally as effective back then, an amazing side kick. My boy 

wonder was my son, who was slightly older than Jessica and Joline. Conversely, he was not

an early talker. The complete alphabet and subsequent counting skills would come a little 

later for him than most. In fact, he spent a lot of time hooting like an owl when he was the 

girls' ages. We would later learn that he had been born with a mild case of Asperger's syndrome.

While his condition precluded him from early feats of scholastic might, his affliction did have 

a somewhat super human bi-product which was an unbelievable, near eidetic 

memory. He could retain facts and numbers brilliantly after very limited exposure. Many 

people with Asperger's share this ability. Sadly, the downside is a lack of true comprehension with regard to the information they retain.

At any rate, I used his strengths to my advantage. I took him aside and taught him a few 

facts a boy his age had no business knowing. Much to his mother's chagrin, our next run in

with Jasmine and the Girls From Brazil went something like this...

"That was fantastic Joline, I bet they didn't know you could say the alphabet backwards!" 

Jasmine beamed. And for her second act, "Okay Joline, your turn. show them how you can count to fifty."

"Yes Mommy, 1-2-3-4..." and perfectly in her little angelic voice did Joilne count to fifty.

"That's awesome!" I said. And I meant it, I am not a complete ogre. She was after all, an amazing little girl who I loved. It was Jasmine, The Prattler, who at this moment was gushing with a nauseating degree of pride that I felt deserved a little comeuppance. 

To my son I said, "Can you tell me what the nearest star to our Sun is?"

Without hesitation, in his tiny voice he replied, "Proxima Centauri."

"Okay, very good." I said and then asked, "Can you tell me how far away it is from the Sun?"

"4.2 light years." He replied immediately. Without looking at Jasmine for a reaction yet I asked him quite matter of factly,  "What is the atomic weight of the element Boron?" 

"10.811." Again, flawlessly and instantly delivered. Then, just to let her know she had been had I asked, "Can you tell me who is buried in Grant's tomb?"

"Grant." He said, the way he might recite his own name if asked.

Bam! Pow!

So is Jasmine really a bad person? Is it a crime to be fiercely proud of your loved ones? Was

it necessary for a borderline sociopath like me to exact some sort of social justice? No, nope

and of course not. But I can tell you, it was pretty damned funny and well worth the look on 

Jasmine's face. It was also coincidentally, the end of the brag offs. 

While I bristle from the thought of having to suffer though such diatribes I understand that 

most normal people wear the armor of good social graces to insulate them from the over exaggerated feelings that I get in these situations. At the same time, I can't help but wonder 

as we hurl through space together around the Sun at nearly 68,000 mph, spinning at about 1000 mph at the equator on a rock rife with wondrous mysteries and littered with fantastic artifacts, isn't there something more interesting we could talk about?

This aversion I posses to what most people suffer through effortlessly in their daily 

interactions with one another does not stem from immaturity. Although I am no doubt, 

extremely so. Nor is it some xenophobic based resistance that tempers my disputatious 

view of inane banter. I honestly don't know where it comes from. Perhaps  I am genetically predisposed to register only micro-give-a-shits on the concern meter when considering  

the ordinary. Or maybe, most of you just fucking bore me to death.

So there is a small glance inside my head, a tiny piece of my soul for your consideration. Perhaps you know a little about me now. I can tell you that I know a lot about you. Doubt it? Okay, for instance you...

..." have a great need for other people to like and admire you. You have a tendency to be critical of yourself. You have a great deal of unused capacity which you have not turned to your advantage. While you have some personality weaknesses, you are generally able to compensate for them. Your sexual adjustment has presented problems for you. Disciplined and self-controlled outside, you tend to be worrisome and insecure inside. At times you have serious doubts as to whether you have made the right decision or done the right thing. You prefer a certain amount of change and variety and become dissatisfied when hemmed in by restrictions and limitations. You pride yourself as an independent thinker and do not accept others' statements without satisfactory proof. You have found it unwise to be too frank in revealing yourself to others. At times you are extroverted, affable, sociable, while at other times you are introverted, wary, reserved. Some of your aspirations tend to be pretty unrealistic. Security is one of your major goals in life."

Come close? Probably. All of the above personality traits were comprised by a psychologist named Bertram R. Forer in 1948 to use as a personality test for his students. They were told to look at this list of traits which Forer had told each and everyone of them were made from his careful observation of them individually. The students were instructed to check off the traits that they agreed applied to them.  On average, the students agreed with 85% of the statements.

 It wasn't until all of the students had all turned in their assessments that Forer informed 

them that they had all received the same evaluation and that it was complete horse shit 

stitched together from various horoscopes. This is a form of subjective validation, which is 

a cognitive bias where the result is that we will buy almost any bullshit remark or story as 

long as we think it has personal significance or meaning to us. Especially when that 

information is positive.

Sound like a load of crap? Well, it is a phenomenon that every "psychic"  and huckster the world over is well aware of and what prompted P.T. Barnum to say, "There is a sucker born every minute." And, in deference to magical children, the type of conversation I prefer to engage in.

I digress. And besides, who am I kidding? At best this blog will be filled with 

masturbatory musings and ill-informed rants. Despite that, I will try to keep it interesting 

and devoid of conversation that might raise the ire of fellow social superheroes. I am

working on a piece about the Bible that is sure to make me a few new friends but until 

then, may Zeus preserve you.