What Is Intelligence, Anyway?
Isaac Asimov

What is intelligence, anyway? When I was in the army, I received the kind of aptitude test that all soldiers took and, against a normal of 100, scored 160. No one at the base had ever seen a figure like that, and for two hours they made a big fuss over me. (It didn't mean anything. The next day I was still a buck private with KP - kitchen police - as my highest duty.)

All my life I've been registering scores like that, so that I have the complacent feeling that I'm highly intelligent, and I expect other people to think so too. Actually, though, don't such scores simply mean that I am very good at answering the type of academic questions that are considered worthy of answers by people who make up the intelligence tests - people with intellectual bents similar to mine?

For instance, I had an auto-repair man once, who, on these intelligence tests, could not possibly have scored more than 80, by my estimate. I always took it for granted that I was far more intelligent than he was. Yet, when anything went wrong with my car I hastened to him with it, watched him anxiously as he explored its vitals, and listened to his pronouncements as though they were divine oracles - and he always fixed my car.

Well, then, suppose my auto-repair man devised questions for an intelligence test. Or suppose a carpenter did, or a farmer, or, indeed, almost anyone but an academician. By every one of those tests, I'd prove myself a moron, and I'd be a moron, too. In a world where I could not use my academic training and my verbal talents but had to do something intricate or hard, working with my hands, I would do poorly. My intelligence, then, is not absolute but is a function of the society I live in and of the fact that a small subsection of that society has managed to foist itself on the rest as an arbiter of such matters.

Consider my auto-repair man, again. He had a habit of telling me jokes whenever he saw me. One time he raised his head from under the automobile hood to say: "Doc, a deaf-and-mute guy went into a hardware store to ask for some nails. He put two fingers together on the counter and made hammering motions with the other hand. The clerk brought him a hammer. He shook his head and pointed to the two fingers he was hammering. The clerk brought him nails. He picked out the sizes he wanted, and left. Well, doc, the next guy who came in was a blind man. He wanted scissors. How do you suppose he asked for them?"

Indulgently, I lifted by right hand and made scissoring motions with my first two fingers. Whereupon my auto-repair man laughed raucously and said, "Why, you dumb jerk, He used his voice and asked for them." Then he said smugly, "I've been trying that on all my customers today." "Did you catch many?" I asked. "Quite a few," he said, "but I knew for sure I'd catch you." "Why is that?" I asked. "Because you're so goddamned educated, doc, I knew you couldn't be very smart."

And I have an uneasy feeling he had something there.

http://www.haverford.edu/writingprogram/Asimov.html

Hail yee!

So, we’re into February, the cycle is back into the swing of things.

I think to myself what’s around the bend? I see financial lessons, possibly some sad times, some new found inspiration, some new relationships that will run out in a short but valuable time, leaving me wanting more, and may not be with the people I hope, but none the less they will lead to inspiration which will last long past the relationship.

I just stepped off the in-accurate scale showing 250, not my goal but maybe! Just maybe! If this scale is not reporting on the low-side, I can come close. I don’t think I can get to 245 in 3 days but stranger things have happened.

I’m getting over a rather uncomfortable cold which I originally thought was picked up from my brother, then my co-worker and now maybe a different co-worker. I believe I’ve mentioned before that McKesson is not exactly a sterile medical company – we send technicians (nerds are inherently uninterested in self-presentation nor hygiene) into hospitals all over North America and then herd them up into an office so they can exchange their finds… I should be glad that I work in a male dominated department – travelers plus sexual relations… nevermind, they wouldn’t be interested anyway.

These are somewhat hard times as well – I’m finding it very difficult to accept the daily grind again. The work is not hard, I deal with things better than I have in the past – learning to smooth the ups & downs is something I’ve exceeded at very nicely from previous endeavors – I feel that some valuable skills have been learned over the year at McKesson. But not socially nor confidence. I find myself still longing for the people my age [I don’t think this is valid anymore] – I did a classic Dane mistake, put my proverbial eggs in one basket and the basket is slowly falling to the ground and nothing but a dumbfounded reaction is on my face. I know I want to catch the basket, I know there are more eggs to put in the basket even if it does drop but I’m unsure if I should gather more eggs because I tried hard to keep these eggs safe and was unsuccessful… How hard is it to keep some fucking eggs safe one might ask? And I thought it was a simple task – not from previous experience but from how others make it seem.  Am I bad judge of character? Did the character change? Did my own perspective change dramatically? What can be done? I must learn this lesson here and now, don’t run away from it; and for shit sake deal with it soon for there are bigger problems in the pipe – not more important problems, just bigger. I hope this isn’t one of those times when things have to get worse before they get better. And all awhile I’m just getting older, watching the days fly by like it was what I always wanted [amused…], until something will hit me and I’ll think ‘damn it, why wasn’t their a warning sign’ the answer unfortunately will be because you’re alone, Dane. I will question yet again, was this not what I really wanted? I know of only one person on this planet that can share this thought with me; they joined the ‘call-him-emo’ club, which is a tight club of 2 – I despise their association for what it stands for, even tho they never speak directly to each other. Does this give their evaluation more value? Maybe I should accept my emo name, afterall, its just one more title; not for the job application or the personal details section on nexopia.

I admit I picked this quote before I wrote the previous paragraph…

"If a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, what is the significance of a clean desk?" ~ Laurence J. Peter