Nate Dern - Not Quite a Genius

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Dedicated to Scott Sweeney, Scorpion Soul Skater, and Timmy Wood, Man of Mirth

W hich one are you? an acquaintance of an acquaintance asks me at a party. This is a joke he has made after finding out that I was a contestant on a reality TV show called Beauty and the Geek . This is the joke that everyone makes when they find out this information about me. Usually it comes after the conversation turns to whatever reality TV show is currently in the zeitgeist, which leads the acquaintance to mention that, funnily enough, we have a reality TV star in our midst. Namely, me, Nate Dern. Reality TV star is a bit too generous, but ten years ago I was a reality TV contestant on the CWs Beauty and the Geek . The joke teller usually has a happy, sneaky look in his eye, like he is offering me a second piece of cake when everyone was supposed to get only one. Since the show aired ten years ago, I conservatively estimate Ive heard this joke over thirty-seven thousand times.

The logic of the joke is that everyone within earshot will agree that Nate Dern, the human standing there, is so obviously not the titular Beauty that feigning uncertainty as to whether he was the Beauty or the Geek is laughable. There was no actual confusion on the part of the joker as to which role Nate Dern this guy with glasses and the slight lisp and who just moments ago was telling us about a science podcast fulfilled on the show, since clearly Nate Dern I mean, come on, just look at him was obviously the Geek. Get it?

I dont get mad when I hear the joke, though. I like it because it means the conversation is now about me, and I like attention. Thats why, at the age of twenty-one, I chose to be on a reality show in the first place. Im not proud of it, but as I ease into my thirties Im able to admit that my affection for attention is a part of me that isnt going anywhere, just like the asymmetrical patch of Brillo-thick hair I have on my left shoulder but not my right, or my tendency to say, Its easier to stay warm than to get warm, when someone is about to go outside on a cold day without enough layers on.

When I was twenty-one, my itch for attention was acute. It was more of an attention rash than an itch, to he honest, and some days it flared up to full-blown attention hives that could be soothed only by the sweet ointment of the gaze of others. Once when hanging out with my friends Jonah and Carlton, while they werent looking I inserted all but one of a pack of matches in between my pursed lips, pincushion style, a row of red phosphorus heads facing out.

Dare me to light these on fire? I mumbled with my lips closed tightly.

No, Jonah and Carlton said in unison.

I proceeded to light the remaining match not in my mouth anyway. I raised the lit match to my mouth and, for dramatic effect, paused just before touching it to the match on the left corner of my mouth. I thought what would happen was an amusing, and slow-paced, contained burn from one side of my mouth to the other, much like a miniature Las Vegas fountain light show. What actually happened was a facial conflagration that burned off all of my eyelashes. For a brief second my face became a fireball. My eyelashes melted together, so for a moment I couldnt open my eyes. I thought I was blind. A second later I managed to blink the singed lashes apart. For the next few weeks I had stubby eyelashes. There is an uncanny valley effect that happens when a persons face is missing eyelashes, like the android manufacturer forgot one last detail before their humanoid left the factory. I didnt mind the strange looks I got, of course, because it led to people asking me why my face looked off, and for a few moments I got to be the center of attention as I told a story. And again, I like attention. I like it too much, so I do dumb things to get it.

The dumb act in pursuit of attention begets further attention in the retelling of the initial dumb act, all of which contributes to me feeling like I am important, which I call the Principle of Doing Dumb Things While Others Watch to, Paradoxically, Make Me Feel Good About Myself, and which Princeton neuroscientist Barry Jacobs calls unhealthy attention-seeking behaviors that are a cry for what serotonin provides in a depressed person. Whatever you call this personality trait, when I was offered the opportunity to be on a reality TV show, I said yes.

My reality TV show opportunity presented itself like a fully plumed peacock in mating season during my junior year of college. While I was handing out flyers for my improv team, the Immediate Gratification Players, with my friend Chris on a crisp spring day, two Hollywood Types walked up to us. Chris and I were flyering in front of the Harvard Science Center when they approached. I was wearing our teams signature red-and-yellow-striped tie. I was also sporting a foam and mesh trucker hat that originally said NANTUCKET but that Id altered with Wite-Out to say NA_T___E_. On my face I had a wispy beard that I didnt think was wispy, and an overeager smile that I thought was just eager enough. Chris was wearing a ratty leather jacket over a Motrhead T-shirt. In short, while I thought we looked fucking great, I could see how a Hollywood Type could have seen us as reading as Geek to a network television audience.

I say Hollywood Types because they were taller, tanner, more attractive, and generally happier-looking than any of our fellow Harvard students walking past us. He wore aviator sunglasses. She was smiling. They didnt fit in.

Wassup guys! said the tall, smiley woman.

Hello, said Chris.

Youll be great for this TV show were casting, said the happy, tan man.

You guys have a great look! said the tall, smiley woman.

Whats the show called? I asked.

Beauty and the Geek , the happy, tan man replied.

Oh yeah? Which one am I ? I joked.

Hah! Great joke! said the tall, smiley woman.

You guys want to come to a comedy show tonight? asked Chris. For the first time, their enthusiasm wavered. They took the flyer from Chriss hand with details about our show and they handed me a flyer with information about how to apply to be on theirs.

The offer to apply to be on the show was for both of us, but Chris wasnt interested. I was hooked from the moment they said, Youll be great ... If youre sitting on a park bench and a bird poops on your pant leg, yes, while it would be true to say that the avian feces fell in your lap, most reasonable people would take a napkin and wipe it away. I scooped up their shiny peacock shit and swallowed it.

Near as I can tell, my craving for attention goes back to the age of three. My younger sister, Courtney, was born, and for the first time in my life I had to compete for my parents attention. The earliest home video footage we have of my sister shows her sleeping after returning from the hospital, an angelic infant swaddled and in my mothers arms as my fathers voice narrates from behind the camera. Moments later, I pop into frame from behind the couch making silly faces; I stomp around in front of my baby sister as I pretend to speak to her in a cartoon gibberish; and, at the climax of my performance, I pull the camera directly to my face.