I'mTold I Ask Stupid Questions

Did you know that cheetahs live in Iran? Did you know that the Egyptians tamed a cheetah before anyone else? More importantly, a cheetah can run seventy miles per hour, which is a little more than significantly faster than a human (the fastest running 28mph). People tell me that I ask stupid questions. This may be true, but how else would I know all of the tasty tidbits of information that tidily occupy the crevices mind? I’m told that as a kid, especially a student, asking a multitude of questions is a strong point; nevertheless, for some reason, I receive many odd, perplexed, you’re-kind-of-weird-and-I’m-going-to-back-away-slowly looks. I’m hoping that someday, at an awkward holiday business party where I am required to be witty and interesting, I'll spin out a couple of my "Did you know…"’s, ignite fun-filled conversation, get a raise and call it a day. However, I’m an immediate gratification person and these tidbits aren’t advancing me in pre-calc. A fun fact: These tidbits are acquired out of very thin air and rarely surface when they would come in handy. For instance, now would be the ideal time to project one of my tiny trinkets onto the page for all eyes to see, and, as is usually the case, I cannot recall a single one. Ah! Here’s one now: Did you know that vitamin b2 is the same thing as riboflavin? This is not too tasty a tidbit since it is a product of Mrs. Counterman’s seventh grade science class. The paté of tidbits is the one that hardly anybody knows and almost nobody cares about. Ah ha! Did you know that paisley, the common pattern on scarves and dresses belonging to women who live in the woods, was named after a small town in Scotland that otherwise would be nonexistent, BUT, and here’s the kicker, paisley originated a continent away from Scotland? Paté. Straight up. No frills, just useless information that sits in my mind like old men on park benches.
The tidbits swirl and blend to create an entire concocted conjecture that plays out in my mind and ends up focused to one point in a specific question. Once I know the question I’m done. No more prodding – all is answered. There is a Sex and the City episode in which Carrie and her then jazz-bass-player-boyfriend discuss jazz. Carrie semi-detests jazz, and Boyfriend cardiac arrests without it. He even hangs instruments from the ceiling of his New York apartment. That’s incredible and I must give serious props, pun intended, to the director seeing as the instruments distract my thoughts when I think about this episode. For Carrie, Boyfriend’s love of jazz is a relationship issue. For me, this is a Carrie issue: she’s a dumbass. She doesn’t like jazz for the very reason that everyone else likes it. Jazz flows freely; it’s open to interpretation. You play with jazz; it’s water across onyx. Now maybe I’m being narrow-minded. I guess there are people who don’t like jazz and I should respect that. If I had shoes and crazy hurricane hair like Carrie would I not like jazz? Stupid question - you decide. This is how my mind works: one question leads to the preposterous and then there’s the look from Hillary shoots me a look that shouts shut up and walk away. I blame the fact that my thoughts are like circles, or like bubbles – like circular bubbles: big picture - bubble #1 - to small picture - bubble #2 - to walk way and close the door - pop bubble. Why else would I write page long paragraphs and be forced to chop them up later?
Blame is how I get to the pinpoint question. If I can’t sort my thoughts through a funnel down into one question, then I haven’t solved anything. It’s like the game whose goal is to organize all the little primary colored balls until the one un-primary colored ball drops out of the opening in the bottom. The player blames the one special ball, let’s say it was fuscia, for ruining the whole game and making him or her spend an hour getting Mr. Fuscia away from the normal balls. I blame Carrie for ruining a perfectly good relationship with cool instrument-on-the-ceiling guy. I can’t blame ADD for an overactive mind as most high schoolers do. I blame Hillary. No, just kidding. I can’t blame anyone or anything for me asking questions. I simply love knowing that Cleopatra mailed herself in a carpet to her lover.