Brain Grenades

People sometimes write to me and ask if I'm an intellectual. After I correct their spelling and grammar mistakes I write back, 'Yes, I am' or as Plato might have said, 'Yes, he is.' So, what kind of intellectual am I?

I'm the kind that will tell you that the opening notes of the song Ruldolph The Red Nosed Reindeer are in fact the same as the hymn Rock of Ages. The rhythm of the melodies is different, but the pitch relationships are the same. Why is this important? Well, it's not, and that's my point. The academic world is full of wankery like this.

It's a little like the time I once went to a MENSA meeting, just to observe first-hand what these supposed brainboxes were like and imagined an evening of stimulating intellectual debate. Alas, I was prohibited from joining, not because I'm a high IQ underachiever. Perhaps I could have been more diplomatic but I asked, reasonably I thought, "If you people are so smart, why do I have to wear a name tag?"

Anyway, last year I decided to go back to college and wizzed through a post-grad diploma. This year, I've started an MA Research degree as part of the process to ultimately become a fully-fledged egg-head myself. I figure, if I can't beat them, I should join them. It's proving to be way more fun than I anticipated and more than that, my supervising professor has already been heralding my research ideas to the university faculty and telling them he expects my work will result in my becoming a 'world leader in the field' (forensic musicology). Heady praise indeed...