Some people–we’ll call them “douchebags”–say things like: Hey, Reese, you’re weird. I bet you eat banana peels and gently stroke the fur on kiwis. My lawyer has advised me to categorically deny both allegations but I am obligated by ironclad scruples to admit to the fondling of kiwis now and again. Tangent aside, these people, the so-called “douchebags,” make a good point: I am weird. What the “douchebags” fail to recognize is this: Normalcy is not something to which I aspire and weirdness is, at worst, criminal, and, at best, extraordinary, but never dull. I am happy to be called weird.
Look at it this way: I just want a normal guy is greater than or equal to killing, then supplanting indigenous people (commonly referred to as settling). No one genuinely wants a normal guy or girl because a normal guy or girl is uneventful and boring. Normal people cook dinner, read newspapers, discreetly peruse porn online, destroy the evidence of said porn perusal, clip their nails into the wastebasket, nod when they watch CNN and grumble when they watch FOX or vice-versa, and they deny ever pooping. That last one is important largely because it means that normal people are liars. Yes, normal people are untrustworthy. Let me tell you something: Normal people clog the toilet only slightly less frequently than weird people, and normal people’s regularity is the only thing that accounts for the disparity between the two. Everybody poops.
Don’t get me wrong: Weird people lie, too. But they compulsively lie and tell you that they’re from Birmingham or Toronto when they’re from Cleveland. They tell you that Buffy the Vampire Slayer is a higher quality show than Dollhouse. Lies! There’s no apparent reason for them to lie, which makes it interesting. If the cause is too obvious, then the effect is boring. Weird people make you wonder: Why? Why would he lie about being from Birmingham? Why would he flaunt his chest hair so brazenly in that deep-v? Why would he ask to dip his toes in there? Weirdness has an allure that normalcy never has.
I am not advocating for all the freaks out there, because weirdness is not always good. Weirdness can be, shall we say, disturbing. I think that we can agree that pedophiles are weird, yet certainly not good. (Side note: If you disagree, we know who you are.) Also, weirdness can be annoying. I’m looking at you, high school goths with your myriad piercings, blood vials around your necks, and oversize and overly-zippered black pants; you are trying too hard to look the part to be the part. Charlatans are not weird, they are irritating, merely. The moral of this story is this: Weirdness is sometimes good and sometimes bad; normal is never either.