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syncope at 01:06pm on 13/03/2009
syncope at 01:06pm on 13/03/2009This is a quote from a book I'm currently reading (that list includes The Conquest, Journey From the Land of No, In the Devil's Garden and the book which contains this quote, Food In History) about conventional wisdom:
But, as so often with the kind of history that is built on anecdote, this was an optimistic version of reality.
ZING!
I've been giving social convention a little run around in my mind lately. Since I got hurt I've been interacting with people differently than normal. That's to be expected 1. when something fundamentally new happens to alter your life and perspective and 2. because I'm usually fairly blithe with how I behave. My general observation is this: when I interact with strangers there are only TWO ways they respond to me--either they rush in to demand I explain to them what happened to me or they resolutely refuse to acknowledge I have anything weird going on (this is almost universally accompanied by a concerted effort to not make eye contact). I don't like either option. I'm very private in real life (this platform leads to a false sense of intimacy as we all talk about things here we usually wouldn't with co-workers or other casual acquaintances) so the people who demand to know "what happened to [me}!" really get on my nerves because I then have to tell them something when I think is none of their damned business. The people who won't look me in the eye bother me because I suspect they're cowards in other ways that would piss me off (this is uncharitable, but my injuries look a lot like domestic abuse injuries and I feel like the shaming technique of refusal of the basic human acknowledgment of eye contact indicates they suspect they SHOULD say something but won't).
This is all exacerbated, I think, by the fact people around here are not socialized the way I was. Frankly, I find them rude. I asked my aunt if I'm being an asshole, but she confirmed my feelings. Keeping in mind she's a huge snob and we're both more reserved in our manners than most people without rods up their asses. On the other hand, I think my observations are probably fairly universal. I also have reached no conclusions about this other than to ask that if you run into someone with some kind of injury, please remember they're still a person JUST LIKE YOU and they've probably told that story a few times, so stfu if you're a total stranger unless you're going to offer domestic violence counseling or SOMETHING. You don't have any kind of right to know the intimate details of a stranger's life.
I also wonder why I feel an impulse to be honest to people who do this. I should really invent a crazy ass story (I will acknowledge the truth is pretty insane, so no need to mention that).
This little blink into my life is brought to you because of going to get my hair cut. I do realize that people are just idiots and normally people's rude and offensive behavior towards me rolls off my back because I realize it comes from a place of ignorance or nonthinking rather than a place of malice, but I get to complain here.
Today is my cousin's birthday. It's Friday the 13th. I wonder if I might have a good story tomorrow.
But, as so often with the kind of history that is built on anecdote, this was an optimistic version of reality.
ZING!
I've been giving social convention a little run around in my mind lately. Since I got hurt I've been interacting with people differently than normal. That's to be expected 1. when something fundamentally new happens to alter your life and perspective and 2. because I'm usually fairly blithe with how I behave. My general observation is this: when I interact with strangers there are only TWO ways they respond to me--either they rush in to demand I explain to them what happened to me or they resolutely refuse to acknowledge I have anything weird going on (this is almost universally accompanied by a concerted effort to not make eye contact). I don't like either option. I'm very private in real life (this platform leads to a false sense of intimacy as we all talk about things here we usually wouldn't with co-workers or other casual acquaintances) so the people who demand to know "what happened to [me}!" really get on my nerves because I then have to tell them something when I think is none of their damned business. The people who won't look me in the eye bother me because I suspect they're cowards in other ways that would piss me off (this is uncharitable, but my injuries look a lot like domestic abuse injuries and I feel like the shaming technique of refusal of the basic human acknowledgment of eye contact indicates they suspect they SHOULD say something but won't).
This is all exacerbated, I think, by the fact people around here are not socialized the way I was. Frankly, I find them rude. I asked my aunt if I'm being an asshole, but she confirmed my feelings. Keeping in mind she's a huge snob and we're both more reserved in our manners than most people without rods up their asses. On the other hand, I think my observations are probably fairly universal. I also have reached no conclusions about this other than to ask that if you run into someone with some kind of injury, please remember they're still a person JUST LIKE YOU and they've probably told that story a few times, so stfu if you're a total stranger unless you're going to offer domestic violence counseling or SOMETHING. You don't have any kind of right to know the intimate details of a stranger's life.
I also wonder why I feel an impulse to be honest to people who do this. I should really invent a crazy ass story (I will acknowledge the truth is pretty insane, so no need to mention that).
This little blink into my life is brought to you because of going to get my hair cut. I do realize that people are just idiots and normally people's rude and offensive behavior towards me rolls off my back because I realize it comes from a place of ignorance or nonthinking rather than a place of malice, but I get to complain here.
Today is my cousin's birthday. It's Friday the 13th. I wonder if I might have a good story tomorrow.
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