Over the past few days I had been corresponding with my friend, the Otter, about recently popularized words in print. Particularly, I took note of “fraught” and “one-off” as words I had come across in the internet news and commentary pages to a degree that was becoming annoying.
And that gave me pause: why should I be annoyed?
It came to me, suddenly, in an uncomfortable bolt of realization—I am an anti-faddist!
Fads aggravate me. I mean, except for a brief period between 1966 and 1971 when I was into everything—Nehru jacket, paisley shirts, bell bottoms, pea coat, madras jacket—I pretty much go the other way on everything I can think of.
When hair styles were long, I kept mine short; when they went short, I grew mine long. Beards were popular, I went clean-shaven; when facial hair faded, I let my whiskers grow. Everyone is wearing shorts? Then mine languish in the drawer.
Folks buy big cars, I drive an Isuzu; gas prices go up, I buy an old Suburban. White sox are in, I’m wearing gray. Rooting for one team? I’ll cheer the other. Serving romaine while I stick with iceberg, popularizing sushi and I’m seeking out natural casing wieners.
One of the reasons I resisted starting a blog for so long was because “everyone” was doing it. Now I have four.
So what is it with me, anyway?
Best I can figure is one of two things. It’s either some sort of twisted DNA strand or else, when my mother scolded me so many times in my childhood, “If everybody goes and jumps off the bridge, are you going to do that, too?,” I took it way, way too seriously. I suspect the latter.
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Sadly
As I was writing this on Monday afternoon at about 4 PM MST , I received word that MJ, of whom I wrote last week, had passed away about an hour before.
The world seems a stranger place.
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