The men in the other room are shouting at the TV. It’s understandable, of course. Some men on the TV have a thing. Ball? Puck? One of those. And boy, the other men on the TV screen want it. They want the thing. They want it bad and they are not taking no for an answer. So men have gathered in my living room, my housemate among them, to sit together, drink, and ruminate on the situation. I don’t think they’ve come to a definite conclusion regarding it all (it’s a tough situation, alright) but they seem to be under the impression that shouting their ideas at the TV will convey them to the men on the TV - both to those with the ball/puck and to those without. I don’t want to correct them because it’s clear by their raised voices they’re pretty close to a definite answer. I’m hoping it’ll be a peaceful one, but I doubt it. Sports-things are difficult, you guys. Sports-things seem pretty difficult.
It’s not the first element of her argument that’s arresting; any idiot knows that intelligence is overrated in all sorts of ways. But the insight that when we are real and human with each other we produce ‘intelligence’ —as an outcome, not as an attribute— is profound, true, and an explanation I’d never encountered for why I prefer the company of the real and dull to erudite performers distracted by their own brilliance. It is not merely a question of taste: the former converse collaboratively, build meanings with you, surprise you; the latter are not so open to discovery because the dialectic process is for them both a pleasure and a competition, and their intelligence is too precious to them to be risked on banal inquiries, dumb guesses, the fatal utterance “I don’t know.”