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Recording musings to annoy and patronize ... |
| You’ve no idea how difficult this is. A wise man … or at least a very loud man … once instructed a community of budding, idealistic authors to write about what they know. Considering this piece of gibberish is about me, I’ll just assume you’re under the impression that I’m somewhat egocentric. Ha! The joke’s on you! I’ve no earthly idea who I am. OK, that’s not entirely true, recent life experiences have provided me with a handful of clues … a few pieces of a puzzle I never knew was there. You see, I’m what you might call a ‘social chameleon’. Whatever shape, texture, and colour you need me to be, that’s what I become. And I’ve no control over it … this behavioral characteristic is always on auto-pilot. The neighbor boy threw an Independence Day party last night. It was a small gathering of 20-somethings looking for an excuse to drink and set off bottle rockets … or as I saw it, a reason to confirm his alpha-male status amongst his pack of furry, little friends. The depth of esoteric conversation ran the entire spectrum of “Dude” and “Waz up” and even included startling revelations about “That sucks” and “Fucker”. On the back porch, I watered the only surviving member of last year’s summer heat and quietly hoped this gathering of his shared at least one key element with Jonestown. And then it happened. “Hey, gotta light?” The switch flipped on and I disappeared. I spent the next half hour chain smoking and confirming an overlooked omega’s suspicions of “That sucks”. I can’t describe how grateful I was when a small herd of cows appeared to drag him off as their escort. And there I was, alone in a PVC chair that I once spray painted metallic blue, immersed in self loathing. So what’s the moral of the story? The point to this quaint observation? When I write, I tap into something primitive … the fundamental components of “I” that have managed to keep me alive and reasonably sane for the last 3 decades. Can you guess what they are? Can you see the real me? |
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