Here’s a fact:
Pretentious people entertain me.
“What?” you might say “But you post things about Opera and ballet and chamber music in art deco bank rooms.”
True.
But I’m also happy riding a bike in the rain on a 40-degree day covered with mud, snot running down my face and a rooster tail of water flying up behind me. I like stupid movies, ridiculous-beyond-believability TV and sneakers (does anyone still call them that?)
This is supposed to be about pretentious people.
These one-dimensional cartoon people have their own language, culture dress code, hangouts, hangups, even vocal intonation.
It’s virtually impossible to pry an opinion about anything of consequence from them, for their thoughts are on such lofty things, that nothing earthly could possibly be of import. They’ll chat about their Country Club, Rod & Reel Club, Opera Club, Explorer’s Club, Kennel Club, Bridge Club, Gentleman’s Club, Dinner Club, Literary Club, or any of the other Clubs of which they are a member.
They get flustered, but not emotional (unless it’s a crocodile tear over something beautiful). Having a witty retort for everything, they are rarely speechless. For example:
Human: “Did you hear the President’s speech last evening about the war resolution?”
PP: “Who? Oh, him. He was at that ghastly party in East Hampton back in August.”
I find my be-suited self in a lot of pretentious rooms, populated with the denizens of such places. Don’t get me wrong, I can hold my own with the best of them, but in those situations, I sometimes think of a dinner 15 years ago with a group of these rare creatures.
The dinner was for 80 members of an Ivy Club. We were promised “an engaging evening.” Make that 78 members. Amongst the “we” were a colleague and I who do not have Ivy coursing through our veins. Happily we were seated at the same table.
Unhappily, so was the fellow in charge of the dinner. He stood, without irony he clanked his glass with a knife, swirled it’s contents, hooked his patrician nose over the brim and took a sniff (by the way, it was Perrier), while waiting for the room to quiet, then announced the evening’s entertainment:
“At these dinners, we like to spark discussion by posing certain [carefully annunciated with an eyebrow raise]: … Questions … to ignite your mind. Discuss at your tables, then over dessert elect a chairperson who will report your conversation to the rest of us in the room.”
I jealously looked at the other tables. They were going to talk about whatever they wanted, then pick the most verbose table guest to make something up at the end. My table would ACTUALLY have to do this.
“Your questions: Number One: If you were not in your particular profession, what would you wish to do? Or you can answer Number Two: What area of study would you most like to pursue?”
What followed was an odd one-upsmanship, which seemed to be about who could come up with the most obscure thing they wish they could be doing. For example, one of the interesting ones at my table:
“I would like to travel the world, studying libraries and their relationship to the cities in which they are established.”
That was a mildly interesting one. Each was followed by polite patter, questions, and discussion about the various reasons such an avocation would be interesting.
My colleague, who is even less cultured than I had a panicked look on his face as the conversation came closer to him, in seat number five. His only interests are soccer and playing the keyboard in a funky amateur blues band. Then came his turn.
With furrowed brow, thoughtful tone and a chin rub, he said:
“If I could study anything, or even make this my profession, I would travel to different parts of the world, study a country’s music, and how it relates to the way they play soccer. For example, when I watch Brazilian soccer, I hear the [said dramatically]: Samba.”
Blank looks across the table. Nods of intellectual appreciation. Zero input to offer. The rest of the table was silent. Then the head guy finally, with a nod of his head and furrowed brow, made the statement I, when hit with a fit of boredom, now try to elicit in such a room:
“Oh.”