A friend of mine (who shall remain jobless…lousy beatnik) referred to me as a “curmudgeon” the other day. Obviously this was meant as a compliment, but I can’t say that I agree with this. First of all, “curmudgeon” seems to suggest someone slightly older…and bearded. At 37, I think that I’m too young to be a curmudgeon. On the other hand, I’m much too old to be a “punk-ass.”
My Mom suggested I might be a “humorist,” but I couldn’t disagree more. First of all, “humorists” have real talent that transcends the times they live in. You know, folks like Mark Twain, Marilyn Manson, Will Rogers, Kevin Kling, or Garrison Keillor, if that’s your thing. They have a folksy demeanor that softens their message. In other words, they’re NOT writing about the time their dog ate a pile of dirt and barfed sand clouds for three days. (Yeah, real subtle writing there.) I’ve also never “softened a message” in my life…which might explain why no one showed up for my birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese last November.
I guess I’ll just stick with what my uncle used to call me: “sarcastic little freak who can’t hold his liquor,” which actually doesn’t sound like a compliment, now that I think about it.