Taking The Scotsman To Task

No. 14 of 31 -- Thermometer series

I’m not huge on ethnic slams. I used to be, somewhat, with the put downs and riddles that were popular. I never thought that would change. But change it did, in huge ways. And was suddenly out of favor, to the point of real insistence to not ridicule people’s abilities or lack of abilities based on their nationality, place of origin, and current country of vegetation.

Of course I can see the point of all this care and concern for others. It's now in my blood, always tiptoeing by and keeping my nose out of national and ethic distinctions. Because we're sensitive. And it’s not tolerated, any suggestion that entire nationalities of people, let alone races en masse, could ever be reduced to a few stereotypes which then are hammered at constantly, beating the people down relentlessly, so that while we’re laughing and slapping our knee, they’re on the sidelines going, “Hoot mon, hoot mon, whadda bluddy helle is dese affronts to mine native digin'knee?!” I guess that’s half Scottish and the rest faux English, and as funny as a pent-up insecure smallish white guy can muster.

The Scotsman, now there’s a specimen, right? They love it, their identity. I recently met a guy, kilt and all, very serious and charming. I don't know what he is at home. Maybe half Robert Burns, half the Scottish version of our American hillbilly, making home brew, with forebears and heroes called things like The Bruce, the Dale, Robbie-Boy, and Baby Plaid. The little I know about it, like the Scotsman’s last wadde of moneye, is they hang on to it, like the bald man’s combe, they'd never part with it. I know some of these zany people spent their times so far back in the hilles they’d be loste if they every came out or tried to go back. So, naturally, like what happens to most of us, if you're loste, stay put, and hope someone finds you, if they think you’re loste, or leaves you alone if they know where you are. I can only refer you to a good book on Burns, which is about as easy to read as tea leaves a'brewing, but funne.

The biggest slam against the Scotsman, the focus here, is how tight they are, stingy, hoarding, always wanting to hang on to their last dime, etc. The Lord loves a cheerful giver, but has to settle for whatever pittance he can get from the Scot. Then there’s all the other hilarious people of the world, the Polish, the French, and whoever my own people were, Heinz 57 in one crammed bottle. It’s a nasty subject; I got guys in my family tree that should’ve stayed there. We're standing upright and erect now, guys, and not just on our honeymoon... No knuckle-dragging unless you're polishing your ring.

Smooth transition: Now I need everyone of you, fellow unevolved apes, monkeys, and chimps, to pitch in and put us over the top for the blog. Has our crew been through your town yet with the traveling thermometer display? I'm no Scot, I paid big moneye for it. You’ve no doubt seen it passing by. If you see the display, please sign up. Put your name on the pad and we’ll see that you get updates. Let’s fill the thermometers, OK? Hoot mon, hustle! We’re depending on ye, aye! And in this case, it’s going to be extremely comfortable even for the Scot, because it’s entirely free. You will not be billed. And any penalties there may be for early or late withdrawal, we'll apologize to your wife about that later.

How'd I Get So Damned Smart?

I get this question all the time, from people I know in the community, in church, as well as online. Everyone wants to know, "How'd you get so damned smart?" I can safely say it's the number one thing people wonder about. Although with their curiosity they challenge my modesty.

It's tricky to answer a question like that. Because I really do have to set aside my modesty and admit it right up front, Yes, I am pretty damned smart. And I'm smart enough not to do that readily. Hence, I've been sitting on the question for a number of months, reluctant to answer it, knowing it'd ding my modesty and sense of propriety.

But today I'm feeling bold! Who needs tomorrow! I'm ready to tackle it head-on, finally to satisfy everyone's curiosity about the intelligence of someone I frankly call "Little Ole Me." Really, that's how I think of myself. I'm not all that impressed, to tell you the truth. Because I know even I have plenty of limits. But my limits are for another day. Today we'll stick with how much I know.

First, let me say I didn't set out to get so damned smart. It wasn't any conscious push. You know, there's always those kids who set out to get so damned smart. They want to be better than everyone else, all that. As unpleasant as that can be for the rest of us, I won't judge them. They swung their way, I swung mine.

My way of swinging in school was pretty much to grasp the basics and extrapolate from there. One thing I'm not very smart at is mathematics. Anything you might need on a GRE or the SAT, I immediately fail. But I am smart at arithmetic! I can add and subtract myself around the room, passing everyone. The way I learned it was, like I said, extrapolation. They said 1 + 1 = 2 and I extrapolated from there. Everything else was easy to deduce from that one principle. So I refused to learn any of it by heart, just extrapolating, however long it took, on the fly. That left lots of time for learning other stuff.

Because it's facts other than math that you can't easily extrapolate. If you know the capital of New York is Albany, it's tough to extrapolate from that that the capital of California is Sacramento. Those are two facts I had to learn, which I only accomplished after a lot of effort. Even now I could probably tell you at least half the capitals of the various states, even ones I have no intention of visiting.

When it came to reading, I literally grew up with one story book. Only one. Which I read a million times, and loved, "Little Black Sambo." You put enough effort into one book, you learn a lot besides just the great story. I learned to love and respect others who aren't like me, Indians, black people, LGBTQ, Lutherans, etc. The only ones I still have a hard time with are Republicans. Of any variety.

