Monogoneutic

I am all for smart kids. If there were a Junior Nerd Olympics, I'd be there with my cowbell and giant foam pointy finger cheering on the little freaks. I was definitely a nerd (still am), and I looked the part (still do). I married a nerd, because, as you may recall from recent Discovery Channel documentaries, nerds travel in herds. I was statistically bound to marry one of my own. I also hate stupid people. My wife is a humanities nerd, which is very useful and impressive to unread people like myself. Nothing accentuates your argument better than a well-placed Milton reference. I am a science nerd. I know a lot of the typical constants (mass of the earth, Avogadro's number, the produce code for bananas) and basic conversion factors. I know exactly how many gallons of Jello it would take to fill my living room. In addition to the GPA advantage, Jello calculations are why every fraternity house typically recruits at least one nerdy physics major.

But I don't know what monogoneutic means (Google does - an adjective describing an organism that produces only one brood per year) and I couldn't spell it to save my life. But some fourth grader can.

The National Spelling Bee is one of the more depressing things to watch. These kids are absolutely brilliant--the youngest qualifer this year was eight years old. Eight years old! But I think they put their eggs in the wrong basket. They study continuously for this event. One girl read the dictionary cover-to-cover seven times. She has favorite words to spell. But when will anyone ever need to spell monogoneutic?? And these poor kids, instead of having a normal childhood, are drawing imaginary letters on their arm, contorting their features, or developing any combination of nervous tics trying to spell words that only a roomful of very specialized, even more nerdy fungal biologists would appreciate. And, at the Scripps Howard National Spelling Bee, they have a comfort room, a room set aside for the losers when their hopes are crushed because they cannot spell numnah (a saddle blanket). They need this room because the kids will cry for more than an hour after they are eliminated. How nice.

And watching this thing! Obviously, I am on duty. Otherwise I'd be doing something else besides blogging about a spelling bee. But the National Spelling Bee is more awkward than an Office episode. You sit there and watch these young kids break down on national television. The audience is just as stressed. There is no murmuring or cheering. Polite applause will do. The announcers say little, and when they do, they are usually patronizing the kids.

Anyway, I wish those children luck. I hope they turn their brilliance to a more fruitful and decidedly less stressful calling.