Complications

After the previous post today, dealing with Fone-Ettiks, I observed this of myself.  It’s windy and squirrelly in process, which validates the whole theory.

I like complicated.

I don’t like simple.

That about clears it up for everyone, right?

Here is my version of both. 

Simple:  Anything that has an easy solution, usually ending in “wait for it… It’ll resolve itself.” Or anything that has a Stupid solution that was too easy for the average person (presumably me) to figure out.  Or problems for which I know the solution (a simple one) that others, to whom the problem belongs, just can’t seem to figure out (presumably not average persons?).  I hate coat hangers.  They should be simple, but are not, especially at five in the morning.  Now that was simple, right?

Complicated:  Anything that has to be worked out.  Or anything that needs precision, care, is fairly likely to be impossible to get perfect, and requires specialized equipment that is likely to be impossible to acquire.

Take pipe-making, for example.  Exact engineering, expensive materials and tools, precise EVERYTHING (done in conditions that basically resemble a blindfolded person with one less hand and 8 fewer fingers than are required for the job).  But it has to start simple, once again looking at a pipe.  Wood, plastic, maybe a bit of metal, a hole or two… nice and easy.

Pipe (really) = Wood (really stinking expensive and only one out of three pieces is actually free enough from holes, cracks, dull spots and other flaws).  Special plastic stem, hand-or-machine-made (that’s either not really plastic or really expensive cool-looking plastic that’s easy to ruin).  Two holes drilled at various angles (around ninety degrees, normally) into a block of the Wood that doesn’t come in transparent, so you can’t really see for sure if you got it right.  Another hole drilled on top of each of the first, one of which will be the mortise for a perfectly (riiiiiight) tenon that is the stem (that hasn’t been ruined yet).  Oh, the stem has to have the perfectly drilled matching hole for the wood, too.  And I’ve gone on long enough.  Add in shaping, finishing, extra doodads and then finding all the spots where you messed up, you might get the picture.

Back to complicated.  Complicated is probably just me being myself.  I wouldn’t go far enough to say it’s me at my best, because my complicatedness usually ticks off or at least deeply concerns most.

I paint.  Not too complicated, right?  I might not be Picasso (shouldn’t even be in the same sentence with the guy).  But I do my little masterpieces on bits of glass the size of your thumbnail (tried some pinky-nail sized ones too). 

And the poetry.  What more perfect example of my version of complicated?  I can write an entire page of words surrounding a single word or thought.  And usually remain completely unfigured out.  That’s ideal me! 

This does not mean, in any way, that I’m into logic puzzles or the Stupidest Fad Puzzle To Hit The Scene In Ages.  I not only can’t do ‘em, I can’t stand ‘em.  But I’m fine with word twisting games and codes.  Taking simple stuff and combiscurbaltating it to the ends of comprehension is FUN.  Especially when there was an easy way to do it and I figured it out the hard way.  I almost got kicked out of a Search-And-Rescue mission planning school because of my obsession with complications.  I’ll not be going into that any day soon.

Does this mean I’m tootin’ my own horn about my creativity and giftedness?  Sure, that’s probable enough, and certainly not worth denial.  But the real truth of it is that I’m more often stupid about my complications (see pipes, painting in miniature, Celtic knotwork drawings, SAR and many other so-called gifts of mine).  Overdoing something in an obtuse and spectacularly 12-and-a-half-fingered way doesn’t make one a genius (but makes for some really neat mad-words (FLERKINSHEPRILLIGANNHS!).  I’ll bet Leonardo had 10 regular fingers and a brain that avoided the complications.