In addition, I grew in my love of animals, butter, pancakes, and embraced asynchronous thinking, because who can believe that tigers, running fast enough to turn into butter, wouldn't think to cut across and head off Sambo? Unless Sambo were simultaneously smart enough to cut across at lightning speed and therefore maintain his safe position. Stunning stuff! You could seriously say, when it came to book larnin', everything I know I got from "LBS."

Now I'm old. And it's surprising all the stuff I know. I don't think I'm too far off the beam to say I don't even know all the stuff I know! Know what I mean? It seems everyday there's always something different leaping out of my brain, a sudden occurrence of something else I've known all along. Examples aren't coming to me right this second, but I know it happens. When do you clean an aquarium? When it stinks or the fish die, whichever comes first.

So to answer the question, "How'd I get so damned smart?" ... It all depends. Math, I extrapolated from 1 + 1 = 2. I can balance my checkbook and occasionally have money left over. Things that needed memorizing, I memorized, then over the years forgot exactly half of it. How to spell. I learned a trick from my Mom, to know how words are supposed to look, then when they're misspelled they look wrong. The various principles of life -- the value of being scrupulously honest, for example, and the consequences when you aren't -- I learned by experience, along with trial and error. Other things, the deeper things of life, spirituality and such, I learned by practice, leaping in gadfly fashion from one thing to another. Meaning, I'm a solitary specimen in that regard.

The other key to being so damned smart is to always keep my mind sharp. As sharp as a knife, as sharp as cheddar cheese. Honed, stropped like a razor, keen. So I'm busy thinking from the minute I wake up till the minute I go to bed. Then I continue thinking till I fall asleep. And, if my dreams are any indicator, I don't stop thinking till I get up, at which point I repeat the whole process, thinking again. I'm also a voracious reader, reading while I eat.

Thank you! It's gratifying that everyone thinks I'm so damned smart. Just don't get jealous, OK? You either can do it too, or you could have, had you not lived your life in a completely foolish way.

Criminal Turf -- The Lay Of The Land

This is the map I've got in mind. Nothing but this. I'm living, eating, and sleeping this map. I'm trying! I'm sweating it out, studying it, going over it again and again, memorizing it, committing it to memory, trying to let it take up an enduring domicile in my memory cells, anything, just so I master it. Good grief, you would too! Because my future as a successful criminal, maybe the greatest criminal this town's ever seen, depends on this knowledge, and I must not let myself down. Must go over it again!

The town, if I'm reading the map correctly, appears to be divided up into five territories, or what they call "turf." Five different turf, or is it turfs? Whichever, I've got to review it for my own benefit, lest everything I've mastered thus far slips. And just like schoolwork, it's hard to remember without looking. I'll try a mnemonic. The west side has two gangs that both start with vowels, O and A. The Outlaws and the Aristocrats, north and south, respectively. The east side also has two gangs, but they both start with C. The Ciggies and El Conquistadors. Then, I'll think of it like a nipple, there's my own gang in the middle, The Skids, our headquarters being the Skidrow district of town, and our turf the Central section. Like a nipple, that's great! Too bad the town isn't round!

OK, I just looked at the map for 10 minutes straight. My mind only wandered off to nipples like two minutes out of 10. Other than that, great focus. The Outlaws: They're not that hard to remember. Just think of cowboys being out west. And reaching for their gun from the top. But there's no precedent for Aristocrats being on the bottom. And that's killing me. That little butler dude, or maybe he's the effeminate "master" of the house, would he be on the bottom? Maybe so. His wife probably tells him when to get up and which shorts to wear! He looks like the type! But I can't think that way. He's just a symbol for a murderous gang.

Now, looking to the east. El Conquistadors, which is a real mouthful, and too bad they didn't come up with a simpler name, they're what you call your Ethnics, folks of a different division of the human species, not quite normal. Unfortunately, they're also into crime, so they've carved out their own turf. I'm going to memorize them for sure, believe me, because I've suddenly got a desire to take them out first. That turf would look great under my own belt. My house is actually in that area, and if I can't annex, dominate, and exploit my own side of town, then I may as well hang it up. I'll send them packing back to whatever land they came from, down south somewhere. Wow, thinking about it like that, I've already got the El Conquistadors part of the map memorized!

It's the others I have to work harder on, since I haven't got that personal a stake in it. The Ciggies up north. Of course they also start with C, which only gets me so far. The industrial section of town is in their area, so if I associate smokestacks with cigarette smoke, that's probably the memory device that will help me get it down. Big smoke, little smoke. I'll put it in Freudian terms, they've got these big phallic things sticking up from their turf. And they go around with little phallic things hanging from their mouth. Sucking and blowing, blowing and sucking. Now that I think of it, I think I met a Ciggie gang member in a restroom the other day. He said he was going to roll his cigarette in the bathroom because it was cold out! He had a big can of tobacco, then he licked the paper and rolled it. So he's into licking as well as sucking and blowing. These guys may be worth keeping an eye on.

I'm reviewing. I think I about have it. Central, that's me, the nipple area, the aureole district. The Old West, where the Outlaws always are. Aristocrats, they're the other vowel, with an effeminate butler dude on the bottom in his relationships. Conquistadors are known for living down south. And Ciggies and smokestacks go together. So it's O, A // S // C, C.

If I can't get this firmly in mind, I don't see any hope for survival.