Geeks, your pointless facts are everything that is RIGHT with the world

Adam Rainer was a dwarf and a giant in his lifetime? Tsutomu Yamaguchi survived both Hiroshima and Nagasaki? Everest may eventually be overtaken? 

The truly sad thing is, these are conversations I have with myself. No one else seems to want to know. I personally love such facts, they are mind shattering. Thought provoking. Humbling. I feel sorry for anyone that rolls their eyes upon hearing one, who doesn’t want to know that a chicken lived for 16 months without a head? Will a chicken ever beat that? How long has a human lasted? Nothing close to that I hope but the point is, hearing something so absurd you become much more pensive. So many more questions begin to circulate internally, ones that have never previously been considered.

You may be one to appreciate a fact more suited to you. How many calories are in your salad. How many miles to the gallon your car can do. How much your favourite team is spending on players this season. This is fine, to each their own I suppose. 

In a thousand years do you think your descendants will be interested in your favourite salad? 

‘They used to use petrol to get around?!’

‘Accrington Stanley? Who are they?!’

  
I prefer to think my greatest of great grandchildren will find it more stimulating comparing Everest’s height in their era with the height at the time of this post. How humans may have evolved to a height in which our basketball players are the size of their horse jockeys. Pointless facts are not useless, they are a fantastic glimpse into the absurdities in our world that are overshadowed by the bland, normal existence we see as acceptable. 

  
 Future historians will yawn, not gasp at the talk show DNA tests we watch today.

Do you watch Top Gear (which I am currently doing now, thanks Clarkson for the inspiration) to marvel at the 250mph speeds a Bugatti Veyron can reach? The ISS travels at speeds of 17,000 miles per hour around Earth. That’s five miles a second. Despite one statistic knocking the other out of orbit, I know which one will be more acceptable at a party.
  
So why is this? Why do I feel pressured into suppressing my desire to talk of the endless stream of mind blowing facts, begging to be shared on a daily basis?

It’s an intellectual travesty. When I overhear a conversation on yesterday’s episode of a soap opera, I really do wonder what it would be like to be that enthusiastic on something so… underwhelming.

I know I will never be accepted around that water cooler. That is fine by me, mine is cooler anyway. 

Even if I appreciate it alone.

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