3:15 am

on stereotypes. . .

I really should go home. You can only lie in the grass and think about past loves for so long. Especially when there is a very slim chance they ever think about me. Maybe when something smells particularly acrid they may find themselves in some dingy memory they can’t quite place, but I doubt my name comes up in conversation.

I like to think I was memorable to some. I also know that I have this thing where people rarely remember my name. Shit. Half the time I tell them and it is automatically translated to Brent, or Rhett, or god forbid Bret. Anyone who spells Brett with one T is a demon. Like f’real. No one is named Scot, Bil, or Jef. Well, maybe there is, but their parents are assholes.

I have chalked up this lack of name recognition to the fact that I don’t remember names. Some may say this is due to a lack of effort or failure to implement some kind of pneumonic trickery. It is not. It is a form of aphasia. For sure I can get a name to stick in my brain after some repetition or strong desire to see the person naked, but even then I can forget, or I have to really associate in my head before the name comes to mind.

Even then I will lose names after a while. Names I knew well just fade away. People become “that chick” or “that one dude”.

You know him.

The one with the face.

Speaking of faces, I never forget a face. That part of my brain is literally photographic. I have approached people who I knew after years of separation and recognized them from a glance. The look on their face twisting as they try to recall why this strange asshole is talking to them. Eventually it clicks for them but for me it was instantaneous.

I haven’t really tested this skill. I can’t say that I remember every face I have ever seen, but I seem to be able to differentiate people. I have had several sets of twins come in and out of my life and I was always able to tell them apart without much effort. To me they looked different when to most people it was hard to tell them apart. I have no idea what this is, but even celebrity lookalikes don’t impress me.

Sure, the resemble the celebrity but they don’t really look like them.

I suppose that is why I hate when someone says I look like someone else. No I fucking don’t. You just have face aphasia and would probably lose your mind in a place like China where the diversity in appearance is less straightforward. I may have attributes in common with millions of other people, but the totality of what I look like is not like anyone else.

I am a motherfucking unique butterfly.

I also hate it when people say I remind them of someone else. I bet not. In the hour or so we have been hanging out you might have picked up on some personality traits, but who I am as a person takes a fuckton longer than an afternoon to figure out. I guarantee there is some weird shit bobbling about in my head that will fall out of my mouth one day and wreck your whole shit.

Perhaps not, but I am not a caricature of a human being.

I am an actual human being.

Plus, I am not some granite statue incapable of change. My base operating system has stayed the same, but I have evolved as the world around me has changed. I have chilled out in my old age. Shit, having children alone changes you at your core. Mostly adds a bunch of fat to your core, but that is only because I hate doing crunches and shit.

Unless we are talking crunching these potato chips handfulls at a time. Handsfull?

Dumb.

Anyway, I suppose that’s how stereotypes work. When you can’t differentiate between individuals it is easier to just assume for the group. Granted if you dress like a hoodrat, talk like a hoodrat, and gesticulate like a hoodrat I am probably going to assume you are interested in doing some hoodrat shit. It is entirely possible someone in a hoodrat costume is out there volunteering to work with the elderly, but odds are they are going to punch that elderly person in the head for funzies.

On the other hand, stereotypes can be manipulated. How many wholesome, squeaky clean, pillars of the community ended up being horrible people. History is littered with news stories of priests and pastors getting caught engaging in less than pious things. I am thinking Bill Cosby did a pretty good job of hiding behind a positive stereotype. It is almost a trope that the overly outward good person is doing the darkest shit behind closed doors.

Again. Tell me the people who are positive all the time aren’t creepy as fuck.

Stereotypes get a bad rap. Usually because people stereotype the concept of stereotypes. When you hear that word your mind jumps to race or gender or some other dividing human characteristic. Meanwhile one can leverage those lesser talked about stereotypes to their advantage.

Want to get a job that requires an intellectual pursuit? Wear glasses to the interview.

Want to get into the club? Dress like a member of the club.

Want to make people think you have authority over them? Wear a lab coat or a funny hat.

People love to give themselves over people in funny hats.

I hated it. I actively fought against conforming for the sake of success. I didn’t want to wear the “right” shoes. I wanted my value to be based solely on my merit, on who I am and what I am capable of, not what brand watch I wore.

Fossil.

Pocket watch on a chain.

Nothing overt. No brands. No logos. No discernable fashion label. No hip hairstyle. No team jersey. No costume.

I couldn’t stand the idea of trying to fit in. I stereotyped those kinds of people as small minded. Sheep. They would follow any trend the media threw at them without shame or thought. Blending in with their crowd. I just wanted to be myself, whatever that meant, and it felt like subscribing to the trend was someone else telling me who to be.

I wonder how many opportunities I lost by being stubborn. I am perfectly capable of pretending. I just really abhor lies and it feels like a lie. Changing how I want to be in order to fit in is an icky feeling. It feels like I am taking advantage of human weakness. It is the same awful taste in my mouth when I see other people manipulating others. It is worse when I watch people allowing themselves to be manipulated.

What is crazy is they teach this shit in college. It’s called “marketing”. This is the politically correct term for propaganda. They also call it “public relations”. It is all the same shit. Humans are predictable, they have insecurities, and there is a manual of operations on how to pull the levers and push the buttons on the human psyche in order to get a predictable response.

Fact is, your brain is under attack at all times by gangs of suburbrats or whatever.

I don’t know if there is a term for where the billionaires live. Whatever the opposite of the hood is.

Yachtrats?

Megaranchinhawaiirats?

Never mind.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate the players. Hating on a billionaire is like hating on Michael Jordan because I suck at layups. I do get the feeling that the system is set up to funnel money upward, but I can’t really fault the guy who found a way to build a better funnel. I am also conflicted because I am not certain I want the government to swoop in and try to fix things. They fucking suck at implementing solutions.

Really good at making funnels though.

Right now it feels like Michael Jordan is playing against toddlers, but I don’t know what to do about it. I know government had about 5.2 trillion to spend last year and that all seemed to go to waste so giving them all the billionaires’ money doesn’t seem smart. Then again I base most of my opinions of government on the stereotype that they are all corrupt lairs who steal as much money as possible.

I need to quit my bitching. My future is in my hands. I know what to do. Put on the suit, get the haircut, show off some watch, shiny up my shoes, don some glasses, flash the veneers, laugh at the jokes, learn all the lingo, root for the right team, understand all the cultural references, and practice the secret handshake.

Or not.

Fuck them billionaires. Creepy fucks. Probably out there eating babies.

Walking back to my modest life in my modest home with my modest family, I am okay with it. Sure I want nicer things. Sure I want to live my life without constantly checking the prices of what I need. Sure I would probably live longer with access to elite nutrition, elite physical training, and elite medicine. Sure I would probably be able to satiate my selfish wants if I had an endless supply of money to play with.

I am just not sure I want to sell my soul for it.