I went to a tiny college. A really tiny college. It was great. I got all of the personal attention that I wanted or needed. I had personal connections with almost every professor I had. The campus was insulated and everybody knew everything about each other. It was tight knit. It was exactly where I needed to be when I was there (obviously while I was there I wanted to be anywhere else. I’m special like that).

It was not, however, a cake walk in an academic sense. A lot of people hear about the tiny-ness of my school and think that it must have been easy to get through the work. My programs, though–they were intense. I was a double major in Theater and English and it was not uncommon to be required to read entire plays (not usually a quick one-act or scene study but Lysistrata and Dr Faustus–stuff like that) and massive literary tomes in just a day or two.  We’d save time in a lot of our classes by having each person read a different work and then we’d talk about those works with each other (my typical class size was eight people. No joke). It is because of this structure and intensity that I can now walk into any literature section of any store or library and go “read it, read it, learned it, learned it, read it, read it, learned it, read it, read it…” you get the idea. There is so much knowledge from that stuff packed up into my brain that I usually don’t remember that I know it until I’m in the middle of a conversation and bust out some sort of “Oh that’s just like in Richard III where blah blah blahditty blah” without realizing what I’m saying until I’ve said it.

This probably makes me sound super snotty but stick with me.

Today I was talking with someone about reading habits and I made the joke that these days I chose my books based on the pastel color of the cover.  I could see him wince so I followed it up with “I have Theater and English major PTSD.”

This sounds like a lame excuse no matter how old you are when you say it, but when you’re in your 30s and college was over a decade ago… it makes you sound super lame. I know this, but I say it anyway because it usually gets a laugh.

I was thinking about this later when I was on my way home–the need I often feel to apologize for my current reading choices (mostly humor and chick lit) when I talk to people who don’t know me well. It’s like I have this need to say “no, really, I’m smart! I swear” without actually coming out and saying it (because just saying it like that is totally douchey).

I know that I can’t be the only one who does this. And I don’t know why my first instinct is to excuse away my choices as “I know it’s lame but it’s fun” instead of just owning it with more of a “hey, at least I still read!” approach.

The trend is the same for television–not so much in that I feel the need to defend my own viewing habits but for people who are fans of shows like the Real Housewives or any of the other reality stuff that’s out there. Personally, I prefer my television more blatantly scripted and with better production values, but people who do enjoy a daily dose of reality TV often say “I know it’s dumb but…” or “yeah I know I could do better but…”

Why do we do this? And why do people feel the need to qualify the stuff they like as “guilty” pleasures? Why can’t it just be a pleasure to read or watch or listen?

Further, why do we equate complicated with smart? Sometimes it isn’t smart, it’s just complicated…right?

Just questions.  Got thoughts?