I interviewed a magician today, an old fat piker who coughed phelgmy into a hand wearing a Masonic ring.
He spoke with passion about magic, country music and old friends. He was born in Iraq. He wore a stained T-shirt bearing his stage name.
I took a walk today. A middle-aged women in traditional German garb and a garland in her hair played the accordion in a public square. I passed by three times over the next hour and a half. She was still playing the whole time, smiling like she just heard a joke she was savoring before she could share it.
In the comic book shop, greasy hairs laughed over Spider-Man and Evil Dead jokes only a few would get. They were happy in their company and their friends. And I, silent observer, got the jokes. They were funny. Why wouldn't people get out when a demonic voice tells them to?
The man who sold me ice cream talked about how he hates when the final product doesn't look like the picture. A little kid danced on a park bench, not caring that she was doing it alone.
Tonight is the night hundreds of fucks on bikes will gather in an event called "Critical Mass." They'll meet in their indentity-sucking mob and blare their mass uniqueness, their individuality in large groups.
If you don't like their individuality (or actually want to share the street rather than be run off it), they get mad. Real mad. Free thinkers hate people who think differently.
They talk about their individuality, about how people who don't like what they do just hate what they can't control. The important part for their psyche is tricking themselves that the loudest thing is the most unique, that the most obnoxious is the most individual.
Individuality? Critical Mobbers, you don't know the meaning of the word.
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Paul Dailing
Paul Dailing (pictured standing in front of the World's Largest Boot), now has a different haircut. He's also lost a bit of weight since that picture was taken, but not as much as he likes to think. More
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