Big Mouth, small mind

So, three's this guy who just finished reading a book by the Scottish author Irvine Welsh that he enjoyed very much, and he happens to mention it to me and a casual acquaintance, whose ancestry is Scottish (though he, himself, was born here). The acquaintence proclaims that he thought the book was droll, and that the author was a hack. Fair enough, I think, but offer my feeling that the story was quite engaging, and that I found the author’s previous work to also be worthwhile.

The acquaintance then looks at me, and loudly proclaims that I am wrong, that I was a jackass for expressing an opinion contrary to his, and that I simply was incapable of understanding why since I was not Scottish, and that Welsh is considered to be a traitor to real Scots everywhere anyway.

Now, normally I would simply ignore this sort of nonsense, and give the acquaintance the benefit of the doubt, letting him babble his ignorance until he gets tired, except he has done this before … many times, to many people … and I am just tired of his hollow belligerence. So, I mention this to him, pointing out that his accusations of intolerance and name calling are hypocritical, after which he begins to froth-at-the-mouth about how I could dare react that way. His expletive filled rant continues and grows, focusing on how if I can’t take the criticism I should never have dared to express my opinion, and how I should just grow up and be a man.

Which makes me chuckle because once again the acquaintance has not only entirely missed the point, but is developing a rage embolism over a straw-man issue in order to pound his chest and make himself feel somehow superior. He uses the same insipid insults about pride and guts that boys have been throwing around since 2^nd grade (“You won’t eat that bug cause you are a chicken!”), and basically proclaims himself not only the supreme victor, but also the arbiter of taste because he shouted the loudest, all the while questioning both my heritage and sexuality.

Now, I could have opted to continue to squabble with the acquaintance, I suppose. I mean, I don’t mind a good old fashioned row now and again, but there really would be little point, since the acquaintance is too shit-all stupid to understand the nature of the argument. Somehow it has morphed from his saying I can’t comprehend Welsh because of my lack of Scottishness to my fear of engaging in a shouting match. So, while I would point out that his claim that since my Grandpa didn’t wear a kilt I couldn’t understand Scot literature was one of the most ludicrous and condescending things I’ve heard, he would only hear the blood pounding in his ears, and do something childish and ridiculous … like pose holding a gun (to show his potency or incredible macho-ness -- I really haven't figured that silly thing out). His ability to understand the point has been totally obscured by a rapidly encroaching peripheral blindness caused by an internal eruption of hysteria and anger.

What the acquaintance will never understand is that getting into shouting matches with people just for the sake of shouting is just dumb, and my lack of desire to continue in his infantile name-calling and finger pointing isn’t because I am afraid of him at all, but simply it is not worth my time. I mean, why bother arguing with an idiot? In the end you’ll just be out of breath and the idiot will still be an idiot.

So, in the end, the acquaintance walks off happily, patting himself on the back for teaching me a thing or two about being macho and for having the last word in the matter … even though he has no understanding at all of the nature of the initial dust-up, and he has been in a tirade over yet another of his many straw men. Still, if it makes him happy, I suppose it’s fine. I mean, the acquaintance isn’t the only one to use a barrage of volume and insults to compensate for lack of understanding.

Yes, I know ... this post was very subtle.

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