“Are you a little weird?” “Of course not you would say.” No one wants to be thought weird. Not little babies, not adults and certainly not teenagers. But I don’t think being weird is really such a bad thing. In fact, I think the world needs more weird people. If you look at the so called “normal people” in Washington these days, it would be great if we had more weird people.
I want to be weird. Weird people do strange things and do not try to be like other people. Weird people are not conformists and dance to their own tunes. Weird people do not look and dress like other people. Sometimes, weird people come from other countries. Weird people eat weird things like lefse, lutefisk, snail salad, Kim Chee, Hákarl, chicken feet, Hagis and Rocky Mountain Oysters. Weird people dress strangely as well. They don’t all wear ripped blue jeans and t-shirts.
If I call you weird, you will probably not take it as a compliment. Isn’t that sad? Why are we so afraid of being weird? Weird people don’t want to fight wars in strange lands. I never had a fight with a weird person. Weird people seem to believe in live and let live. Weird people don’t want to hurt other people or rape the environment. Isn’t’ that strange? You never get flyers from weird people saying, “Please send me money, I am running for office.” Or “send me money now and I will stop sending you spam mail and hacking your credit cards.”
Weird people are probably Un-American. You never see weird people wearing t-shirts that say, “These Colors Don’t run.” Or “Send all the Immigrants Back.” For some reason, weird people are not very patriotic. They seem to endorse the view that “Patriotism is the Last Refuge of a Scoundrel.” I spent four years in the military during the Vietnam War and I met very few if any weird people in the military. I never met any weird Captains or Colonels and certainly not any weird Generals. It is considered quite normal in warfare to bomb the hell out of anyone you want to save. Ergo, the phase “Ours is not to question why, ours is but to do and die.” Weird people might challenge that phrase but then they would be put in front of a firing squad.
I know that when I grew up, parents did not want their kids to be weird. They wanted them to play sports like other kids. Go to school like other kids. Go to college and get a good job like other kids and watch the same TV programs as other kids. Most normal families want their kids to fit into the American dream. They want their kids to be rich, famous, successful and have lots of money. They don’t want their kids to associate with weird people. “Watch out for that weird guy on the corner!” “Stay away from those weird girls.” “Don’t dress so weird or you will not be liked.” “Why can’t you be like all the other kids.”
“Don’t do anything weird” is the secret to success in America. Play golf on Saturday, go to church on Sunday (none of those weird religions please like Jehovah Witnesses, Zen Buddhists or Hari Krishnas) stick to churches that praise our war efforts and preach the “Prosperity Gospel.” Let’s all gather in the Rose Garden and pray for success in our next war.
Weird people are not wanted in America. Weird people stick out like sore thumbs. Who wants weird people living on their street or in their gated communities or their RV parks. Weird people often come in a variety of colors and even genders. Some weird people say that they are not male or female but are really neutral or transgender or nonbinary or some other weird categories that normal people cannot pronounce. Weird people often have weird ethnic affiliations that are hard for normal (White) people to understand. Her mother was from Ethiopia, but her mother’s parents were from Malaysia and Indonesia. Her father was from Nigeria, but his parents were from Scotland and Nova Scotia. Hard to send weird people back to where they come from since some of them come from such weird places.
Well, that is all for today folks. If you spot any weird people, please be tolerant, kind and compassionate towards them. Whatever you do, please do not call Trump’s “Office of Normal People Only Wanted Here” to report them. They will be happier if you just ignore them. By the way, where I live in Arizona, Mexicans and Canadians are actually not considered weird.
On some primal level, we all live by an unseen law of rhythm. The rhythm of the universe controls an eternal dance between the atoms and molecules that make up our existence. This natural rhythm imparts an inexorable symmetry to all of life. A regulated succession of strong and weak elements of opposite and contrasting conditions that becomes the master of all that we do. Buddhists call it the Yin and Yang of being.
In countless ways, we observe that there is fundamentally no difference between writing or between a piece of choreography and the changing climate. Creativity is carved out of the passion that is in everything we do. The body and mind embrace in a never-ending minuet. The music ebbs and flows. Our love is gentle, restrained, then wild and feral. Mornings, afternoons, evenings, and nights fuse with the seasons of spring, summer, fall and winter. The harsh gales of November resonate in the refrains of Tchaikovsky and Beethoven. “Summer Breeze” by Seals and Crofts ushers in the scorching days of July. Poetry rings out in the rap music of the streets while the mellow voices of choir singers comfort the soul. All things are one say the mystics. If my writing is one with all things, will the tempo of my words cool, heat, soothe or disrupt the fashions of life?
We are all dust in the wind but our rhythms echo through the halls of time. The most unforgettable and amazing repetitions will continue as long as humans walk the earth. Coded in the numerous ways we have of capturing the rhythm of our lives. Some code in music, some in text and some in clay. Some codes are dynamic, some peaceful, some violent and some sad. We write our lyrics, pen our verses, create our stanzas, and design our choreography. All efforts guided by the unseen law of rhythm. Now we are hard, now we are brittle. Now we roar and now we snore.
The rhythm of life runs through our heart beats. It runs through literature. It runs through music. Great music has rhythms that exhibit great variation. Fast, slow, moderate than fast again. Interesting speakers have a sense of rhythm in their talks. Have you ever heard a lecture or a sermon without rhythm? It will put you to sleep in less than five minutes. Writing and speaking, just like music, must contain elements of rhythm. A heart without rhythm ceases to beat. Writing without rhythm is boring. Life without rhythm is death.
Over time, I have noticed that the most popular post I have on my blog site is my Home page “Who is Dr. John Persico Jr.?” I realize that most readers want to know my credentials to see if anything I am going to say has any credibility. Am I someone you can trust? Can you depend upon my words or my facts? Am I just another wannabe Guru so full of my own opinions that I have no room for other points of view?
Those who march to the proverbial beat of a different drummer live with risk, but they also are not bored. We only experience life when we are open to the unknown and the unpredictable. Walk through a cemetery at midnight. Take a train or bus to someplace you have never been before. Read a book in a new genre. Watch a movie that is offbeat. Try some foods that you think you might not like. Meet some new people. Embrace the strange and esoteric. Life is not a cherry; it is a seething caldron of uncertainty and innumerable possibilities. You will never truly live if you simply stand at the edge of the caldron and wait for it to stop bubbling.
Over the years, I have noticed that I have about as many people each week who view my “Who is Dr. John Persico Jr?” profile as read my blog. I suppose it is only natural that people would want to know something about me before believing anything I say. If only everyone did the same thing with the politicians that they vote for. But that is another issue.
Aging Capriciously 