An Ode to the Socially Awkward

Perhaps "Ode" is not the right word. This will most likely not be an epic poem. However, Socially Awkward* (SA) is right on point.

You've seen them. The people who are just a little, or even a lot, off. They look normal enough, but there's something in the way they carry themselves, or maybe it's the desperation in their eyes, that identifies them as SA. They are often spotted nervously sidling up to groups of Socially Competents (SC) in an effort to try to ingratiate themselves into a clan or pod of some sort, only to be driven back by the quizzically raised eyebrow or impatient exclamation of "what are you talking about?".

Many times, the Socially Awkward will not speak at all, feeling that silence is the best way to anonymously blend in with a group; this strategy has proven effective in some instances, but inevitably an SC will ask the SA for an opinion on something mundane and the SA's cover will be blown.

SC: Hey, Donny, we need a good place to get some nachos and beer before the game. Any suggestions?

SA: We could go to the House of Nachos and Beer! My dad strangled a hooker to death right around the corner from there. They have a great happy hour.

This may have seemed like a completely natural correlation to the SA, but the SC will inevitably raise the eyebrow and that will be all she wrote for THAT friendship.

SC: Sheila, does this top look okay with these pants? I'm having a hard time picking an outfit for tonight.

SA: I think they look really really good together. I love that outfit on you!

SC: Thanks! That helps!

SA: You always look amazing. You're so lucky.

SC: Gee, thanks.

SA: I mean it. You are so lucky. So so so fucking lucky.

SC: Um....yeah.

It's easy to dismiss these interactions as random instances in which a single weirdo accosts an individual or group of individuals with some inane blitherings and then wanders off into the oblivion of time, but history has shown otherwise.

There's a veritable lexicon of SAs throughout the history of humankind that have left deep and indelible impacts on our overall society. But, think for a second what a conversation with any one of the following people would be like:
Van Gogh
Judas Iscariot
Nikola Tesla
Mary Todd Lincoln
Anyone named Malachai

Famous? Check. Historically Impactful? Check. Fun at parties? Most definitely not.

Each one of the above could suck the life out of a spirited conversation faster than a Kardashian can say "I don't anymore".

Van Gogh: "I really love what you've done with the place. Where can I put my coat and severed ear?"

Judas Isacariot: "I hope you all like a good red! It reminds me of Jesus' last supper before I betrayed him. It's like his blood."

Nikola Tesla: "Is Marconi gonna show? I got a fistful of death-ray for that mofo."

Mary Todd Lincoln: "Everyone I loved is dead. Is this dip gluten free?"

Malachai: "H-h-h-hey, guys. I brought Zima!"

There are more examples, but you should get the gist by now.

As a society, everyone needs the SAs to continue making the contributions they do to the world. It's just important that they do it somewhere else and with as little interacting with the SCs as possible.  Contact with the SCs only leads to a dulling of creativity and a general sense of discomfort for all parties.

So next time you're faced with direct contact with an SA, remember to do everyone involved a favor and immediately shame and shun them. History will thank you for it eventually, and everyone in your SC group will thank you immediately.

Signed,
Lifelong SA

*SA and SC are both nouns and adjectives in this world.

I'm thinking of taking up cliche' for the new year...

In an effort to nurture this new hobby/habit/lifestyle, I'm sitting at a coffee shop in SE Portland on a Monday morning, blogging.

This is a lovely thing, to be surrounded by hippies having philosophical discussions regarding the environment and how they could best "hear and support" one another in their respective endeavors. Watching the young mother let her very unkempt child wander around and bother everyone, because she clearly fosters the "it takes a village" parenting style. And of course, I'm flanked by about 4 other bloggers, doing exactly what I'm doing- embracing the cliche'. All I need now is a PBR and some thick-rimmed glasses, and I'm all set.

There are worse resolutions to make.

I could resolve to watch more Gary Busey films, join the Tea Party, start a dog-fighting ring, become Patient Zero, etc. but none of those are particularly appealing at this stage of the game. I'll probably do some reevaluating come March, though.

When I asked my two teenagers if they had any resolutions for the new year, they both kinda shrugged (which seemed almost athletic for them) and grunted, and I took this as a very positive sign. I've decided to interpret their responses as the following:

BOY: Yes mother, I am endeavoring to procure gainful employment and assist in paying for my upcoming college education, which will surely aid in my becoming a productive citizen. I certainly have no intention of sitting here and playing Skyrim for the rest of my life.

GIRL: Of course, mother. I plan on raising my grades up from the depths they have sunk, to grades more befitting a child of my intelligence level. I will also begin practicing my saxophone regularly, in order to excel as one of the greatest jazz musicians of all time. I certainly have no intention of sitting here and playing Skyrim for the rest of my life.

Did I mention that part of the whole cliche' evolution would be include a staunch adherence to optimism? Cause irony is sooooo 2011.