A beautiful mindlessness

Took an online IQ test today (web.tickle.com). Not that I’ve ever given much credence to formal standardised testing systems - not in kindergarten, school, college or job situations, all requiring me to score brownie points by being a consummate brown-noser of authority figures. Brown-nosing, the world’s greatest, most deeply entrenched art form, as imperishable as tax, as innate in humans as prostitution. Regardless, I was, congenitally, implacably, the messiah, the Scrooge of all art critics.

    

I took the test for a lark, to tickle.com my funny bone, which of late, has been out of joint, so to speak - growing alarmingly in all directions, angling, poking through my skin at various embarrassing junctures; I’ve caught myself giggling once too often recently, often uncontrollably, and without aid of Joint. What’s up? Should I see a shrink, you think? "Doctor, I’m happy. Why?" And he’d look at me as if on the verge of profound breath-quickening revelation, and say, "Why don’t you tell me why you’re feeling this...strange emotion suddenly. And while you’re telling me I’ll just siphon all your money into my bank account, shall I?"

Anyway, I digress. I scored - and this really tickles my melon - a 133 on the test, over twenty points more than my score in college. So what happened? Did my ‘intelligence’ swell in tandem with my ego over the years? Or did I leave my brain in that high school class that had twenty slavering men and over a hundred pheromonal young women, and me cowering - traumatised forever by so much sex - in a cobwebby corner, hoping nobody would point me out. What’s possessed me, suddenly?

Let me tell you. It’s the mathematical and meta-logical new Brain from Outer Space, one I never thought I’d be the unwilling owner of. Why do I say this? Because my test results defy not just logic, but gravity and science and all that jazz. I scored in the 100th percentile in math and logic, defy that. I mean, maths was, unequivocally, and to my father’s great chagrin, my weakest subject, my Achilles’ heel on a body covered with similar heels. I did well in history, geography, English, and occasionally chemistry, for some reason, but I nearly failed ninth grade because of my math handicap. Physically I was a chip off the old block, but when it came to that old bugbear, Education, that travesty of a mockery of a sham of a mockery of a travesty of two mockeries, I was a failure. Somehow I just couldn’t get it together in my head to do battle with this ogre, this numerical Rumplestiltskin that had me by the nuts. Here was a subject that my dad had naturally excelled at, had always scored cent percent marks in it at every final examination ever contrived, and thus had every right to his engorged...expectations, but me, I just wallowed, flailed and floundered, to sink eventually and irrevocably in the mire of mathematical myopia. And that’s that, I thought. Or so I thought. And-
     

But you know what. Dad also studied eighteen hours a day (a conservative estimate - and he is very conservative) for his tenth grade finals, so that kind of puts paid to the theory of ‘natural penchant.’
      

For some reason, my linguistic abilities have eroded over the years, because I scored in the mere 90th percentile on this test. A hoot. I mean, not to shine my knob to a fine sparkle or anything, but I was the only one in my entire school (while I was in the seventh grade) who knew the meaning of the word jactation. And that’s no idle boast. When I used it in a class essay, the English teacher circled the word in red and put a question mark next to it. So, what’s up, doc? Do we really turn into our parents after a certain age? (Some people do it within seconds of being born, but that’s another story, morning glory.)
      

These, snigger, snigger, are some of the things my test results had to say:
          You've got a very experiential way of learning and a strong mathematical mind (A Beautiful Mind?). You're able to whittle even the most complex situation down to comprehensible component parts. In short, you have mastered the art and science of precision. That's what makes you a Precision Processor (why do I feel like a food/juice processor?).
          For you, life is a series of equations (No Sex + No Money = Tortured Artistry + Cheap Dope). Your brain is naturally predisposed to intense mathematical acuity (what, no chemicals?), and your understanding of numerical problems is unparalleled. It's second nature for you to cut to the heart of an issue, so that you can discover quick solutions to problems while others get bogged down in unnecessary details.
           One Precision Processor that comes to mind is the Greek philosopher-mathematician, Pythagoras. Pythagoras had a mind for numbers and, as such, could come up with previously unknown theories like his method for calculating the sides of a right triangle (a2+b2=c2). You too, can use numbers to translate aspects of the world around you - something that doesn't come easily to everyone. Your quick mathematical mind will allow you to communicate a variety of ideas to other people, so don't keep it to yourself. (And thus the Blog, dude).
            Great Jobs For You:
                    Scientist
                    Mathematician
                    Accountant
                    Data Analyst
                    Musician
                    Astronomer
                    Researcher
                    Physicist

Or, None of the above, because you see, my mathematical genius of a mind has just computed that:

Any job = A Big Pain in the Butt - especially for my imaginary g/f who has to put up with my existential tirades day and night, and boy, is she tirade of it.