The hope was to drop the kind of piece that you read with a wry smile, the kind that makes you feel smarter and that you might reference casually in a conversation with cool people you've just met. Alack, to quote Jeff Altman, I'm blank as a fart. So instead I'll deal with some of those things I've mentioned previously. Thus I blather on weird, normal and the horror of the conditional tense.
I've been called weird longer than I can remember. Maybe it's the same for you. But I've never seen this as an insult or even as an observation. It's always struck me as the clarion call of someone who clings to one of the more odd words in this language: normal.
I've never understood normal. It's never made sense to me. Someone once told me it has a place in the world of statistics, but I was also told that there are three kinds of lies -- white lies, black lies and statistics.
From the time we're tiny we're told about our uniqueness, that it's what will lead us to success and maybe even happiness if we can embrace it. We're called special and those qualities which do not conform to statistical norms are often praised.
But I think for most of us, we're pummeled and browbeaten with 'normalcy' almost as long. So what the hell is it?
Most people who use the word tend to fling 'weird' as a weapon. It's a quick way to point out, "You're different from me and that makes me uncomfortable." But I think this is odd. This may be one of those times that my cockeyed upbringing and vagabond life allows me an alternative viewpoint which may -- or may not -- serve to illuminate.
Our house was a wild place when I was growing up. My folks are from different races, countries and cultures. Dad's a cowboy with roots in Scotland and Texas who spent time in the navy and has been a corporate titan for most of his adult life, a man who has denied himself little in terms of experience or adventure. Mom's an elegant yogi and gourmet cook who grew up in India under British rule but left her homeland to work in American magazines before she was out of her teens, by which time she's already graduated university. They are both brilliant in very different ways. And our home played host to the most incredible cross-section of humanity.
No one was ever called weird. This was our normal.
We lived on the East and West Coasts, in the Midwest and in the South. My brother and I attended public schools and private schools. We made friends and dated. We spent a lot of time alone. We were taught to pursue whatever we believed in as long as it was sincere and not something done for some frivolous reason. Whether we were into photography, cars, film, collecting comics, roleplaying games or what have you, it was all fine. Curiosity was encouraged as was tolerance. The word hate was frowned upon as was any kind of condescension. Learning was important to my parents, but understanding was paramount. Dad taught us practicality and logic. Mom never let us forget that the arts show us all humans aspire to be.
Consequently we were culture shock for many, just as we encountered culture shock in many of the places we moved. British raised Mom had a hard time assimilating into 70's Southern California. Moving to Kentucky from Connecticut when I was a teen provided me with a lot of challenges, but my younger brother embraced it.
You live and you learn. Very few of us can predict what our path will be, and that unexpectedness gives us the chance to be more than we are. We can grow and change. Wisdom may actually occur.
But then again, how many of us are weirdos?
I have marveled at the things I've been called and about the assumptions people have made of me. Hearing "Sand nigger!" screamed at me and a half full bottle of beer hurled along with it during the height of Operation Desert Storm/Desert Shield while walking back to work from lunch in Westwood was surreal. Being told that people thought I was a cult leader and a male prostitute were nothing I could have imagined. Having people spit on me when I was a boy because I looked different or because of who my parents were was baffling.
But I'm weird.
So maybe what I consider normal is weird to some. To many? Weird to me is intolerance and closed-mindedness. The exclusionary is not what I want to be normal. People who believe hate resolves anything, that hate is 'normal', scare me.
Don't worry, I'm not going to resolve anything or draw any conclusions. But I am going to meander over to another pet peeve of mine. Yes, the conditional tense. Would, could, should, supposed to... EVIL!!!!
The conditional tense is wonderful for teaching ethics. Knowing what you should and shouldn't do is important in a world where bipeds must interact with one another. The problem is the real world where things are done or not done. What could have been done is moot. Someone knowing better means nothing.
I don't know about you but I can't count in the course of a day how many people moan about things in this nebulous abstract realm. Is there actually any point in talking about hypotheticals in one's day to day? If you're alone and balancing options to make a plan, maybe. Sitting with friends and analyzing a political speech or the choice of an athlete, though? Mm-mmm. Nope. Making a joke? Totally. Killing time and filling the air with meaningless words? No thanks.
It's easy to look back at something that happened and wonder about a different course, another decision. But you know what? It already happened. If you're thinking about what you might do next time, cool. File it away in your cerebral rolodex and speak of it no more.
I realize these are idiosyncrasies and neuroses, that most people don't get hung up on adjectives and verbial forms. But you're reading this which means you accept I'm a nut bag and you're reading anyway. Thank you for humoring me. Rant done.
For now.
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