Who Is The Captain??

They say you can tell a lot about a person by the company he keeps; this gets a little tricky with bloggers who choose to remain hidden behind the veil of a purposely ambiguous literary persona, but there are some general conclusions that can be reached. Given that my company is a virtual readership, maybe I can glean some things from their commentary and suggestions. Factor in natural instinct and social conditioning, and you can at least draw a composite sketch of yours truly. So let’s try!

The Virtual Company I Keep…

The suggestions for blogging topics that I most frequently receive from my Myrmidons fall into several categories:

· Fire play – This one makes sense since I began my stagnated writing career by penning pearls of Fire Safety wisdom in the name of feigned corporate concern as a “Floor Captain,” who is, to summarize, the dumbass who got snookered into staying behind and making sure everyone else on his floor gets out safely before he is consumed by the fires of Hades (even my language and my obsession for long and random parentheticals like this one say a lot about who I am or, more clinically, what I suffer from; I am the quintessential Generation X Existentialist and suffer from life – it gets me all amped up and I just can’t help myself and I get all excited and hyper, which extends to my writing).

What does this reveal about The Captain? Very little, really; especially since becoming a Floor Captain wasn’t an intentional move but the result of a cruel practical joke by co-workers. Writing mock fire safety bulletins was my revenge, so I guess you can say The Captain was born out of pettiness and a childish need for revenge. Sounds about right.

· Physical Features – Most especially, bad haircuts (think butch mullet), fat (layers and layers of it), ass cracks (nothing says “adolescent” like laughing at butt cracks!), and tacky and/or slutty prom clothes.

What does this say about the true identity of The Captain? That I loved 6th grade and never really left it! (Coincidentally, that is the last year I attended the same school as my archenemy Denise Bodner, the girl who humiliated me in front of my prepubescent male brethren by kicking my ass in a running race along the girl/boy playground dividing line. Sometimes my therapists and I muse that all of my problems stem from this event and we even joke that the only solution is to go back and repeat 6th grade for a second time, challenge the girl in the wheelchair to a race, exorcise my demons by eking out a victory after the wheelchair brake mysteriously engages, and then celebrate by skipping school and heading to Barella’s Tavern for some afternoon billiards and beer, just like the good old days; but then we quickly sober up when we consider the consequences of me losing again).

· Stupidity – Way too many examples to mention, but often involve people lighting themselves or their “friends” on fire or trading human infants for malt liquor, back rent, or Pokémon cards (only the part about Pokémon was made up, by the way).

What does this tell you about me? To borrow an acronym from the appendix-like Project Management Community, I am a SME (Subject Matter Expert) on stupidity. And just so you can understand my metaphor, the appendix is a superfluous human organ – it’s there but serves no purpose.

My Natural Instincts…

· Sexuality – Human beings (and yes I am one!) are sexual beings and, as all males learn very early in life, talking about sex intelligently is not something men are wired to do, so we make crude jokes about it; masturbation will always get a laugh with guys because we will never be comfortable talking about it openly. And as that cute redheaded psychologist expert that I blogged about acknowledged, men are obsessed with breasts, as evidenced by my blogs on this touchy subject about historical slang for the female bosom. As far as women go, I can honestly state that I have no idea what women think about sex; any guy who claims otherwise is jerking your chain (and probably his own as well!) I have actually written a draft of a book about a man and his dog who have a special telepathic connection which results in interesting conversations about human and canine sexuality, The Captain’s creative yet dysfunctional attempt to broach the subject.

My Environment... To begin at the beginning, The Cliff Notes of The Captain’s Childhood:

· Born in Torrington, CT, a depressed and decaying factory town on the Naugatuck river, which accounts for my proletarian bent;
· Grew up in a 2 family working class home across the street from Barella’s tavern, a formative influence in my early development; there’s something about being a 5 year old heading out to Kindergarten on a fine Spring morning and finding a bleeding, middle-aged rummy unconscious on your front lawn that leaves a lasting impression;
· Emotionally scarred for life by Denise Bodner, the girl who lived three houses down from me whom I had a secret crush on who was faster and stronger than me, something her brothers and my sisters never let me forget;
· Speaking of sisters, The Boy Captain was a middle child, sandwiched between TWO sisters, one 2 years older and the other a year younger; for some strange reason, my mother would always blame me whenever she found dismembered Barbie torsos with anatomically accurate pencil markings underneath the couch cushions; a restraining order was issued and I was not allowed to be in the same room as a Barbie doll. Shortly thereafter, I found my GI Joe with life-like hair hanging from my bedroom doorknob by a wire.
· Eventually graduated from Torrington High School after showing remarkably little talent for writing, or anything else for that matter. The one exception was a handwritten treatise written on a cafeteria napkin lampooning all the graduating seniors who had offended me in real or imagined ways. It was long and, to those not targeted, funny.
· Attended Marist College; graduated in four years, leaving with a solid two months of retained memories I am prohibited from divulging per the conditions of my probation. The rest of my time fell into a black hole or a blackout, or some black magic, but if my friends are to be believed, a good time was had by all. After college, it’s all downhill anyway, as evidenced by my current vocation of tortured author/insurance professional.

What does this say about me? Not a clue, but it certainly means any dumbass can get a college degree. Listen, I’ve known me for most of my life and can’t even begin to explain this bizarre concoction of plasma and spirit. Have another drink. I’m gonna.

Captainesque Trivia. Did you know that The Captain…

· Can translate three, count ‘em, three dead languages? Yup. Latin, Koine Greek, and ancient Hebrew. I have also been accused of butchering to death modern English.
· Owns a kilt (there is an entire blog waiting to be written about my experience as a Scottish drummer in a bagpipe band).
· Has a pierced scrotum and is a compulsive fibber (guess which is the fib).
· Was a drummer in a garage band that was SO bad that we got booed off the stage of a 7th grade sock hop (at least the chaperones were too dumb to check our socks, so we still had a good time).
· Was once a certified Sexual Assault Crisis Counselor. Wow, that’s not funny at all (but really true).

Believe The Captain when he says: It’s best to wash your gym socks before stashing organic material in them.

Yours searching eBay for a GI Joe with life-like hair and Dominatrix Barbie,

The one and thankfully only Captain!