More and more I feel like the wet blanket. I seem to find certain jokes far less amusing than others—especially jokes that I feel marginalize any group of people or legitimate problem the world is facing. Rape jokes, sexist jokes…general teasing that has to do with someone’s sexual orientation? All of it just puts me in a sour mood and I wind up just wanting to leave wherever I’m currently at. I don’t think I always used to be this way so what is it? Is it something in the water trickling down from Berkeley that’s making me far too serious or am I just finally experiencing the social issues that were largely only textbook in their reality during adolescence? Is it that I’ve just become too self-centered to be able to look at myself with an objective eye and laugh?
On one hand I’ve always been “so serious” about perceived injustice. Even as a child I wanted to save the world. I guess mom shoulda named me Ka-ka-ka-Katie. **TRIVIA TIME: Name that movie and win a cookie! PS: my last trivia winner still needs to email me his info so I can mail out a treat! Hey you, yeah I’m talking to you, send me your info and any allergens to my blog’s email addy: rollingsreliableblog at g mai l dot com** I do think part of it is that I’m experiencing more of life rather than reading about it. There are issues that seem far less important than they did and others that seem to be so ignored by people around me that I want to scream. Sometimes I just want to get out a drum and hold it in someone’s face and yell “WAKE UP!” The apathy and willful ignorance that serve as a constant state of existence for some…I don’t understand it. I never have. Some stupid little voice inside me just won’t shut up and I can’t sit by the sidelines and watch and do nothing. I have to do something—even if it’s just letting the people I want to defend know I’m here. I have to do something.
I noticed that there are people in this world just hellbent upon making it a miserable place for the rest of us and I have no desire to be around them. Thankfully this is a minority of folks and I find that most people are generally decent and well intentioned. Even so these decent people have a tendency to “kid around” to such an extent that I always feel very distant from them. The joking, the kidding, the teasing…I don’t know it just gets old after a while. I’ve always been one to provide a good ribbing and I like to think that I take as well as I give—but I’m more apt to get annoyed when the target is someone other than myself. I’ll go up in arms twice as quickly when the butt of the joke isn’t my own. I’d like to think with all the squats I’ve been doing my own ass is pretty springy and most stuff bounces off of it. Provided I’ve had enough sleep and coffee that day anyway. No coffee = no sense of humor. Word to the wise and future significant others. Take for example this joke which I’ve heard far too many times and which seems particularly relevant after the flurry of rape culture commentary in the past few weeks:
“Hey what do you tell a woman with two black eyes?”
“Nothing. You’ve already told her twice.”
There may have been a time and a place, with the right people, where I’d have laughed at that. Not anymore. I have no circumstance in mind where I can find a joke like that funny. Or many many others. I’m too angry about those people who are trying to make this world a nasty exclusive place to find humor in injustice anymore. I guess there are just some things that are…difficult for me to laugh about Hubbell.
Part of this too I think comes from my continuing goal to eliminate negativity in my life. I’ve had so much of it and I’ve had enough. I’ve had twice, maybe three times, my fair share to contend with—and I’m well aware that it still pales in comparison to what some other people in this world deal with. I’m just so tired of it. I can’t control or stop the general trend of the universe toward entropy. Shit happens – act tough and get over it. That’s a motto I’m pretty well versed in. While I can’t control what chaotic elements life invites to the dinner party, I can make sure that my table is set. I think if I were to be my own super hero it would be “Type A-girl” It’s so much who I am it’s even my blood type. Badumsh!
I don’t really want to be known as the girl with the giant stick…in the mud but at the same time I can’t just forget about the world either. I can only promise this: I can’t stop trying to change or control things but I can do my best to not take myself too seriously. Just know that while I will do my best to accept teasing of my own faults and flaws, I won’t respond as kindly if it involves anyone else I care about.
And on the subject of anal personalities and table settings, how about some SCONES? Those trademark tea-time pastry of oh-so-proper British ladies. Since I’m trying to find a way to stay true to myself (the British proper side) but still flex my funny scone (what the Brits might consider the “Cowboy American” side) I offer up to you this melding of American/British sensibilities. It’s a scone with a classic American twist: apple-cheddar. Kind of like the southern Apple Cheddar Pie that is so damn good and so damn…colonial.
Dorie Greenspan’s Apple Cheddar Scones
From “Baking from my home to yours” Dorie Greenspan **I do not own** Read more