I caught a glimpse of my life from the corner of my eye the other day & realized I appear to have become a carefully dressed, quarterly magazine-reading, European wagon-driving, scotch-loving, insufferable, tweedy, bearded cliché.
I hate that. Problem is: I like all of those things. Even being insufferable. So yeah, I’ve got some champagne tastes on a beer budget.
I’m trying to give myself sparse solace because while I appear to be the cliché, my temperament is different. (I hope). I don’t like cool jazz, NPR, The New Yorker, or pretty much any other safe, soft, accepted, liberal comfort-blankets. After I stopped being Actively Catholic®, I went to an Episcopal church for a bit, the message was good but the people were aggravatingly milquetoast about everything. To paraphrase something someone said sometime: The meek will inherit the earth because no one else will take it. That’s those people. God bless ‘em. No one else will.
Anyway, but. If you catch me out of the other eye-corner, you’ll see a greasy-spoon eating, dive bar planted, unleashed dog walking, windows open hollerin’ at my kid, shirtless on the porch, filthy-jeaned, southern-drawling metalhead.
I love that. Problem is: ain’t almost no one else does.
I sometimes wonder what conclusions people reach about me at work, but I’m too busy working to care about it.
I like high brow. I like low brow. I pretend middlebrow doesn’t exist.
I have no other point.
If you need one then the point is that the world is messy & even when I reject stereotypes, I often use them in the same breath. I’m unrepentant. I just try to improve.