Playing Dumb

Recently, I've found a part of my brain dumbing itself down.

The first indications came when my other half overheard a conversation I was having with her dad, where he was explaining Tamil culture to me, as I listened on like a little school boy. Now, take into account one of my brothers from another mother is Tamil, I'm well versed on the subject - yet I proceeded to act like a buffoon with intentions of not to offend or exert any intelligence of any type. My girlfriend watched me nod and raise my eyebrows, then took me to task afterwards, wherein I tried to shift the power by using the great excuse "Hello?! I know! I just wanted your dad to look good!". In fact, he's now probably thinking my brain is a waxy pea rolling around in the dustbowl that is my cranium.

Then there's my new found love for Rihanna. Now, I was right there at the front of the cue, measuring tape in hand, waiting to see exactly how big that forehead was....

...and I was also there bemoaning the demise of the traditional English name for Annabella, as little girls screamed "Ella, Ella!" after that number one. But now, I find myself listening to her music, stroking my chin at her interviews on domestic abuse, and championing her eyes to anybody who will listen - all within a slipping veiled guise that she's simply a 'guilty pleasure'. Yeah, when it was Cam'ron I got away with it, but this? I'm not too sure.

And finally, I'm a racist and a bigot. Or almost. For the sake of comfort and not drawing any more attention to myself than my brown skin already was, in the pub recently I happily contributed to a conversation that firmly flipped the bird to any liberal stances I'd gained throughout the last ten years. Within a group of gangly, but burly, Northern blokes, I admitted that social and racial profiling was not just a necessary evil in our post 9-11 village, but that it should be actively practiced whenever possible. Hmmm. Being a victim of such profiling, and priding myself on my snobbish trends such as the Wire and 'socially conscience music', this had the left side of my brain gawping. True, my stance came from my experiences behind the counter of my parents shop, but still - OMFG, wow.

How very strange, that my need to make comfortable conversation kicks in so emphatically (if only they could see me bellowing in the shower to 'Narrow Minded Social Club'). The excuses of irony don't seem to wash somehow, after re-reading this blog. Maybe it's come along with my move from London to my Yorkshire village, but my permit to the proletariat masses is all but stamped - just have to beat up a tramp and nick his two litre bottle of Frosty Jacks (£2 on our Xmas offers list - fuck Select And Save).

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh - otherwise they'll kill you." - Oscar Wilde (credit to Akala's tweets)