Rant 1: Finally, I too am a genius!

Finally, I too am a genius!

Part I: In the Beginning.
Let me tell you about Thanksgiving. For most families, Thanksgiving involves watching Detroit and Dallas lose a football game while everybody stuffs down gravy and beer. My family is different. We sit around playing word games. A favorite is one in which a person picks a word out of the dictionary, and everybody else writes down a fake definition for it. All of the prospective definitions are read out loud, and you get points by fooling other people to pick yours while you pick the right one. It’s actually a lot of fun, but I think you can start to get an idea here that we are dealing with some frighteningly bright individuals, including 6 published writers, 3 PhD’s, and a certifiable mad genius rocket scientist. And one guy with a drool cup who really wants to know the score of the Detroit game- OK maybe my brother too, and my dad secretly wants to watch also, but this isn’t about them and their inner desire for normalcy. Oh no. This is about my quest for equal footing, my quest for intellectual gigantism. There’s only so many times a boy can survive cousin Ben at age 9 drawing a @#%* ing topographical map of the neighborhood that shows accurate altitude differentials while you’re practicing power slides on your rad new Kryptonics skateboard with the 65mm wheels and the Tracker trucks, do you know what I am saying? “So Uncle Ray, they let you submit nominations for the Nobel Prize, that’s cool, but I won most improved in baseball because no one sucked more than me”-tell me, how many times can a young man have that conversation?
But all of that has changed now. It took years of brainstorming, of following many promising leads only to have them dashed on the sharp igneous rocks of failure, but now I too have earned my place at the Thanksgiving Day dinner table. I have changed the world, or at least pop culture oh so slightly, with my greatest invention. And in the tradition of my fellow scientists, I have immodestly named it after me. There is an element in the periodic table called Einsteinium, so now there is a facial hair configuration that I proudly call- “The Sean”…


Part II: The Journey
OK, before we go on the journey, I need to set the stage, because the nature of my invention can be confoundingly confusing to many at first blush. “What the @#%* is that, dude” has been a common cry from my naysayers, for example. Well it is not a goatee. It is not a shaving accident, although by the first light of day it could be mistaken for one. It is, however the ultimate facial hair expression of yin and yang, masculinity and sensitivity, her needs vs. my needs. And now, friends, let’s take The Journey…


Part III: Now Actually the Journey
The standard goatee served me well for many years, but over time it’s flaws became apparent. The mustache would occlude the upper lip, thereby depriving the owner of wanted comments like ”you sure got a purdy mouth” (see exhibit A)

   
 

Unfortunately, when I attempted to counter by resorting to partial depilitation, the hairs were transformed into reinforced sharpened bristles, which garnered the aforementioned goatee owner a lot of shit from his girlfriend. ”Prickles, Oww!” Ah yes, the inevitable post-smooch response. Not conductive to more nookie, as charted in exhibit 2:

 
   
  Upon close study of the N to S Ratio, the goatee had to go. But I would not stand for becoming a modern day Samson! How to ex-foliate without demasculate? Damn it, Jim, how?
The Soulpatch was an option. However, it seemed like a waste of my God-given facial follicular capabilities- I was the first in my class who could do the Miami Vice, after all (Try that, cousin Ben!) So an extended soulpatch seemed like a promising solution (see exhibit III)

 
   
 

A bold, new statement that was totally working on the N/S scale (Aw Yeah!), I was digging it until an experience left me with a certain trepidation, not to mention a certain amount of bile in my stomach. I work with a guy I’ll call Caveman Tom, the kind of guy who actually says to women walking by, “could you get any bettah looking?” He has a telescope in his office that he uses to look at women eating their lunch on the roof deck of the opposing office building. Upon the unveiling of my new look, he squinted, and with a serious concerned tone whispered in my ear, “you know what that looks like, right?” Oh no, no, NO! No. I know I made the “purdy mouth” comment before, but no @#%*in’ way could I have Caveman Tom adjusting himself whilst thinking about my mouth in a feminine anatomic capacity!! And that was the end of that. Besides pretending not to be in love with Sekka Shure in the 2nd grade, that’s the only time in my life that I’ve caved to peer pressure. I should have said, “hey Tom, I guess now I know what your wife’s pussy looks like,” but I didn’t. I slunk back to the lab, beaten.
Beaten maybe, but unbowed, my friends, unbowed. Out of the ashes of defeat came sweet winged victory. Turning my rage inward, I worked with a ferocity previously unreachable, a crystalline focus in which the impossible became not impossible! In an instant I knew what Einstein must have felt; “E=mc3? Nein, das ist nicht richtig! , E=, um, um, JAWOHL! Ich habe dis!”

Part IV: What the @#%* is it?
I’m not saying I know what Reed Richards felt when he discovered (well, found) the Ultimate Nullifier in FF#48, but I reached the table of the smarties with the creation of The Sean. In a totally unintuitive leap, made possible only by the crudity of co-workers and the gauntlet of Thanksgiving Smartypantses, I came up with the ultimate facial hair solution: If the mustache is “Prickles”, but the Goatee is the most bitchen facial hair genre…hmm… if I subtract the Mustache from the Goatee like so, if E is a cool letter, mathematically that gives us…(See Exhibit Four)

 
   
  Jahwohl! Then you achieve a previously unseen state completely man made, never to be seen in nature. Until that fateful snowboarding trip to Woodstock, Vermont in the year of our lord 2001, when I created The Sean! (See Exhibit Fünf)  
   
  So simple. No prickles. But no pussy I’ve ever seen has paired vertical stripes up the side, and Caveman Tom grudging agrees, so I’m in the “Deliverance” clear, my friends! It uses the follicular abilities that a king like Aragorn likes to show off, yet it takes us into the new millennium with a whole new shamoo, and doesn’t prevent me from getting nookie, at least as far as I can tell. Actually, I’m not 100% sure about that, but my empirical evidence shows a strong Theta relationship between The Sean and booty activation, which I will publish in a future article.
Part V: The Future
Well, after I did it, I’ve seen many young men follow in my footsteps, and perhaps someday some young scientist will build on the back of my invention, much like Feynman and perhaps even Hawking and Witten did off the back of my beloved Einstein. Progress is good, and humanity must surge forward, balancing great power with great responsibility. I would not stand in the way of progress just so I’d stay at the forefront of facial follicle design. Enough. I have achieved more than I dreamed possible, more than that dumb ass at the Thanksgiving Day dinner table with the drool cup could ever imagine. Now when I greet Uncle Ray on a cool November eve, we meet as equals, as fellow travelers on the lonely yet satisfying path of scientific self-sacrifice. No friends, my work is done.
But…I cannot stay still for long. A gift unused is a sin, and if you’re going to sin it should be with 2 or 3 hookers in Vegas, not over something so lame as unfulfilled potential. So now what? I guess I keep inventing. After all, in science, you’re only as good as your last invention, right Uncle Ray?