Doh

I used to think all my problems stem from a healthy mix of cynicism, laziness and a well nurtured inferiority complex. But then I had 1 of these epiphanic moments the dude gets when the dude’s locked in his room with a ton load of work that he has no plans of starting on, and I thought I should put this one down.

The reason for my life being filled with sheepish moments (some1 commented that I use the word sheepish too many times in the blog. Hmm) has to do with an acute lack of being able to do 4 different things with 4 different limbs at a time. I mean, mentally juggling half a dozen thought streams in parallel, no issues…but asking me to pay attention to what my left hand AND my right hand are to do at the same time…that’s a bit too much.

My engg friends have no problems recounting the absolute cluelessness of my being during those carpentry workshop days when I’d be asked to turn a block of wood into some not so random shape. You were expected to keep a foot on the pedal to regulate the machine speed, you were to keep both hands on the chisel to dig into the wood, now turning at speeds of bout 100 rpm, and you were to keep an eye out for the emergency stop button. Also dodge incidental wood chips. Keep in mind that you don’t cut too much or too little. Ignore the carpentry prof sneering at his new village idiot.

Got worse during 2nd year, when we had full blown 8 hour slog sessions on the lathe. The lathe is a high precision machine used for turning raw steel blocks into cylindrical components of exacting dimensions. They come in the average size of a small car, and they’ve got a zillion things to align and tighten and rotate and control with both hands while the steel’s being ripped into by sharp cutting tools, at speeds of bout 400 rpm. Steel chips are hot and sharp and they fly off without warning. The liquid coolant has to be fed constantly and in the right amount. There’s a set of wheels for moving the tool into the steel, and another for moving it along the steel. Both have to be co-ordinated manually and continuously, to get the cut you would want. All this while you’re wearing heavy protective overalls in a place that is muggy at the best of times.

Of course, once you get the hang of it, people need to physically hoist you off the machine to get you to stop and go home. But until that happened…it was hell. There were guys (and well…girls too) who worked as if they were born to do that machine. I was the uncoordinated Yeti who’d get a good ear twist from the supervisor every 5 minutes. There’s always something I forget to do, or something I could do in isolation, but not alongwith another 7 things.

This pattern resurfaces when trying to learn the bike too. Gears, clutch, front and rear brakes, accelerator, indicator lights, other idiot motorists, idiot pedestrians, traffic lights…too much to look out for. I know…you smug folks have done it already. My co-ordination levels just aren’t upto it. Notice I play football, not cricket. Combining footwork with balance, ball length, pace, swing, spin and field positions….please. Give me random running and thumping the football any day.

The Yeti does see a new spatio-kinetic problem appearing on the distant horizon. All his life he’s been hoping it wouldn’t be as distant as it were, but he could use the time now to sort this out.

Women. Them and their seven erogenous zones. You see, what triggered this epiphany was the Friends scene where Monica does the whole female body mapping scene for Chandler on how to get Joey’s ex gf (the short haired brunette girl) all pleasured up…the scene where she goes a 3, a 4 and a 6,a 3 and a 1 , a 5 and a 2….all the way upto 7! 7!! 7!!!.

My money says the girl’s going to give me the village idiot sneer before 10 minutes.

Current favorite :

Carry on my wayward son
Kansas