The Call of the Weird
I recently got called ‘weird’ by a friend’s five year old daughter. She actually said “you’re weird” to which I responded “thank you, you’re weird too.” That might normally result in a punch on the face or at least a ‘what the fuck dude?’ but my friend laughed as he’s twice as odd as he thinks he is and four degrees before top-dead center. People have been taught, it’s more of an unspoken thing, that we need to keep those weird people away from the rest of us. I'm one of the round pegs in the square holes your mother warned you about and I think we need to keep those not-so-weird people away from we weirdos with their perfectly laid out lives of college and vows and SUVs in suburban garages with smiles and hugs as the facade of a decaying foundation – believing the lies and spouting them as truths they gave birth to and never stopping to think, to really think and have a truly original thought – they believe without first questioning – they regurgitate without first pausing and filtering and making sense of what comes through and become parrots producing imperfect twins with perfect smiles – while the rest of us who are deemed the crazy ones, the rebels without a clue – the troublemakers with no regard for rules or the status quo – who drive on the wrong side with their hands at three-fifteen and midnight and switching the station during commercials while changing lanes with the beat never going below eighty except to pass. Well I think they need to steer clear – with their between the lines banter of actors playing a part and living a dreamy Camelot existence with four years and four doors and two-point-five kids with another woman as they hide the sniffles and hold their sides and chew gum to hide the smell – so keep them over there behind the ropes thank you – I don’t want to be on their list – the exiled blue seats have the fresh air and the view, ah the view.