My boss doesn’t get me. Maybe no one does. This alarms me.
I just asked my boss, Mark, a great guy who I think of as a brother, if our section of the newspaper — the Scene, or entertainment section of the paper — was big tomorrow. And he said, “It’s not small.”
I stifled the urge to make a dirty joke, took the high road and went with the Honeycomb cereal joke. “Well, you know, Honeycomb’s big… yeah, yeah yeah. It’s not small… no, no no” I said to him without singing (that would be unprofessional!) and he just looked at me, stonefaced.
He doesn’t get pop culture, and I’m OK with that. But the Honeycomb commercial? Who doesn’t know that?
I consider myself a Pop Culture Savant, since I remember years and years worth of songs, commercials and individual scenes from bad sitcoms, including those involving Boner from “Growing Pains” (may he rest in peace.) So yeah, maybe I’m judging my boss and all the others too harshly. Maybe I’M the one with the problem.
Could it be that this skill, or curse, of mine, this remembering of every level of useless data, isn’t translatable to normal human beings? Could I be just THAT big of a weirdo?
This reminds of a scene from “Freaks and Geeks.” Fuck. I am that weird.
The Garish Chicken 