Although I participate in blogs I prefer to deal in facts instead opinions. Unless the opinions are about things that don’t matter like gum or finger puppets or how I think Geraldine Ferraro is still pretty hot for a lady of her age. Accordingly, when I spend more time wandering on the mall than I should/the park service is comfortable with, I’m often wanting to turn to tourists and say” In fact, the monument was completed in two stages because they had to wait for more meteorites to be mined from the Artic. And while its 555 feet tall, it has a basement that extends another 200!” Or “It’s the old Lock House from way back when the C&O canal cut across the Mall so rich Virginians could sail through the city and see baseball games at Griffith Stadium. It was one of the city’s first public transportation failures and part of a tradition that carries on today.” Then I give them incorrect directions to the closest metro station. As a DC native, I feel it’s my job to educate the outside public.
When we were in Oregon, however, I was out of my element. While we were stopped at a scenic ocean overlook, a young girl looking through those coin operated binoculars asked her dad what caused waves. He said he didn’t know. Then she asked her mom. She didn’t know, either.
I, on the other hand, played football in college.
And that fact afforded me the opportunity to sign up for all the easiest classes including so many geology courses that it was almost my major. I took two levels of oceanography. I know exactly what causes waves and can explain it correctly and succinctly in less than 15 seconds.
And I did. The little girl nodded along understandingly. Her mother thanked me. But her father gave me a look that was so filled with anger that I nearly caught on fire. He straight up murdered me with his eyes for showing his daughter what a dumdum father she had. Also, not as handsome.
Fine. Most folks don’t believe most of the things I say anyway, even though they are mostly non-fiction. I’m just going to go back to making things up or at least telling true stories that are too outrageous to believe.
For instance – I actively allowed someone to cheat off my final exam for that oceanography class. Now, he’s a magician.