I've Never Been An Intellectual, But I Have This Look
Had a semi-comic, semi-tragic conversation with Tamar last night while we watched a Woody Allen DVD (appropriately enough, Melinda & Melinda ). The film contains a number of classic Allen-esque dinner party scenes. You know, the ones with well-read New Yorkers exchanging bon mots over glasses of expensive wine.
I paused the movie, turned to Tamar, and began to lament our lack of a New York-style social life. I expressed my longing for the type of erudite conversation found in Woody's film. I wanted to be one of those distinguished people laughing and arguing philosophy in the darkly lit restaurants of the Upper West Side.
Tamar paused and thought about this for a second, then answered.
"You realize, of course, that if you were to ever find yourself at one of those dinner parties, you wouldn't be one of the sparkling coversationalists entertaining the table with anecdotes, right?"
I looked blankly back at her.
"You'd be the Woody Allen stand-in. You'd be complaining about the ozone layer, or your uncomfortable pants, or the inherent dangers of walking outside without shoes on. You're way too neurotic to resist the urge to turn the conversation towards one of your pet peeves. Plus, you'd probably drink a bit too much. Which, despite your belief that alcohol serves to improve your higher thinking processes, only tends to make you louder and much more likely to inject a slight slur into your speech pattern"
I turned the movie back on, a gloomy expression on my face.
She was absolutely right.
I paused the movie, turned to Tamar, and began to lament our lack of a New York-style social life. I expressed my longing for the type of erudite conversation found in Woody's film. I wanted to be one of those distinguished people laughing and arguing philosophy in the darkly lit restaurants of the Upper West Side.
Tamar paused and thought about this for a second, then answered.
"You realize, of course, that if you were to ever find yourself at one of those dinner parties, you wouldn't be one of the sparkling coversationalists entertaining the table with anecdotes, right?"
I looked blankly back at her.
"You'd be the Woody Allen stand-in. You'd be complaining about the ozone layer, or your uncomfortable pants, or the inherent dangers of walking outside without shoes on. You're way too neurotic to resist the urge to turn the conversation towards one of your pet peeves. Plus, you'd probably drink a bit too much. Which, despite your belief that alcohol serves to improve your higher thinking processes, only tends to make you louder and much more likely to inject a slight slur into your speech pattern"
I turned the movie back on, a gloomy expression on my face.
She was absolutely right.
posted by Jhunt at 11:26 AM
5 Comments:
I had a similarly depressing revelation a week ago while filling out an application to appear on The Amazing Race. My girlfriend pointed out that I can't eat at the Thai restaurant six blocks from my house without stopping at the grocery store or hotel or my parents' house in between to use the toilet, so what chance did I have of competing in a race, where every minute is crucial, where I might actually be eating three meals in Thailand or Mexico or Ethiopia?
On the plus side, maybe I could get an endorsement deal out of Imodium Anti-Diarheal.
Did I share too much?
See, that conversation of yours is far more erudite than the stuff me and the missus talk about.
Wife: "I wonder why Woody Allen-"
Me: "Woody Allen is shite. Ooh, wrestling!"
She's the pretty little pin to my pompous balloon, my fiance is...
*sigh*
Ahhh...women. Always think they're right. And they get us believing it too!
But she is always right, isn't she?
I mean, she always seems so certain...
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