I’m a smart person. I know this because of my grades in school, comparison with various persons in such places as medical offices and retail establishments and in certain blogs, and the fact that I can nearly keep up with my kids, who sometimes seem smarter than my husband and I put together.
I read Time magazine as my basic news source. This also reinforces my awareness of my middling-high brain power. I’m no rocket scientist, but I comprehend the basics of politics and economics and health care and the significance of current events. I even enjoy a rousing debate with coworkers who don’t agree with my point of view of such things. Except when they piss me off.
The problem is, I understand it, but I don’t care about it. I started reading last week’s Time feature on China. It was interesting for about three columns worth. Then I stopped reading, and when I went back to it, I didn’t wanna read it any more. I skimmed stuff about the country’s economic and social impact on the world—and by skimmed, I mean read the photo captions and quote call-outs—and moved on to more interesting stuff, like the success of the Washington Nationals and a book about the theft of The Scream.
That's where shame comes in. When I move past all that serious, world-impact stuff, I can feel my cranial mood shift from ennui to perkiness as soon as I turn the page. I don’t care a whit about fashion or water that sells for $30 a bottle, but I am ALL about entertainment.
It makes sense, I suppose, since I work in the entertainment industry, and I find it vital to life. In my current wip, my heroine runs a protection agency that usually works with altruistic clients. Her assistant tells her, regarding a client she doesn’t want to take on, “They don’t save the world, Kennedy, but you never know what corner of it they’ll brighten.”
Isn’t that just as important as inspiring intellectual discourse?
If not, don’t tell me.