Cognitively Complex

A few weeks ago, I attended a “party” at an older friend’s place. I say that with air quotes because this particular get-together was small, maybe ten or twelve people. Most of these parties turn into wild affairs with thirty people enjoying great food, lots of alcohol, and interesting conversations. In retrospect, interesting might be an overstatement.

I’m the guy who shows up fashionably late to these shin digs, not because I’m cool like that, but because my time tracking abilities are defunct. In this particular case, we showed up about an hour after the designated time. Naturally, a couple of people at the party were three sheets to the wind when we arrived. I had no idea who they were, and in their drunken state – they were curiously asking questions as to who we were and why we were so boring. The “boring” statement was assumed because, after all, we hadn’t taken a sip of anything yet. We must be boring!

I gleaned from the conversation that Nick was in his early thirties, having relations with a girl in her early twenties, and still living a life that runs parallel with the movie Animal House. His roommates were also in their early to mid thirties, but even more prone to partying, spending entire weekends cooking up ribs and steaks on the grill while watching twelve to eighteen hours of football on both Saturday and Sunday. I love football just as much as the next guy, but entire weekends of the fall and winter wasted on nothing but weight gain and intoxication? No thanks.

One of my best friends is of the same nature, so naturally these guys all get along just great. I’m the dissenting male of the group, always excusing myself from invitations to sit on a musty couch in a garage somewhere to watch Monday Night Football with a bunch of Neanderthals getting blitzed. I have nights where I love to digress into a caveman, eat meat, and drink beer, but not when I have to work the next day.

During the table conversation at the party, Nick proceeded to act the part of the frat boy. I don’t want to say “objectifying women” because it sounds like I’m trying to be politically correct, but that was the gist of his two hours of drunken slurring. His friends, both sober and “working on it”, egged him on. It was at this very moment that I thought to myself, “Why the hell am I here, and was I ever like this?”

There aren’t any moments that stand out, but I’m positive I was cruder in my youth when it came to women. I was always respectful, however, and I was even dumped once because I was too nice. Yeah, nice guys did finish last during my college years. That’s what happens when you change your personality to please a girl. Karma at its finest.

Strangely, this was a realization that had become more prevalent at every gathering I attended in the last year. Boy, am I getting old or what!? That was my normal reaction, and I would have believed it had I been a 50-year-old man attempting to understand why Jersey Shore is popular. I’m in my late twenties, and I have sound theory that most of America is stupid, thus the infatuation with a bunch of tanned gym rats getting drunk and raging on each other.

Instead, my mind was telling me that I had matured. I wasn’t interested in talking about who “banged” who or who got voted off American Idol. All of that was migraine-inducing. And to be perfectly honest, it always has been. I’m not “above” talking about mundane things, but they are mundane, in my mind, for a reason.

This whole episode made me think of something that comedian Tina Fey had wondered in her book Bossypants. Yes, I read it, and I wasn’t all that impressed with it. Maybe I’ll write a review on it later.

When do women realize they are, in fact, mature, adult women? From her observations at a group session talking about this very issue, many of the women stated it was when men were yelling at them from cars, usually phrases like “Nice tits!” or “Great ass!” For men, maybe it’s when the graduate from college, have a child, live on your own. My question to you is… when did you realize, intellectually, that you’ve matured?

The gathering I attended a few weeks ago was my moment, although it was clear in the weeks leading up to this epiphany that I was growing more annoyed with dull conversations. Strangely, intellectual conversation is frowned upon in my inner circle. If you try to have an intelligent conversation with someone, you’re Mr. Know-It-All. Nobody wants to talk to Mr. Know-It-All. Nobody wants to hear strong opinions backed by evidence. Nobody actually wants to “talk” about real things. Why?