So in case you haven’t been paying attention, I went to a Monte Montgomery concert last weekend. By “paying attention” I do of course mean paying attention to me, not paying some unknown amount of some unknown currency to something or someone identified as “attention”. And in case you’re still short on rent, Monte is the best thing to happen to blues rock since blues and rock found out they were made for each other.
But that’s not really the point here, is it? Well, I suppose it’s unfair to ask the question, how do you know it’s not the point yet? It’s not the point. The point is what I was wearing to the concert.
I know that little blood vessel in the middle of your forehead is about to explode, but before you paint a modern art masterpiece on your monitor, let me explain.
Earlier last week, I picked up the new Freebirds t-shirt. Freebirds is of course the fabled home of the Monster, the Monster of course being the nectar and ambrosia of the modern age. But that is neither here nor there. What is both here and there is that the new t-shirt, in addition to being almost entirely all black, has emblazoned across the chest “T-SHIRT” in white letters. How can you say no to an article of clothing so in touch with itself, especially when it offers its insightful introspection for free?
Every new t-shirt longs to show off it’s newness, and what better place than a Monte Montgomery concert. I am no master of the fashion arts, but I do know, when you’re wearing a black shirt and blue jeans, you’d best well be wearing a black belt and black boots, brown simply will not do.
So there I am in my black boots, black belt, black t-shirt, and hippy hair half way on its way to a Locks-of-Love donation. Let’s not forget the pocket watch. You aren’t fully clean until you’re zestfully wearing a pocket watch, I always say.
So blue jeans, black boots, belt and t-shirt, long hair, and a chain coming out of my pocket. From across the room, you’d have bet good money I rode in on my Harley, and if I was walking straight at you, I’d bet good money you’d move.
But my chain went to a pocket watch, not a wallet. My hair is going to some little girl with cancer or a genetic disorder. My t-shirt thinks it’s a t-shirt. And the last time I was on a motorcycle I wound up somewhere between it, the gravel road, and a barbed wire fence.
The point is, since we’re all about making points these days, my appearance, though not a lie in the slightest, was probably completely misleading to someone who didn’t know I was far more mentally unstable than socially unstable.
So forget appearances. Appearances are just your prejudices lining up in a row for your perusal. They aren’t true, they aren’t real, and more than likely, they don’t have the first thing to do with the thing or person you’re looking at.
That said, don’t worry about how other people see you. There’s a really really good chance that what they see in you has a lot less to do with you than it has to do with them. So in general, if someone looks across the room and thinks you’re a social misfit, miscreant, or misogynist, it’s probably because they’re just under the mistaken impression that anyone who doesn’t look like the way they think they look must be a bad bad person.
So can you learn something about someone by looking at them? Possibly, though probably not. Its far more likely that if you learn about someone, you’ll understand why they look the way they do. The truth is far more revealing than the picture; the experience far more beneficial than the story.
As the aforementioned “L” or “Lindsay”, I would like to point out that, while all the above points about the usefulness of small people are valid, it still does not make them any more realistic. There are not many of us out there for a reason; God knew the world could only handle so much wit, brains, beauty, (insert any other positive quality). All of these qualities are clearly evident in high volumes within every small person. Therefore, dreaming of a world where so many exist is a mute topic because God knows what’s best, He’s leaving some room for the taller folk to get some recognition. So appreciate what you have and I’ll enjoy my oversized portion of blessings :)
Sorry to inject a bit of reality (ouch - the stuff stings) into the conversation, but isn’t Fuwjax one of the FEW people who looked the way he does because he is NOT trying to conform? Weekend road warriors don’t rebel, they switch.
And height is not a woman-related quality. I’d wear stilts or cut my feet off if I thought it would get me a date. No, I’m just looking for a woman who is not scared of me. I mean, come on! The dark hordes of demons that hound me aren’t MY fault!
I think you’re sort of implying that L is not already our Queen, which quite frankly is a pretty good way of getting cast out of society whether we midgitify everyone or not.
On second thought, L would be cast out of society with me. So maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Would that make Lindsay our queen? and if so, would I be cast out of society?! Great. Yet another reason to hate on tall girls. Thanks, Fuwjax! anti-yours, T
Look, is it really my fault that I’m of the opinion that the little people are just more inherently useful than the rest of us? In fact, if it were possible, I think we should genetically alter all babies to be midgets.
Just think of it…
You’re at a baseball game and everyone in the row in front of you stands up, but you don’t have to; you can see over them just fine.
Or you’re crowd surfing at a concert and you’re dropped to the ground, but you only fall about 3 feet.
You’re cleaning out your closet, and you decide it’s finally time to throw away that jacket you’ve had since 4th grade.
Imagine the impact on our economy and ecology. We could build our houses half as high, skyscrapers could have twice as many floors. We could have much smaller cars, which would dramatically reduce the effects of rush hour.
Let’s face it people, midgets aren’t freaks or mistakes, they’re the future. We’re witnessing human evolution here people.
I’d say the blue jeans, black boots, belt and t-shirt, long hair, and a chain coming out of your pocket had less to do with your being percieved as a social deviant than the fact that you’re a social deviant. At least this is what the lovely people behind us at dinner would have assumed after listening to your “101 uses for the vertically challenged”.
Posted with : Bare with Me