The Inner Bean

I don’t know what it is about scientists, maybe it was all those revenge of the nerds movies during the 80’s, but let’s face it people, the new face of science is ME-YOW!  Long gone are the days of Poindexter with his polyester pants and horn-rimmed glasses… well, maybe the glasses are still here, but they’re not so dorky as they used to be.  Just ask all the chicks who think the character Noah Bennett from Heroes is sexy. And come on, tell the truth, who hasn’t thought Steve Jobs was just a little bit sexy while they were synching their iPod?

Lo, tho, before I digress, as I am want to do from time to time, I couldn’t help but marvel the changing face of science.  And not just science, but all things once considered “nerd” are now tres chic. Take the recent trend in ghost hunting.  Compare the original “Ghost Hunters” from the 1980’s film, “Ghost Busters” to today’s savvy sleuths.  Now I”m sure there are women who aren’t afraid to admit to finding Venkman and Egon just a tad bit attractive, they were certainly no Jason Hawes and Grant Wilson from TAPS, or Josh Gates of Destination Truth.

The first ime I noticed this trend was in college while taking a space and aeronautics course to fulfill credit requirements. I went into the class thinking I was going to spend three days away using toothpicks to hold my eyelids open, but the professor, who was only about 8 years older then me, was so passionate about science (and not hard to look at either…) that I found myself paying attention to thinks about the Kuiper Belt (including how to spell it properly!!) that I would have never retained had the professor looked like Ben Stein.

And it’s not just hot science guys, either. One environtmental science professor I had managed to pack a classroom full of 20 year old men twice a week.  There were about 4 women in the entire class of about 35 students…. And they actually participated in quite a bit of the class discussion because they enjoyed the attention she lavished on them.

Now here’s the thing… if this trend became realized they could slap sexy science teachers into classrooms all over the world and people would actually LEARN things.  They might even find that they LIKED science.  Imagine the things we could do  with a country full of young minds filled up on astrophysics and geoscience.

And if you get the chance, check out NOVA’s next airing of Monster of the Milky Way on PBS.  It’s a very sexy program all about black holes.  Maybe not all of the scientists in it are sexy, but there were a few, and beside a growing appreciation for science IS sexy.  You will be too if you watch it.

I’m excited to announce that in the last 12 days I have had two of my stories accepted for publication.  Both stories are creative nonfiction memoirs.  The first to be accepted is titled “Manhunt,” and recaps a romantic game of flashlight tag from my youth.  It will appear in the January 2009 edition of Watershed: The Journal of the Susquehanna.

Last night I received notification that another creative nonfiction piece I wrote about my daughter growing up titled, “I Do Believe in Faeries” is going to be published in the November 2008 edition of MotherVerse Magazine.  Check out their page for subscription information!

I’m very excited. I haven’t written many memoirs since graduation, but both of these publications has me a little itchy and I think it may be just what the writer’s block doctor ordered to get he creative juices flowing again.

don’t drink much. Mostly because I come from long lines of alcoholism on both sides of my the family and the first time I felt out of control, I realized I didn’t want to give up the social aspect of drinking by giving into the demons.

When I was twenty-one I got a job working in a bar. My friend at the time and I had begun frequenting the place on our occasional night away from the kids and husbands. While chatting with one of my future bosses, we jokingly asked him what we had to do to get a job working in such a cool place. It was called the Classic Rock Cafe, and while in retrospect I can’t for life of me figure out what we thought was so cool about it, it was as if I’d walked into the place my very firstt ime and known a part of my future would be dedicated to that world.

Half-drunk, I met my real future boss and had an interview with him. He thought we were hilarious because we had been drinking. He asked why he should give me a job and I said, “Because I’m one of the most awesome people you will ever have the pleasure of meeting.” That must have been enough because the next afternoon the kitchen manager called me and asked when I could start working. She was the real reason I was sent there by the universe, as she would become one of my bestest friends in the whole world. Her name was Rita and she was like iron, but the two of us hit it off right away. We soon became an unstoppable force in the establishment, and many a late night after work was spent on the other side of the bar nursing our sorrows away.

I can’t say that those weren’t some of the most incredibly hilarious days of my life. At the time I was thinner than I am now, and I had a host of guys who came in there to flirt with me whenever I’d tend bar. After about a year there was a group of us that had grown so close we gathered weekly and poisoned ourself after work in a corner booth. We’d down our flaming doctor pepper shots, slam down Alabama Slammers and kamakazis, but nothing could get started until Rita and I had our nightly shot of Bailey’s Irish Cream on the rocks. After that, the serious drinking started, and fortunately we were lucky enough to have a designated driver to cart us all home at the end of the night. Rita’s husband Rob, who worked the door as a bouncer, rarely had more than a beer just so the rest of us could slosh ourselves.

