Genius And A Warped Sense Of Romanticism

I watched The Aviator tonight and frankly I don't know what all the fuss was about. It's a decent movie and yes, the sets are lush, the wardrobe is probably spot on, but it's only a decent movie. Leo is decent but of course, Kate Beckinsale is SSSSSMMMOOOKKKKIIIINNNNN hot. Anyways, Howard Hughes in some senses was a genius or a pioneer of sorts. Naturally, a movie like this will only pick and choose certain aspects of his life to show this.

So here is this guy who is taking money risks on things that are way ahead of their time such as the huge wooden airplane (which looks remarkably like our C-5 Galaxy) and setting up terminals in different cities so that planes could stop and refuel. However, he was a bit on the crazy side. He saved his own piss, obsessed about germs, and washed his hands so much, he rubbed the skin away. So my thoughts naturally drift towards genius: is it a blessing or a curse?

I always have this romantic notion where I'm some sort of tortured mind whose thoughts are testing the limits of the bounds of sanity. The soul who is in his own world; able to lock out the world outside and find the good inside of your work. Maybe what I envy most about the genius personality is passion. I honestly don't have much passion in my life. I envy those who are passionate about something and pursue it with abandon. I guess I want to be inspired so much so that it becomes a passion; something that I truly love and want to do everyday. I envy those who find the most minute aspect of something and decide to dedicate their lives to it.

Then of course, there are the drawbacks to being a genius. I imagine the social life can't be that great. There probably aren't many 22 year old bikini contestants wanting to give it up to the guy researching metal alloys for use in computer chips. There probably aren't many parties being thrown at the international association of dudes researching obscure topics in subatomic things. Again however, I do admire their passion for what they do. I can only imagine the joy of an archaeologist whose life has been dedicated to ancient Greece finding a small cache of undisturbed pottery. I still have that romantic notion of spending your Friday night in the library with books stacked up to your ears, pouring over bibliographys for the smallest of quotes or concepts, just to complete a paragraph in your paper. Yeah, I know, what a warped sense of romanticism.

Science Party: These guys need to slow down before
they start tearing shit up