A Total Square: I Am

I’ve recently considered having a square tattooed onto my arm. I’m into right angles, I would tell people. Really, though, it wouldn’t mean anything in particular. Because meaning something in this late day context, with its inherent bus stop straggler reverently giving you the back-story on his vapid armband tattoo, is just really passé. Secretly, though, it would mean exactly what it purports to meaning: I am a total square. As evidence of this total square-ness, I would probably have to site being into the TW3 local access show MasterMinds as example number one. It is qualitatively the greatest piece of programming ever to have come from public access, and if you do not believe all it takes is five minutes of MasterMinds’ host David Guistina to realize: this guy is fucking insane. Let’s play MasterMinds! he tells you, garishly winking into the camera, starting the game. It’s like his sole aspiration in life really was to be the mascot for that southern no interest car loan place, but since all that didn’t work out, he knew that MasterMinds' game show host would look comparitively spiffy on his resume as runner up. An air of such painful professionalism does David Guistina exude. The whole premise of the show, basically, is to see if some high school from Berne-Knox-Westerloo can beat out a school from Berne, New York in the battle for superior periodic table knowledge. “What happens when you mix h2 with O2 ?” he asks them. The elected leader of the team slaps the buzzer. Wrong answer, spontaneous combustion. David Guistina’s head inexplicably does not come detached, although it does come dangerously close to resembling a bobble head in certain situations. Or at least some crystal meth.-laden monkey who has definitely not been without for some time now.


The best part of the show precedes the actual playing, when David Guistina asks the players of each team what they’re into. Which, if you know anything about game shows, is invariably the best part of any show like that. Typically, on something like Jeopardy, you get to hear the grating story of some Louisiana housewife and how a rodent snuck into the house one day and they called pest control. “That was a memorable one,” they nervously chortle into the microphone, the studio audience audibly quiet, the contestant wishing— praying—that the cameras would move on to the next person, wondering ignobly at the gall of the person who devised this ridiculous part of the show. An old pro like Alex Trebec, though, so graceful in his recovery of these stories, spinning like a CNN news analyst, always knowing just what to say. Cradling in his palm almost this televised moment of pure social akwardness and watching it fly from his hand like a now uninjured bird.

The dynamics of a show like MasterMinds is all changed around, though, because basically, the kids are not yet versed in social graces, and even if they were they make no attempts at disguising their collective disdain for the host. “I like playing Mortal Combat and never go outside,” some kid says. “Haha,” the answer is greeted, the characteristic gregarity in full effect. “I like Dungeons & Dragons,” some other kid offers, “and my monster name is Dash.” It’s sad, though, too, because in this host you see all of the same characteristics of the substitute teacher, ignobly trying to laugh off the wisecracks. Except, because this particular host seems to be residing within the confines of some entirely other solar system, he has no idea he’s being dissed on. And the condescension does abound. “Well, I study Greek,” some girl tells him. “And I want to teach,” she adds. “Kind of a dead language,” he laughs, “Don’t you think?” The girl just stares back at him deadpan, not too cracked up by all the shenanigans. That’s OK, though, because there happens to be a balm for all of these awkward moments: “Are you ready to play MasterMinds?” he screams in perfect synchronicity with the audience. The insanity continues.

I find consolation in getting a few of the answers right. The easy ones, which have nothing to do with anything. And it kind of boosts your ego a little bit. I like to think, anyway. And I’ve even conspired a way to get more answers right. Just don’t be asking me about the freaky periodic table tatoo on my arm next time you see me at the bus stop, because that might command a longer answer than you’re willing to hear.