I don’t like spiders and snakes. Who wrote that song? Jim Stafford, I think. I’m too lazy to google it. I really don’t have anything against either spiders or snakes. They are cool in a safe postmodern way, but from a primative perspective, they are the devil.
The best way to get to know someone is to ferret out their likes and dislikes. From that data you can map out a personality profle and set it against your own. By using weighted averages, for example, you can forgive the fact that they voted Republican in the last election, or appreciate that they really dig Wilco, or the Drive By Truckers. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Similarly, one could really enjoy the rare individual, who shares an appreciation for Roald Dahl’s short stories, and scotch whiskey, but, never speak to that individual because he is also has a deep, longing interest in ones wife. It’s complicated and simple at the same time.
My interests are, the solitude of the outdoors and the charm and history of a busy international city, a modern acoustic folk ballad and a hooky death-metal song in swedish, Sir Aurthur Conan Doyle and comic books, and I don’t like people who make an equation with church and money. I like to stay up late, and sleep in, old people are cool, because they’ve seen a bunch of shit, and I like to listen to their stories. I like public radio, but I don’t like football. I like to watch things I don’t understand, like cricket and polo. One of my favorite authors is Hanif Kureishi. I like to cook from scratch, but never get more than 3 stars, on my own scale. Trite predictable lyrics in a song make me turn the station. I like the smell of old books and attics. I like to sing about sunshine and moon. I don’t like telling people what to do, but I don’t like it when they don’t do what I want. I’m pretty private, and don’t give away much unless I really trust you. I’m carefree and careless. My family thinks I’m wild and reckless, but, they’re wrong.
If you met me in a bar (hopefully a dimly lit bar, with mirrors and old wood, and wooden booths) we could trade stories over a pint or two of Guiness. We’d keep it safe and non-political, until I fished around and found that you think Noam Chomsky is pure genius, and that John Cleese is the gold standard for comedy. Then we’d trim back the edges, and find out where we disagree, and if we still are laughing as we dispute each other’s lists of top ten best bands from the 1970’s, then we’ll have something.
I’ll buy the next round.
