On People

I like people. Sometimes, or rather most often than not, I do not like people.

I have always been somewhat of a loner. I feel comfortable being and doing things by myself. There are very few people with whom I feel totally comfortable. As I get older, I am disliking people more and more.

People are strange, or rather, kind of pathetic. To some degree, we are always looking to fit in and achieve some level of acceptance. We follow norms, follow others, and try desperately to always be liked. Humans are, after all, social animals, but that need to always be social is off putting.

Nothing makes me lose faith in humanity more than going out on a weekend night in New York City. Tiny spaces are filled by drunk people who want to be on the right side of exclusivity. They dress up, coif themselves, do this and that, with the goal of having some bizarre amusement. A person given just a bit of control holds on to those reigns for dear life. Moving about in one of these spaces requires pushing and groping and immense patience. To top it off, one has to deal with the stench of bodies and perfumes.

Of course we have all been there. Drunk, annoying, hoping someone will think one is cool.

I was out last night and trying to get a taxi was impossible. So I walked home. It was about a 40 minute walk, but the weather was nice and the sights were ridiculous. A guy passe out alone in the middle of the sidewalk. People arguing. police sirens blaring. Bums asking for change, cigarettes, and whatever else.

Eh, we are just animals, I guess.