I used to be such a pretentious knob. Get it?
That’s a joke. The punch line
exists in the use of past tense. I guess
when you think about it, it’s almost impossible to have opinions about things
and not assume that yours are more dignified or important than others. And so we go through life formulating and
believing our own preconceptions about things.
Thankfully though, I’m blessed with the assurance that my opinions are indeed
the correct ones (this is another joke).
I’m pretentiously
judgmental about a ton of stuff.
Possibly you can empathize; I automatically judge someone when they walk
by with a Tim Horton’s coffee. In a food
shop (notice I didn’t say grocery store), I’m judgey Jerry at the checkout line
as I survey the carts ahead of me for their deadly contents; inching my nose
ever higher every time something processed hits the conveyor. You can just imagine what runs through my
head at the sight of someone ordering a commercial domestic beer and heaven
help the character of those who happen to be laying on a beach reading anything
with the words “shades” or “grey” or the like on it.
But the one thing
that over-arched all my other pretensions were the opinions I held about my music. And when I say my music, it is just that. I
have claimed and assumed it as my own and have eventually grown to be defined
by it.
