For example, we're sitting at a cafe, having breakfast, and she starts talking about politics. Actually, she begins by asking me what I think about the war, the presidential candidates, and Guantanamo Bay. The latter, she's convinced, is a huge secret and that we're not even allowed to know why we even have a military base in Cuba. When I try to answer by talking about the history of U.S. interference in elections in other nations, though, her face slams shut like a door. Somehow, I've been a jerk. Inappropriate. I'm not speaking to her question. When I stop talking, freaked out by her response, she continues where she left off with the same interrogatory tone, *as though* we're having a discussion that we absolutely can't have. I get, in some way, that this is because my mom dislikes the particular way in which we all tend to talk to one another about politics, the world, our lives, whatever. She believes, again in some way I can't quite articulate, that disagreement is fundamentally hostile and negative. I learned this lesson the hard way when I had a little too much fun debating some ridiculous point with one of my uncles. My mom was horrified at my inability to simply get along with people.
In my thirties, this tendency to simply be difficult is considerably exacerbated by being vegan. Queer-vegan-academic = the most difficult of all. In this economy, what is good is flexibility. The willingness to accommodate, to go with the flow. Nothing is political, especially not the Olympics or picking a presidential candidate based on a gut feeling. I'm ending my rant now.
Anyway, bizarrely, this experience, coming as it did on the heels of another recent house guest of ours, has led me to some further (insect) reflections. If you're reading all the blogs, you've heard something about a certain "nerd troll" who stayed with us while checking out the program. I won't belabor the incident further than to comment that she is, indeed, an example of what can happen to nerds who aren't sufficiently reigned in by...oh...social sensitivity, politics, literary history, or even just the pressures of high school. They turn into people like Dob Baly, and I think we all know who I mean. For my purposes, here, I'm going to call her Ardelia Knightley. Ardelia drove us
totally crazy. When she first got here, she said she had already been up to campus because she likes to show up places when she isn't expected, "just to see what will happen." (picture a little finger curling up toward the mouth as she says this, in an oddly unselfconscious or allusive way)All I could think to ask was, "And did anything happen?" What a bizarre take on the world and one's place in it, you know? Yeah, she drove us crazy. There was the scream, of course, but harder than that were the constant difficulties of conversing. The pathological inability to admit any gaps in knowledge. The giddy praises of a particular, archaic meter. The mainlining of tea laced with loads of sugar. The just...plain...weirdness.
My epiphany? To my family, I am Ardelia Knightley.
3 comments:
This is what I've been saying all along--Ardelia is one.of.us.one.of.us--or at least who we are perceived to be from the outside.
Consider also that Ardelia is much like you mom in that she probably views political discussion as divisive and in bad harmony. Ardelia is perhaps who your mom wishes you would be--to some extent--I'm saying this with a big grain of salt added. Can't you be, you know, really smart, but amiable, happy, and the like? Etc. Etc.
I noticed this moment: when Patrick arrived at the party, we immediately began sarcastic tear-downs of various things--and your mom quickly and immediately moved away to the kitchen. I was too sick to be "B. the Buffer" so I wasn't able to muster much small talk. Luckily A showed up! He likes talking to anyone.
Would that we could test Ardelia on him, he he...
Just know that when I visit later this month, I am going to insist that sporting events are vital to a sense of community and social harmony, and will not be swayed by any argument to the contrary. In fact, even attempting to make a mild argument or ask for a simple clarification on a specific point of my thesis will result in a temper tantrum followed by wanton destruction of your belongings with a hockey stick.
SnnnnnooooowFLAAAAAKE!
Sometimes I think people like Ardelia might thrive best in a special nerd-biosphere in the Arizona desert. They're like these exotic flowers that aren't supposed to exist, and we're acid rain. Or something.
You are nowhere near being like her.
Post a Comment