TWELVE MONTHS by Scott Morgan: During Stress Awareness Month, our reporter explains what eats away at him the routine.
The mundane wigs me out.
Boredom, so far as I can see, should not be part of the human condition. There is genuine plight, genuine horror and genuine folly, but I have the most trouble handling genuine conformity. Especially when I practice it. Confrontation is easily recognized and clearly defined. Conformity is a seductive, insidious siren. You fall under the spell before you even realize you’re headed for the rocks.
I have no wish for anarchy, but there are plenty of conventions I’d like to see trod upon every so often; the unwritten social rules that lock us into thoughtless modes of automatic behavior. Where is it law that we can’t sing in the men’s room? Or that we have to turn around in the elevator? Or that we have to hide our body art just so we don’t stir the pot?
Why the diatribe? Two reasons. First, it’s April, which means it’s National Stress Awareness Month. Now seemed like a good time to tell you all what’s stickin’ in my craw.
Second, I rant because, frankly, I’m a little on edge lately. I’m really glad I Kojacked my head because it keeps me from pulling out my hair. (And not that I’m keeping count, but half of the people in my life like it and half don’t. To the half that does, thank you. For the rest of you, well, I’ll let you figure out what you can do with your opinions).
I’m on edge because everything is so … so … "same." Same movies, same sounds, same colors on the fingernails. Even rebellion has become big business. The freaks all shop at the same places, so even they all look the same these days. It’s like we’re all zombies trapped in some conservative, prefab dull-storm. And anytime anyone steps even a shade off center, even the most liberal among us reel in shock that someone has bucked the system.
I want to see something new. I want to see something different. I want to see people put away their bottles of whine and just, for God’s sake, do something out of the blue.
You know what I want? Let me tell you what I want. I want to steal Abbie Hoffman’s headstone.
I want my boss to sign my checks in crayon.
I want to use lettuce, bread and clams as currency.
I want to go to church just to pick up women.
I want to leave myself an obscene message.
I want to get a degree in something without practical application.
I want to see somebody wear a windsock for a hat.
I want to have myself paged at Kmart.
I want to see pink motorcycles.
I want to see somebody with a third eye tattooed to her forehead.
I want to watch a Samoan movie with Urdu subtitles.
I want Sally Struthers to get a new career that makes more money.
I want somebody to mail me rodeo tickets.
I want to build a full-scale model of my parking lot.
I want people to fly Soviet flags just because they like the color.
I want to make an all-male version of "Steel Magnolias."
I want to eat smoked ice cream.
I want to go to Botswana just to get a pizza.
I want to wear a Speedo to the Winter Olympics.
I want to see the ACLU boycott something.
I want a mugger to give me money.
I want Irish pubs to sell Shamrock Shakes.
I want to see people braid their leg hair.
I want to drive along the actual road to Hell.
I want to ask a mime for change.
I want to see somebody with a mullet wear a Barry Manilow tour shirt.
I want to hear acid thrash reggae in a yarn store.
I want a Republican atheist to run for president.
I want somebody in the subway to hand me a flower.
I want people to wear plaid to funerals.
I want to invent a new style of mustache.
I want to ring doorbells and tell people their knockers are broken.
I want to buy books at hot dog carts.
I want to make a face and really have it freeze that way.
I want to buy glow-in-the-dark camouflage.
I want to learn Braille in Portuguese.
I want to go on live TV just to say, "Oh, crap, you found me."
I want to drop a lifelike mannequin off a roller coaster.
I want to go window shopping for actual windows.
I want to see fine art made of cheese.
I want to see a cheerleader punch a referee in the face.
I want to meet someone for whom life was changed by Gino Vanelli.
I want to wear perfume that smells like fruit.
I want to see cars shaped like human heads.
I just want to see something different.
Anything.
I’m freakin’ out, here.
Scott Morgan is a staff writer for the Windsor-Hights Herald. Twelve Months looks at items or events with their own "month" designation, such as National Stress Awareness Month.