August 19, 2008

• It’s all about the D-N-A, baby!

   

  [This is probably going to sound like an insensitive and elitist post.  Sorry!]

   

  So some movers, who shall remain nameless so my stuff does not “accidentally” fall into the Pacific Ocean, came over to pack up The Franksabunch™’s stuff to be shipped from California to Hawaii.  (If I shipped things myself I would not reimbursed, so I had to go with the contracted 3^rd party.)  Things went okay until the head packer picked up The Wife™’s bead box (she makes her own jewelry), which had all the assorted beads and trinkets separated into 25 different compartments.  I watched in horror as he then proceeded without hesitation to dump the entire contents into one big pile onto some wrapping paper, with at least 30 pieces of those millimeter-sized ornaments spilling onto the garage floor like ants running away from a misanthropic kid with a magnifying glass.

   

  My first thought was to immediately hide any sharp objects to prevent The Wife™ from creating the packer a new orifice and then coming after me to convert our relationship into a same-sex marriage, but instead I took a deep breath and watched what he would do next.  Would he realize his move lacked more common sense than an Olympic gymnastics judge and apologize?  No.  Would he make an attempt to pick up the jewelry pieces he had spilled everywhere?  Double decka hecka no.  He just proceeded to throw what didn’t fall on the floor into a box and kept moving, not uttering a single apology as Dr. and Mrs. 'Bunch spent the next twenty minutes combing the floor for the lost pieces.

   

  My irritation burned like the urine of a Las Vegas stripper, but as time passed I began to feel sorry for him.  Later he had to ask his partner how to spell the following words: over, chair and shoe.  He did not smell of dyslexia or have any dysmorphic features that would suggest certain developmental problems.  His verbal English was normal, social mannerisms stable and his writing was fine (without spelling errors) when he’d copy things.  He was capable of getting a driver’s license, operating a Bluetooth device and holding down a job and a marriage.  I just think—may the Lord above forgive me for saying this—that he simply was...not smart, to put it lightly.  That is why he didn’t take 2 seconds to think that perhaps dumping over 100 pieces of already separated items into one big pile went against common sense.  (The fact that he made no move to pick up what he spilled and let his nasty sweat drip all over our stuff reflected that he didn’t care about the quality of the job, but just finishing.) 

   

  This is going to sound really insensitive but perhaps because I was still a little upset at what happened, my next thought was that I felt sorry for his present/future kids, because they’d inherit his DNA…and subsequently his brain.  I always joke that I married my wife because I think she’s hot and cooks a mean bulgogi, but one thing that I found extremely sexy was that she scored a perfect on her math SAT (I think she beat me on the verbal, too) and compiled a GPA >3.8 during graduate school.

   

  Back in the day when a certain xangan and I were both single I used to joke with her that we were perfect together because we both have good DNA being tall, smart and, well, awesome.  But when you think about it, isn’t DNA just another form of estate inheritance?  Would not inheriting DNA that leads you to be smart and tall (and awesome) give your children as much of a head start as bequeathing them 100,000 bills in your will?  A long time ago I wrote that people should marry nerds because "while you can buy your children plastic surgery, you can’t get them a brain transplant," and I wrote that only half-jokingly.  I thought about this as I contrasted my wife with the packer who occupied a space residing on the wrong side of the bell curve.

   

  But therein lies the problem.  Just as his DNA differs from my wife’s and mine from his wife’s, so does how we choose to love and be loved.  I didn’t marry my wife because she fulfilled some sort of eugenic checklist, and the packer’s wife didn’t marry him because he did not.  And if I have a child who is not smart, would I love him any less than the others?  Of course not.

   

  Love, you see, is not about who you should or could be, but rather is about who you are.  You cannot fashion yourself to become more loveable any more than you can mold another into someone you can love more, because once you reduce love into a form of currency, you rob it of its value.

   

  So yeah, though I still think the packer is a few eggs short of a dozen and I'm still irritated at what he did, he still deserves the best love and I honestly hope that he has it. 

   

  But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to claim damage for the lost beads, though.

   

  Have a great week!

  ---------------

  California, you’ve been great, but I’m moving back to Hawaii TOMORROW!  I’ll miss you dearly, but nothing beats being home...

  And don't forget to vote for SoReal Cru in to win it all in America's Best (Rigged) Dance Crew!  Super Cr3w's members already are well known in their community, so I want SoReal to win.  My wife wants Super Cr3w to lose because she thinks that in the Planet Bboy documentary Mike Murda was too arrogant and was acting salty after they (Knucklehead Zoo) placed lower than the Last 4 One and Gamblerz crews.

  Edit:  What's up with this?  For the past week I've been getting these phone calls with increasing frequency from the 702 area code, and the always hang up as soon as I answer.  I used the reverse directory on the internet and they're from some sort of sales group in Vegas.  (So much for the efficacy of donotcall.gov.)  Anyway, if you get a call from any of these numbers (3x today alone!), don't answer: 702-966-4135, 702-953-2422, 702-968-2942.  Maybe they're mad that I just left Vegas and actually won money, the stinkers!

  • 10:03 am
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