My friend Mick is always coming up with new ideas. He’d be a great inventor if he ever went through with any of them. He comes up with some ridiculous crap but a lot of his ideas are brilliant. “You could be the modern-day Da Vinci,” I told him one day. “Other than the ambidexterity you’re pretty much the same.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You could be a great inventor,” I said.
“No, about the ambidexterity.”
“Oh,” I said, grasping his question, “Apparently Leonardo Da Vinci could write with both hands at the same time. He could work on two completely unrelated ideas concurrently.”
“Really,” he replied, incredulously.
“Really,” I echoed.
“That makes a lot of sense.”
“I know,” I agreed; “you’d make a great inventor.”
“No, about Da Vinci’s ambidexterity.”
“Oh.”
“Leonardo Da Vinci must’ve been conjoined twins,” he continued. “One of the twins was probably just the brain. Imagine what you could achieve with two brains in one head.”
It certainly explained the ambidexterity. It also helped explain output that ranges from gloriously beautiful paintings to murderous and destructive weapons.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You could be a great inventor,” I said.
“No, about the ambidexterity.”
“Oh,” I said, grasping his question, “Apparently Leonardo Da Vinci could write with both hands at the same time. He could work on two completely unrelated ideas concurrently.”
“Really,” he replied, incredulously.
“Really,” I echoed.
“That makes a lot of sense.”
“I know,” I agreed; “you’d make a great inventor.”
“No, about Da Vinci’s ambidexterity.”
“Oh.”
“Leonardo Da Vinci must’ve been conjoined twins,” he continued. “One of the twins was probably just the brain. Imagine what you could achieve with two brains in one head.”
It certainly explained the ambidexterity. It also helped explain output that ranges from gloriously beautiful paintings to murderous and destructive weapons.