FYI: this started out as a letter to a friend, grew into a diatribe, and ended up a deflated jab at myself and my own ego. I am that case in point. Greene would be proud of me.

I ended up helping my mother unload the 5 pieces of newish-used furniture that we absolutely do not need in this house and positioning them in various places around our already fire-hazard-violation home. Then I went for a drink with a friend of mine and ended up having to listen to her friends who sucked hardcore because the only thing they talked about were their IQs, and why there are cultural biases in all standard tests and how that's no way to judge someone's intelligence or their skills and knowledge, but damn if they didn't make a point of mentioning that either they had an IQ of 131 or else that it was a very personal piece of information that they didn't care enough about to proclaim in a bar. Which led to a discussion about who cared about their IQ less. I've never consciously taken an IQ test. My mom knows what my IQ is, but she won't tell me.

And I don't want to know.

Cause I'll be disappointed no matter what it is, I'll want to know why I'm not smarter. If that's the standard upon which I start to judge myself, I'll consider my life as a valid and useful member of society to be at an end. I don't know how you feel about IQ but I think it's overrated. Especially by people who disagree violently when I say that bars aren't exactly spawning grounds for original ideas...yet have no interest then in discussing opposing viewpoints. It's gonna sound immature and sexist, but it gets tiresome to be a woman. The only thing I got asked all night was, "oh, so you're a Lit major? So what authors do you like?" So do I look brain dead? Am i retarded, have I picked up a glazed look somewhere along the line? I know I drink alot but I didn't think one vodka soda would make me seem like I was too stupid drunk to have anything to say. Don't fucking ask me what authors I like if you can't even include me in the conversation, and then when I mention Camus and Greene, get that look that says "oh, right, showoff."

that's if they even knew who Camus and Greene are. I couldn't tell if they were totally confused or totally disgusted by my, well, arrogance. So I threw Agatha Christie in for good measure, and tried to avoid saying anything for the rest of the night. It worked. Shepherdstown is famous for people who love the sound of their own voices.

They weren't bad guys, but regardless their conversation was tiresome as a result of its exclusivity. Furthermore, the brilliant but depressing role of being sober and silent on the edge of such discourses can be frustrating...they were drunk, yes. But I honestly believe that drunkenness drops a person's inhibitions, making their real and often unpleasant personalities come out. Which means that my personality is a somewhat stunned, inarticulate and confused character with a habit of getting either inexplicably frustrated and angry (result of the inability to enunciate or elucidate) or else giving strange and meaningless comebacks in the midst of argument or discussion which serve to only confuse and dismay the second party further.

anyway, so they were drunk, and it depresses me to think that I myself, and thousands more like me world over, are guilty of having sat drunkenly some night in the past and haranguing in much the same way, while anyone with at least a shot or two LESS in himself could listen to the conversation and realize that the arguments are specious, hollow and repetitive. These kids weren't saying anything new, they didn't have any insights that haven't been pontificated on and included into some canon of fact, somewhere along the line. Yes, standardized tests, no matter what their end goals are, are erroneous by virtue of the fact that there isn't really a standard to adhere to because of cultural, environmental, intellectual, etc etc etc. biases.

Gotcha. It's been covered.

So why are we hashing it out, over and over again? I know I must sound like an absolute ponce who's had nothing but deep and meaningful dialogue with everyone I've ever met in my life. Not so. I'm guilty of having some of the lamest, most stupid conversations ("You're a poo-head." "No, YOU'RE a poo-head." "No, YOU ARE a poo-head", & etc.. And this when I'm 22.) or conversations in which I feel relatively certain I've made inspired and glowing points (I'm more embarassed to list those examples "George Bush is the stupidest man alive" being one, but rest assured they consisted of long proclamations followed by 5 minutes of "exactly...dude...I totally know what you mean...exactly"). So no, I can't get up on a soap box about this sort of thing. That's not really the mature approach. However, I like to think that my Jesuit education (snicker snicker) has taught me a certain amount about debate decorum: if the other person is not allowed to voice their argument, there really isn't a debate---it's a soliliquy. And if everything is based on your own personal opinion without some little element of experience to back it up...that doesn't count either.

Ah, what do I know. Point being: next time you see me in a bar, head sunk low in seemingly deep and esoteric communing, you're more than welcome to break in and remind me of my disgust for that very kind of behavior.

Then again, you may find that I am, in fact, simply having a very hard time enunciating the words "poo-head."