We're all good at something that is totally useless.

Ed Sullivan had a TV show many years ago featuring people who could balance dishes on top of poles, and keep many of them all spinning at one time. David Letterman has his "Stupid Human Tricks," which shows our fellow men and women doing really odd things just to be on television.

I think we all have unusual things we can do. We just need a venue to show them off.

I can yodel. I can't sing -- can't carry a tune -- but I know how to break my voice into that weird sound known only to country-western singers (think Hank Williams) and Swiss Alpine singers. My ability to do that hasn't made me any money and comes from who-knows-where. It's just one of those odd things I can do.

I can also balance almost anything on one finger. I've somehow figured out some kind of visual math that escaped me in school. Nothing too heavy: no anvils, thank you. But give me a baseball bat or a broom or shovel or rake, and I'm your man. I can even balance them on my little finger.

I can also stand on my head. When an old childhood friend and I got tired of waiting for the school bus to pick us up -- way back in maybe second grade -- we practiced standing on our heads in somebody's yard. I can still do it; not sure about him. (And this was long before yoga got popular.)

These are skills/talents that got me nothing but that I insist on showing to people whenever they're willing to sit still for it. (I'm also pretty good at throwing a Frisbee.)

My point is that we all have acquired, in our time on the planet, unique skills that don't get us any kind of praise or applause or profit but that we shouldn't be ashamed of showing to others, if and when the occasion arises. Were you good at tossing a baton and catching it after it was whipping around and around way above your head? Could I do that? No way. Be proud of it -- and make all your friends watch you do it, once or twice a year, at a picnic or wherever. Okay, maybe just once a year.

I knew a couple who had a party that required everybody attending to bring not just a potluck dish but also a "unique" skill. After a little -- or a lot of -- wine, someone whistled the national anthem. Most of us can whistle -- but not the national anthem. Someone else made pretty damned good scampi in fifteen minutes: from un-shelled shrimp to finished dish. My favorite was a lady who sang Billie Holiday songs, with no musical accompaniment, while knitting a scarf for the hostess - in under an hour. Her voice was off-key, but her needles were a blur. My least favorite was the guy who lifted weights for everyone's enjoyment. It was his house, though, and he had them all right there in his den. He was certainly buff and could outlift any of us, but it wasn't much of a spectator sport. Still, it was something he was proud of, and he did it well.

We also applauded the young woman, a swimmer, who could hold her breath for three minutes. We timed her, puffing ourselves, and, by God, she did it! We also tried it ourselves and didn't come close. Bravo!

Oh, and there was a banker guy who had learned card tricks when he was a kid and who succeeded in fooling all of us. We thought we'd caught him cheating a few times, but he always proved us wrong. Somewhere along the way to becoming a banker, he had probably dreamed of doing slight-of-hand in Vegas, and here he was, totally entertaining a room of his friends.

My other favorite was the belly dancer. This was a woman, slightly (okay, more than slightly) overweight, who donned the required costume and, to a taped song, went through all the gyrations those women go through. At first I thought: Oh my God, she's too fat for this!

But the more I watched her move her body in time with the music, swaying and humping -- and winking/smiling at us all -- the more I got into the primal rhythm of what she was doing. At the end, we were all applauding like crazy. Here was a forty-something stay-at-home mom who was, in her heart, a belly-dancer. And she was good at it.

Not a single person who performed that night ever made a penny doing what they were good at. That wasn't the point. They were all doing something they could do well but that nobody in their day-to-day lives much appreciated. But those are the things we should most treasure: what we
do for ourselves, and maybe, once in a while, for others. Let's take pleasure in those throw-away talents and celebrate ourselves.

There are so many more things that I never learned to do or was never good at. I can't dance or ski or skate or mix comfortably with people I don't know. I could go on and on, but why bother?

There is something each of us can do well, however inconsequential it may seem. And I'm not talking about real talents that go un-realized: the family singer who could/should have made it but didn't get the breaks or didn't have the ambition, or the writer friend who wasted his/her talents on booze/drugs, etc. I mean the silly, but kind of cool, things you and I can do that most of the people we know can't. The trivial things that set us apart, that make us who we are.

I can program my VCR to tape shows in the future. I'm the only one in my family who can do it, which gives me special powers that I try hard not to abuse. I'm also good at organizing a garage and even a kitchen pantry. When I try to show off these gifts to friends, they dutifully nod and then head for the beer in the fridge. But, hey, they're just jealous, right?

So what can you do that makes you special? What can your friends do? Time for a party, don't you think?