Smart

It is fascinating to see mating human’s mind at work. I once read an article in the NY Times telling how books you read might be a determining factor of your relationship. Your chance to initiate a romance or succeed a break up depends on whether or not you have Ginsberg’s poetry or less obviously, to have Don Delillo’s latest novel piled on your only bookshelf.

Why all this fuss about books? As I understand later, this is all about your being smart. Or precisely, this is about the same level of discourse with your dating partner. Boy, now I wonder no more why those girls are in chase of smart buddies. Being smart guarantee you easier to get into their pants. Though not necessarily guarantee a good intimate chemistry or simply wonderful sex.

I usually never take this smarty-frenzy seriously since I’m usually at the chased end (kidding, of course). But recently, this hokum bugs me beyond tolerance. I just realized that my social circle is filled by this type of girls. They are excited with witty remarks, they stare passionately to guys they considered as ‘brains’. Some even go as far as comparing their current boyfriend with other smart asses. I’m afraid they will just dump their boyfriend in a relentless pursuit of a smarter one. Come on, don’t they realize that being smart doesn’t change the world? Smart people don’t even move an inch of this world progress. Geniuses do. Oh, ok you’re right. Some smart people get nice hooked-ups. But so do underachievers with slowly moving-train-of-thought and bling-bling squeezed from their old man’s filthy money.

What’s the difference then?

If I have to wish, being smart is not at the top of my wish list. Putting some pop philosophical thought on this, the lebenswelt of those smarty pants might not as colorful as say, a plain simple farmer from suburban Sleman. They eat, they shit, they have sex on non-procreative bases or if thing goes wrong, accidentally procreative. Well they read sometimes, but so does the farmer. Only the farmer reads manual of the fertilizer they just bought. Smart people read pop novel.

Geniuses, at the other hand, dream. They dream of conquering the world, banishing poverty, building new civilization on Mars, cloning Sophia Loren so today’s generation can see how boobs can wow the entire world. They dream of electric sheep sometimes (as android wannabes). Their lebenswelt are somehow unique. They are at some point hanging on blurred boundary of subliminality and nonsense.

Only a poet can challenge geniuses’ lebenswelt. A poet’s vision stretch as far as the firmament goes. It is, some believe, independent of time and space. I wonder what a poet feels about the world surrounding him. Now you smarty pants and smarty oriented girls can drool.

Yes, I am an ordinary poet wannabe plunging deep to the darkest decadence of life. I’m not ashamed of that since ironically our most representative living genius, Stephen Hawking, is a poet wannabe as well.

However, to save me from being accused as an apologetic underachiever, I’ll tell you what. I am surely not a genius. But to be humiliated as smart, rephrasing Sheldon Cooper’s words, I need to loose 10 to 15 of my IQ points*. Now you look surprised. So I don’t have to tell you may current GPA.

*Based on my high school IQ test.