Lucky me. I live in an age where everything is smarter than I am. Everything. Homes, televisions, watches, cars — they’re all deemed ‘Smart’ these days. I’m not. Heck, I couldn’t even program a Smart device, let alone understand one. But guess what: I don’t care. At all. Not even a little bit.
Truth be told, technology isn’t my thing. I can get by on a computer, I can operate a Smartphone, anything beyond that? No, I’m stumped. You know what does give me great joy? Fooling auto correct and the other ‘smart’ stuff trying to anticipate my next move. Ha, they don’t stand a chance. I’m a loose cannon; not even I know what I’ll do next.
Language is my thing. I love screwing around with words. It’s fun playing with prefixes and suffixes; adding them, subtracting them, putting them in odd places. My favorite suffix to abuse is —ish. You can stick it anywhere. On anything. And it works. Here, let me give you an example: ‘Most of my career moves weren’t brilliant so much as suicidish.’ See? Fun. —Est, —itis, —ing, the Latin —um, they’re all a gas.
Great. I’ve gone off on a tangent. Hang on, we’re veering back to the point now.
Intelligence, in my opinion, is vastly overrated. You don’t need to be a genius to have a perfectly happy, contented life. I’ve all the neurons I need, thank you. Or thought I did until I was outsmarted — for the eleventy billionth time — by a fitted sheet. How in the world do you people fold those things?