But frankly, I'm sick to death of colonial history right now. So while I was taking a blogging break, I came across something interesting at Scott's Take: a new quiz that seems to be tied to some sort of lame campaign allegations about one of our two interchangeable Democratic candidates for president. It's called the Elitist Quiz.
According to my results, I'm a "book and language snob." While I object to the term "snob" and to several of the conclusions drawn, here's what it says about me:
You speak eloquently and have seemingly read every book ever published. You are a fountain of endless (sometimes useless) knowledge, and never fail to impress at a party.
What people love: You can answer almost any question people ask, and have thus been nicknamed Jeeves.
What people hate: You constantly correct their grammar and insult their paperbacks.
I do speak (and write) eloquently--it's one of the reasons I'm good at what I do. And I think the fact that I've been invited to audition for Jeopardy! for a third time this summer speaks adequately to the amount of useless knowledge I have socked away in my head. Not so sure about impressing at parties, however, given that I'm really not that much of a party person.
I am not now, nor have I ever been, nicknamed "Jeeves." I do remember being taunted with the epithet "encyclopedia" in grammar school or some such, but that was aeons ago. I don't make a habit of insulting anyone's choice in reading material, even if it isn't one that I share. (Most of the time, I'm amazed to discover that people still read, given all the dire statistics one hears about the hordes of people who tell pollsters that they never pick up another book after they graduate from college.) And I typically only correct the grammar of (a) obnoxious gits on the internets or (b) people who pay me to do it so they don't have to.
I could just as easily have been a music or a wine and food snob, but books have always been my first love. Every dream house I've ever designed or even just imagined has featured a huge library--and even my current apartment has more books in it than anything else. I've had a running love affair with the printed word for four decades now--and I'm not planning on calling it quits anytime soon. Give me a stack of books to read and a quiet place in which to read them in reasonable comfort, and I'll be as happy as can be. I read in airports and on long trips when I'm not driving or carrying on a lengthy conversation with the driver or another passenger. I read constantly--in bed before going to sleep, while I'm eating (when eating alone), in the bathroom. Even while waiting in line, if I know ahead of time that I'm going to be waiting in one.
That's not to say I'm not picky about food and wine, or that I don't have a huge music collection. Both are true. My ancient 20GB iPod has more than 4,000 tracks on it--and I just downloaded another 45 or 50 this weekend (a couple more volumes of John Dowland's lute music, some of which I'm listening to now as I write this post), and I've probably got at least 200 CDs on shelves in my office or in my living room. As I was remarking to my mom the other day, I've got something like 13 cabinets in the kitchen of my apartment--and they're all full. Some, of course, contain foodstuffs and basic staples. But a lot of them contain dishes, cooking utensils, and other esoteric paraphernalia. According to her, the first word I ever said was "Hot," after I touched the stove when she was baking something--despite her having warned me repeatedly not to do so. I think I was all of three or four at the time. And I've been in the kitchen ever since I was old enough to see over the top of the stove. I don't cook much for myself that's fancy, largely because it's silly to make a big meal for one--because then you're either stuck eating the same leftovers for a week, or else you've got to have a huge freezer to store all that you don't eat the first time around. But boy, let me have people over or be invited to a party, and I'm digging into the recipe books or scouting around cooking sites on the intertubes.
Same thing with wine and spirits. I don't drink all that much myself--a glass or two of wine with my mom once a week, a few beers at the local watering hole with my fellow graduate students and some of our instructors once a week when I'm in a regular class and we can all go out afterward--and that's about it. On rare occasions when I'm celebrating something or feel a need for other reasons, I might have a glass of sherry or port, or a couple of fingers' worth of whiskey, or one beer at home. But I like to make sure that the sherry or port or whiskey or beer or wine (or whatever else I'm drinking) is something good. Life's too damn short for cheap booze. And one benefit of traveling, especially in France, is that you get to try a lot of good wines and local spirits. Of course, that comes at a price, given that it's usually next to impossible to find the same stuff on this side of the pond--and even more impossible to ship it back home without going through a licensed importer or distributor.
Does that make me an elitist? I really don't think so. Rather, I think it makes me someone who enjoys nice things, in moderation. I don't think my liking for fine wine and good food, or the fact that I've got a couple of thousand books on the shelves in my apartment, makes me any better than anybody else. But I categorically deny that it makes me any worse than anybody else, either. As the French say, chacun à son goût, to each his own taste. Personally, I can't gag down most American beer and wouldn't try even if the brewers paid me. But I don't think that gives me any kind of bragging rights over people who do prefer what I consider weak and tasteless substitutes for used dishwater. If that's what someone who's coming over to my house for a drink likes, I'll make sure I have some of it on hand. Just don't expect me to drink it--or to put down my Edmund Fitzgerald or my Jameson's.
Recent Comments