This isn’t one of those moments of self-deprecation that’s supposed to come off as charming or humorous. It’s a legitimate concern. Seriously, I was struggling with the grammatical structure of the title of this post as I typed it.
Now I know what some of you might be thinking. “Well, there are two different kinds of smarts… there’s street smart and then there’s book smart.” Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure “street smarts” was a term made up by the parents of kids who weren’t book smart so they didn’t feel so bad about themselves. But even then, what kind of street smarts am I supposed to get from middle-upper class, predominantly white suburbia? So assuming there is such a thing as street smarts (which I’m pretty sure there isn’t) I still don’t have it.
Moving on from this fallacy of street smarts, my only other option is book smarts. Now I’m pretty sure I have a grasp on the written word, a tenable one at least. If only books were just words… but no, “book smarts” implies some sort of rudimentary grasp on math, science, and all the other subjects I choked down in high school. (See, I couldn’t even come up with more than those two subjects!)
But let’s just focus on math for a minute, shall we? See, math is important to know for a number of reasons. I’m not talking about that Algebra 2 stuff, I’ve never used that outside of, well, Algebra 2. I’m talking very basic math. Counting, addition, subtraction, that sorta stuff.
Proof positive that I don’t even have a basic grasp on that level of math? Well, the proof is actually all over my body. Those of you who have been reading my indecipherable thoughts for awhile now, know that I have tattoos. I talk about them from time to time, but for those of you who are new to scene, I have tattoos.
Just how many, you ask? What a valid question. For awhile I would have told you 9. That’s at least what I’ve been telling people for the past couple of months. The problem? Well, I got my 10th tattoo approximately 2 or 3 months ago.
That’s right, I can’t even count to 10. It doesn’t seem like it should be too hard, but evidently for a 24-year-old film student, it doesn’t get much harder than that. I’ve figured out how to count by now… only took me 24 years though.
So there you have it. Evidence that I’m obviously not very smart and probably shouldn’t be trusted to do much else besides re-stock the water cooler in some corporate office building. You don’t need to be smart for manual labor… right?