Not a place to hide

The 2009 Annual Gathering of American Mensa is in the books. Over 1800 people attended, many people worked really hard, and just about everybody had fun. All that, and Dr. Demento, too.

My adolescence (at least the good part of it) flashed before my eyes when the Doctor gave his presentation on his 50 years in radio. His multimedia presentation was loaded with favorites from his show, such as “Fish Heads,” “Dead Puppies,” and several tracks from Weird Al Yankovic. I revisited a musical world that I once thought was known only to me, but as I looked around the room, I saw that I wasn’t alone after all.

I was given the honor of driving Dr. D from and to the airport. The Doctor is quite reserved off the mike, a contrast to his manic radio personality. He’s still an encyclopedia of musical knowledge off the air, but my conversations with him went all over the place—his hometown of Minneapolis, a collegiate trip across the country on a Vespa scooter, his stints as a roadie for Canned Heat and Spirit, and what Barnes and Barnes are doing now.

I also caught up with many of the people who have been a big part of the story of my life over the past decade. While I haven’t had the chance to attend as many Mensa gatherings over the past two years, Mensa has been, and continues to be, the crux of my social life. I met my wife through Mensa, and we were married at a Mensa function.

I’ve often asked myself, “Why Mensa?” The easy answer is that I get along better with Mensans than I do with the general population, but that just leads to another “Why?”

Is it because I have common interests with them? To some degree, yes. Like many Mensans, I know the words (Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!) to many (He’s just pining for the fjords!) Monty (Now go away or I shall taunt you a second time!) Python routines. But I can get lost in their conversations on many other topics, just as easily as I can in a non-Mensan conversation. And not all of my interests are especially Mensan (I’m still waiting to meet another Mensan with more than a passing interest in horse racing).

Is it because Mensans are inherently kinder or more tolerant than non-Mensans? Anybody who has been involved in Mensa politics knows that’s not true. Mensans can be downright cruel at times. These are, after all, people who hooted when Dr. Demento mentioned a radio station “right here in Philadelphia.”

The other morning, I had one of what my wife calls “epiphanettes,” one of those little insights that tend to hit me when I’m not looking.

I think I found the reason why Mensa gatherings are the only place where I don’t feel like the rear end of a pantomime horse. (Enough with the Python already, Bob!)

Mensa is the only place where I don’t have to hide my intelligence.

It sounds a bit silly on the surface. Why hide your intelligence? The better question is, why show it? Sometimes I wonder why they call people of Mensan-level intelligence “gifted.” Unless that gift happens to be of a specific type that an employer is willing to pay a large sum of money for, it’s a gift as appealing as an ugly tie. The only solution for many of us is not to wear that tie.

Many people are so insecure about their intelligence that they resent the gifted. We are taught from an early age to avoid one-upping classmates, teachers, family, co-workers, and bosses in order to get along in life. Mensa is the one place where we’re able to let the geek flag fly.

One unfamiliar with Mensans might be surprised at the occupations they hold. To trot out a cliché, they do come from all walks of life. Yes, computer geeks are common. There are also lawyers, teachers, doctors, writers, scientists, plumbers, mechanics, electricians, and, yes, a now-retired adult film star. There’s one occupation that I’ve always found under-represented—college professors. (And please don’t bombard my inbox with the names of Mensan professors. I’m going by my own experience here.) My theory? They don’t need Mensa because they don’t have to hide their gifts in the real world.

So to the 1800-plus who attended the 2009 AG, I hope you had a great time. I’ll see you down the road when I have the means to come out of hiding again.

Cheerio, when the moon sails along
In your heart, sing a bright little song
Someday I’ll kiss away your troubles and woe
Cheerio, cherry lips, cheerio
And don’t forget to stay demented!

Dementions and dementites...

Imagine getting the chance to meet Michael Jordan, Paul McCartney, or someone else who was your hero when you were young.

The Flying Spaghetti Monster willing, I will get that opportunity in July.

It started a few months ago when plans were being made for the 2009 Annual Gathering of American Mensa, which will be held in Pittsburgh 4th of July weekend. The theme is “AM-FM, About Mensans, For Mensans.” Since the AG is the year’s biggest Mensa event, there’s a dinner with a keynote speaker. I started thinking about the theme, and one speaker leaped out at me, so I made the suggestion to the AG speaker chair, Brea Ludwigson.

Earlier this week, I learned that the plans are on.

Dr. Demento is coming to the 2009 AG.

It’s more than an honor to finally meet the man who provided the soundtrack for my Wonder Years.

Thanks to someone desperately in need of a life, I can pinpoint the night—actually, the moment—when I first heard The Dr. Demento Show.

I was 12 at the time, and my tastes in music—and just about everything else—were starting to set me apart from my peers. I already preferred The Beatles to The Bee Gees, Chicago to Boston, and Al Stewart to Rod Stewart (although I should note that, at the time, Rod was slogging through dreck like “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy?”). I watched every British comedy that Channel 34 showed (we all know about Monty Python, but how many Americans remember “Dave Allen at Large”? Or “No, Honestly”?). And I actually—gasp!—read for fun. And I couldn’t figure out why I didn’t have a date for the eighth grade dinner dance?

So, one night (apparently, Oct. 22, 1978), I was flipping through the FM stations trying to find a rabbit hole to crawl in before I went to sleep and came across Q-FM-96, which, like most album-rock stations in the late ‘70s, played “Stairway to Heaven” and “Free Bird” on a continuous loop. I was not expecting to hear Cheech and Chong singing the theme from Up in Smoke. This was followed by “There’s a New Sound”—which was “the sound that’s made by worms.” Don’t ask.

Within weeks, Dr. Demento had replaced "American Top 40" as my required Sunday radio listening. Not only was I taping the show to play during the week, I was writing the lyrics to Funny 5 favorites in a notebook. There was “Fish Heads,” “Dead Puppies,” “They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa!” and the demented oeuvres of Allan Sherman, Tom Lehrer, Shel Silverstein, and, of course, Frank Zappa.

It wasn’t all songs about dead dogs and seafood detritus, though. Some of the show’s best parts came when Dr. D got deep into music history. He could go on about what ASCAP and BMI were and how they came to be, or how “Yes! We Have No Bananas” became a big hit in the 1920s. I was just as likely to hear Al Jolson on the show as Weird Al Yankovic.

It was during these years that Weird Al first gained airplay with “My Bologna” on his way to mainstream fame. He was interviewed “under the smogberry trees,” as were Zappa and demented music makers ranging from Lenny and Squiggy to Barnes and Barnes. While a Funny 5 favorite occasionally received mainstream airplay, nobody else that I knew really cared about this music. It was, as far as I knew, my own, private musical world. And, apparently, it was, as the Q stopped carrying the show in 1982 due to low ratings (although it has resurfaced on that station on Sunday mornings).

It was not until I started going to RGs regularly in my 30s that I learned that I was, indeed, not alone. There are many people in Mensa who are, to paraphrase The great Luke Ski, true “D” fans—who own every Weird Al CD, once drove three hours to see DaVinci’s Notebook, and can recite “Earache My Eye” from memory (not just the song, but the father-son tirade as well).

And so it was, when I found out that the AG would have a radio theme, I could think of only one choice for a keynote speaker.

As Wayne and Garth would have said, WE’RE NOT WORTHY!