It’s been a few years now since the whole bar was shut down, and many of us lost a place that still manages to haunt our dreams. About 8% of my nightly wanderings take me back to that place, and those days. Out of all of the people I once knew there, the only one I still speak to is Rita, but neither of us has much desire to drink like we used to. It was that out of control feeling that did me in. That wake up with your tongue stuck to the carpeted roof of your mouth with your skull cracking opened feeling was not something I wanted to spend an eternity nursing away. I actually have an incredibly low tolerance for alcohol, and a few drinks are enough to poison my blood.

However, tonight, as I nurse the last few shots in a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Creme before bed, I can’t help but remember the laughter we shared with fondness. Sure, we still laugh, and most of it is done without the aid of tequila and Jack. I don’t mind that we don’t drink, but I do miss the camaraderie we shared.

Does everyone reach that stage in life, when fear factors into every decision you make? And I don’t mean just the major decisions, like “Should I tell my job to stuff their pretentious we’ll pay you whenever we fracking feel like policy up their ass…” but even the minor ones, like “Should I leave the house today?”   No don’t get me wrong.  I’m no agoraphobic, despite my daughter’s curiosity on whether or not I ever leave the house… lo, though I do digress.

I keep bringing up to Jason how much I think we need to take more risks.  Risks are scary.  My biggest joke has been that I’m going to become a badass Harley bitch because since I was about eleven I’ve had an irrational fear of driving, especially motorcycles and quads.  I was twenty-one before I even tested for my driver’s license and started to drive myself around because the idea of driving a car around so many careless morons made me want to throw up.

Most of these fears came from my youth.  I grew up with two younger brothers, all of us close enough in age to be party to each other’s likes and dislikes.  Growing up we had a dirtbike at one point, the neighbors had four wheelers, my dad had a moped.  When I was about eleven, my eight year old brother (who taught himself how to ride a two wheel bike without training wheels when he was four years old,) convinced me to take the dirtbike for a spin.  So I did, despite my reservations of imminent death and doom.  I get on, he showed me where the gas was, but not he brakes. I set off into the woods behind the house and panicked when I started to feel like I was going too fast.  Not being familiar with the brake system, I gunned the gas and went flying into a literal tangle of weeds so thick that I didn’t need brakes anymore.  I did need poison sumac and ivy treatment for about a month.

About two years later a girl I grew up with (who was really more like one of the guys than that 1980’s movie about the high school reporter who pretends to be a guy to get the inside scoop, so I will cal her a guyrl,) invited a friend over on his four wheeler.  Everyone took a turn, but when it was my turn, I said no thanks. They laughed and poked me with sticks, finally convincing me there was nothing to be afraid of. Easier said than realized. I started off down the driveway, again having that similar anxiety over the brakes, and when I couldn’t stop I literally flintstoned it, holding the four wheeler against my own leg strength until the guy came down and helped me. I was lucky not o break my legs!!  Needless to say, my guyrl friend and I took a spin down the road and back about half and hour later, with me riding on the back.  She turned to look over her shoulder and saw a car coming, and when she turned she jerked the steering, flipping the four wheeler into our neighbors mailbox.  I landed first, she landed on top of me and the four wheeler landed on top of her.  To this day, I cry when I look at the lawn tractor and wonder what I would do if my wonderful husband wasn’t here to mow the lawn.

The horror story continues… at he time I was around sixteen and all of my friends were getting their license to drive, my dad started to encourage me to drive.  The thing is, encouragement and my dad are not on familiar terms with one another. In fact, they are mortal enemies, I think.   One day while I was backing down the driveway, I stopped at the end.  There was a car coming from the end of the road, but a normal driver could have pulled out in time and not even come near the other car. I start to back out when my dad freaks.  He screamed and started to open the door, hollaring, “What the fuck is wrong with you. I don’t want o fucking die!  Why are you trying to kill me? Fuck fuck fuck!”   Anyone who knows my dad can testify that he really used to talk like that, though meeting him today you might not believe it.

So… I latched onto some friends who had drivers’ licenses after that, and refused to learn how to drive myself until I was twenty-one.

Now, as an adult I look at my life quite often from the perspective of that frightened teenager doing donuts in the middle of the road while her dad screams like a sea captain.  I approach change with extreme caution, and often if it gets too hairy or scary, I back away. When I first went to college in 2002 I was HORRIFIED!  I literally broke out in hives during orientation, and felt completely unsure of myself.  What if they laughed because I was older, what if all those guidance counselors who didn’t believe I could ever go to college were right?  I had always deemed myself fairly intelligent, but what if I was wrong?  What if Math was right and I was stupid?

The moral of that story was that I found out all along that I was right. That I could do it, and it turned out to be an awesome experience.  It even became comfortable to the point where once I was on the verge of graduation I cried because I didn’t want to leave.  Now, despite that experience I feel like I’m right back where I started in a lot of ways. Fear keeps me from stepping outside my comfort zone when I know I need to push the limits and really live. No amount of self-help reading or psychological advice has the power to change that, only I can and I know it.

It’s just fear. Why do we let it factor into so many of our decisions? Why do I let govern my happiness, when I know if I just kicked it to the curb I’d probably be a lot happier with myself and my choices.