A Brotherhood of Rivals?

"Group mentality" and my distaste for it has been a recurring theme on this blog. I sometimes fear that regular readers might be sick of hearing it...

But, I don't hate groups, as a rule. For instance, I think it is cool when those with common interests get together to enjoy those interests. I'm even considering going to see Gavin Harrison give a drum clinic this fall. It's just that I won't be wearing a Zildjian T-shirt or a baseball cap with "Pearl" emblazoned on it. I don't like externalizing interests for the sake of others. Never have.

In short, it is cool to talk (or, even, to write about) drums, but I'm not a fan of broadcasting my interests superficially.

The drummer-cam; pre-first set.

This weekend, the band I am in played a group gathering in Wildwood, NJ. It was a biker weekend. The streets were glutted with Harleys, Ducatis, Hondas, custom bikes and even a few classic Indians. You'd think it would have been an environment of joviality; mass celebration -- a jamboree of jolly proportions.

Not really.

There wasn't a lot of smiling going on. If you watched the unending parade of motorcycles passing behind our stage, you saw expressions that looked more like a challenge than a metaphorical high-five among two-wheeled brothers. The atmosphere was one of subdued, communal anger; or, at least, challenge.

And the trappings! The vests and the bandannas and the leather pants and the other various shmagiggies...

Sincerity of the Close-Talker

Don't hate me because I am writing from a Cape Cod lakeside, under swaying trees on a perfect seventy-five degree day after a relaxing swim... Hate me because I pointed it out.

Anyway, I had an experience with a close-talker the other day. I had to take the my dog to the vet for a checkup and she was taken care of by a very nice doctor -- an extremely caring and concerned young man. His only problem: he was a close-talker. He didn't allow enough personal space. 

It occurred to me that he, like some other close-talkers I have met, seems to be driven by an overly powerful urge for eye-contact. It seems to me that close-talkers have more of a need for the invisible personal tether than most of the rest of us do. They seem to have more of a need for intimate personal connection, in conversation, than many others.

Forced Fun

Brueghel: "Peasant Dance"

I hate wedding receptions. There. I've said it. I loathe them. I'd rather scrape my cheek against a stucco wall and submerge my head in salt water than go to a wedding reception.

I know. I'm a stick-in-the-mud. Blah, blah, blah. I've heard it before. I'm a stuffed shirt because I don't want to do the chicken dance. I'm a curmudgeon because I don't want to join a conga-line and follow a half-witted dj around the room as he bleats through his cheap PA system about how much fun we are all having. I'm a prude because I don't want to reach up a strange woman's dress to put a garter on her thigh as a room full of orangutans yells "Woooooooo!"