Not Like Me
Like most people who write a weblog, I spend lots of ink—that is, bytes—complaining. And typically, I’m complaining about other people: Republicans, cellphone users, folks who wear neon-colored nylon jackets and spandex pants to ride their bikes faster than they’re competent to along the Burke-Gilman on days that it’s sunny and over 65 degrees.
What all these people, and others who earn my ire, have in common is that they’re not like me. The live their lives and make choices in them that are different than those I make in mine.
Naturally, therefore, they piss me off and compel me to write snarky little pieces about how creepy and pathetic each and every one of them is.
But really, why should I care?
Whose should it make any difference to me—and especially a difference that is expressed through annoyance—that so many people in the world make so many choices that I don’t or wouldn’t? Shouldn’t I be glad they’re not like me and wouldn’t it make more sense to celebrate our dissimilarities?
After all, if everyone was a cyclist who favored steel bikes and wool garments, imagine how hard it would be for me to not only distinguish myself from the crowd, but also to simply acquire all the things that I prefer.
As things stand, it’s relatively easy to find ample stocks of tofu, leather saddles, and Chuck Taylor basketball shoes for sale. If the world was just like me, though, I’d have to wait in endless lines for all of these and more.
It’s probably primal: I’m driven to denigrate those who express attitudes and preferences unlike mine because I see them as representing a different tribe, one intent upon stealing my fire, Mammoth meat, and petroglyph brushes. But in the contemporary world, it makes more sense to see others as simply a different demographic—one that keeps the waiting list for what I want reasonably short.
Vive, then, la difference.
What all these people, and others who earn my ire, have in common is that they’re not like me. The live their lives and make choices in them that are different than those I make in mine.
Naturally, therefore, they piss me off and compel me to write snarky little pieces about how creepy and pathetic each and every one of them is.
But really, why should I care?
Whose should it make any difference to me—and especially a difference that is expressed through annoyance—that so many people in the world make so many choices that I don’t or wouldn’t? Shouldn’t I be glad they’re not like me and wouldn’t it make more sense to celebrate our dissimilarities?
After all, if everyone was a cyclist who favored steel bikes and wool garments, imagine how hard it would be for me to not only distinguish myself from the crowd, but also to simply acquire all the things that I prefer.
As things stand, it’s relatively easy to find ample stocks of tofu, leather saddles, and Chuck Taylor basketball shoes for sale. If the world was just like me, though, I’d have to wait in endless lines for all of these and more.
It’s probably primal: I’m driven to denigrate those who express attitudes and preferences unlike mine because I see them as representing a different tribe, one intent upon stealing my fire, Mammoth meat, and petroglyph brushes. But in the contemporary world, it makes more sense to see others as simply a different demographic—one that keeps the waiting list for what I want reasonably short.
Vive, then, la difference.
posted by Professor Dave at 11:59 PM
1 Comments:
I have to disagree, at least partially - I wish a lot *more* people would forego fluorescent plastic garments in favor of genuine sheared-off-a-sheep wool. I think more demand in the marketplace would make it a heckuva lot easier to get not-made-in-China wool clothing than it currently is; I was dismayed when Woolistic also went the China route. Even Rivendell's wool offerings (what little they still have) now mostly comes from there - the country with the lowest costs and the least worker health & safety & environmental standards. And that, to my mind, sucks.
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