runaway princess…

An acquaintance advised me I should make a living out of writing, better yet, summon a biography. Thanks, but no thanks. A biography!? Please, people, let’s hallucinate the possible. I write because the gene pool from Great Grandpa who was a recognized writer himself, beckoned for me to relate to his endeavor.  I write as a way to relax. I write because I am a klutz at golf. Simple as that.

Yet the same acquaintance shoved her opinion impulsively. So, I informed her, if she knew the first thing (or anything) about plain writing, she should keep her mouth shut. And if her opinion deserved to be crowned to begin with, she would step up in my book to become a friend by now, instead of staying as a mere social contact.

I’m not an intellectual snob, but I shun stupid, arrogant people at all cost. I don’t hate stupid people. I don’t hate stupid people who are arrogant. Honestly, I don’t. But that’s only because I go out of my way to avoid them - morons, superficials, and the irredeemably thick. See them in the street, I cross to the other side of the road hoping there would be a decent coffee shop, book store or Mango at that, where I can wait inside until they’ve rolled past, dragging their ungulate feet behind them.

So it’s lucky that they’re so easy to spot. I see them smiling uncomprehendingly at the world at large. Blocking busy main streets with their sluggish steps.  Cooing at extravagant jewelries in shop windows. Appearing in Jerry Springer. Listening and in favor of Dr. Phil’s “utterance of wisdom”. Hitting on a 19 year old Asian trophy then wondered why she refused his pale, over-weight, bald 60-year-old self.  Or standing at a supermarket checkout, gawping bovinely until the cashier has to remind them that under current international law, goods have to be exchanged for a recognized currency. At which point their mind bulb sputter to life and they have to scrabble around their handbag for a purse located just underneath Celebrity Cellulite Guide that doesn’t have the useful amount anyway.

I’m talking about both men and women as you can see.  Yes, just about anywhere I’ve taken breaths, any bar, city park, or local markets on a Sunday afternoon. For undignified men, they come in all shapes and sizes.  A moneyed 50-year-old in Prada is no better than a stunning 20-year-old taxi driver. As for women, to be fair, they’re usually wrapped in a dress.  Wearing a dress and daydreaming about Big Brother or ponies or wedded to Brad Pitt or ponder on something shiny they’ve just seen minutes ago. That or envisioning a DD breast implant and the list of dim-witted men who will queue for first testing. And these people don’t care. They’re not the least apologetic about it.

I once knew a girl who thought that the main transportation in Europe (remember, it’s 21st century) is the good old Santa sleigh. South Africa is located in Asia. Capital city of Sweden is Finland. I met an 18-year-old guy who’s proud of his occupation – the CEO’s son. He couldn’t tell me what CEO stands for. A woman I know drives her BMW to her office which is 50 meters away from her mansion. She said the language spoken in Canada is Canadian. Packard Bell made pasta sauces. She meant Taco Bell.

Of course, it’s easy to laugh at anyone who is less intelligent. But that’s because they don’t understand humor that doesn’t involve fart or a fat person falling off a horse or a postcard with dripping condoms on it. And it’s easy to laugh at them because if they ever took umbrage – if they knew what umbrage means – you can easily escape by getting in your fast car that you could only buy if you (or your spouse) were clever enough to land a job in finance, property, publishing, or business that paid the requisite salary. And they’d be following you in some old Ford vainly tempting to keep up. Unless they were a footballer with a cooler car.  But you wouldn’t mock a footballer.  They are bigger and stronger and have enough time to literally make you squeal in apology. And you’re not that stupid.

Well, neither am I. True, with a different upbringing, fewer landings at airports where I’d have to present my phony smile to immigration officers, or zero tolerance from my composed sagacious parents, I might have been in a similar position. But that’s all hypothetical. And I know it is because I went to university and used words like that. But nor am I an intellectual snob. And here’s the reason: I also dislike very clever people. Or those who act clever which I can sniff a mile away.

Really. People who possess and only listen to classical CDs without collecting few bits of what’s temporarily advertised – freaks me out. People who quote things out of leather-bound books and leave me unconvinced after hours of debating. People who listen to boring stuff on the radio, sitting back on their chair with their eyes closed nodding astutely.  People who appreciate opera despite the fact that you can’t understand the words, and very few guitar solos, if any. People who relentlessly bark and broadcast only about the religion they embrace by confinement of birth, not by choice.  People who think they are great enough to fill in their own biography hoping to grab a seat between Mohandas K. Gandhi and Diana Spencer at the book store (imagine me rolling my eyes).  It’s that kind of breathing mortals that give clever people a bad name. Sadly, they are infinite and only mounting in numbers.

So to summarize, I only tolerate people who are roughly as intelligent as I am.  People who, give or take the odd cultural reference point or knowledge of world capitals, would neither disgust nor embarrass me in let’s say, Trivial Pursuit between drinks during bar hours.  To be honest, only those within a 10 IQ point situation.  Everyone else? You know what, I am this close (imagine me pinching my thumb and forefinger together) to forwarding a petition to every government to grant my kind a piece of vast land in the southern hemisphere where we may prosper as one imposing nation.

Aside from that, I am a scrupulous first class hypocrite. A ruthless, enigmatic, unperturbed dual personality gasping for air within one brown skinned flesh with occasional adorable inelegance. So, possibly psychotic hypocrite. But hell, at least I know how to spell it.