How often do weird things find you?
I’ve always felt certain people have a natural attraction to weirdness. I never did figure out if it’s a causal relationship, though.
Do weird people subconsciously find weird things or do weird things find them?
If we were in the Matrix, I’m sure we’d have an answer. But that’s only a 50–50 chance. So, nothing to worry about, clearly.
As you’ve probably surmised, I may be a bit biased here. I’m not ‘Keep Austin Weird’ style strange, but more of a ‘Hey JJ, I think that tiny leprechaun following you is getting hungry’ type of peculiar.
It inevitably happens.
Every once in a while when I’m not looking, a leprechaun of strangeness plops down in my life. Often it’s just a temporary gravity well of weirdness, but not always.
A few examples of the odd
Like the tap-tappers in Singapore who for some reason, out of all the various coworkers I went out to lunch with, enjoyed coming up behind me and patting me on the head repeatedly.
I’d be sitting there, mid-bite into my lunchy laksa, and feel the presence of a greasy hand pressing on my greasy locks. Now, I’m not sure if you’ve ever been a white 34-year-old pudgy tech office ex-pat worker in Singapore before, but if you were, you’d know this isn’t extremely out of the norm for a co-worker to come up and do that.
But these weren’t co-workers.
They were the neighborhood people who society ignored for mental health reasons.
In Canada, we’d call them the mentally ill destitute. In the US, you’d call them prisoners. In some countries in Asia, they don’t call them anything — they just pretend they don’t exist.
But it’s hard to ignore someone’s existence while they’re patting your head in an ‘I’m gonna pretend you’re my widdle bitty kitty’ manner, even though your co-workers are sitting directly across from you eating some oddly deliciously weird-smelling sambal.
But after the initial extreme shock, I gently usher them away and go back to the unavoidable bouts of uproarious laughter awaiting me at the table.
Weirdness comes with its side benefits — I always enjoy making people laugh.
I have countless examples of this.
Oddness just finds me. Or I find it. It’s the incessant ex-girlfriend that never stops showing up every few months when she feels like a random head patting, too.
I only give 1-finger salutes, usually
About 3 times a year in Taiwan, an older gentleman will abruptly halt in the street and salute me. Of course, it’s a different man every time, and I still have yet to figure out just exactly why they salute me.
Other than for being a large white man they possibly think is a fat American soldier there to protect them from China.
These encounters make me feel awkward. I still don’t know the proper etiquette whenever that one happens. Do I wave? Do I try to correct them? Do I salute them back? Is it rude to do that since I’ve never been to any battlefield other than an all-you-can-eat buffet after a huge college bong party?
PS. I won.
I once tried saving a squirrel in Jakarta only to realize he probably died shortly after. We bought him at a gas station because he was in a tiny bodged-up cage where he was, I sh*t you not, profusely sweating.
Don’t worry, I also wasn’t aware squirrels could sweat.
We brought it back to one of the gated houses a bunch of people lived at, ended up releasing him in the backyard after a while, and promptly remembered the roommates took care of a local stray cat as it ripped past us in a blurry meowish roar with a new meal for the day.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions. But the road to a good meal for a cute stray kitty is paved with equally cute Indonesian sweaty squirrels. Life be weird sometimes.
Another time, I almost burned down a fancy hotel in Auckland after mistaking an electric kettle for something more primitive. It was also a stark reminder I didn’t know what the number for 9–1–1 was there, but it ended up being okay. By it, I mean the building. I ended up stinking like burnt plastic smoke for 3 days.
Mmm, smoked Canadian bacon.
Also, that’s a thing they never taught me in schools. Unlike emergencies, emergency numbers are not universal. Look up the number before you travel, in case you have similar smokey tendencies as me.
With arms wide open
I could go on and on and on and will, eventually, as I still hope to have many more of these swells of oddity gravity randomly pop into existence in the future.
Into my future.
In fact, I probably don’t need to hope, per se, whatever entity is out there smashing that ‘Do Weird Shit’ button is clearly only pressing it whenever my name rolls around the roulette wheel.
And whenever my turn pops up, I try to suppress the immediate powerful emotions. Whether it’s anger, wonder, or inappropriate laughter — keeping a cool head about me has gotten me out of more hazy situations than I can count.
But putting forward a temporary absence of emotions also means another thing. I get to remember the story far more vividly and clearly. And to someday share it here with you.
Whether that’s a good or bad thing, well, perhaps in the future we can ask the button smasher someday after the nukes come.
But according to MIT physicist Max Tegmark, that’s only a 50–50 chance. So, nothing to worry about, clearly.
I consider being normal to be boring.
And much like the odd little teashop in the above photo, I like to remind myself from time to time when things get a little too weird.
Just roll with the punches, and shine on you crazy diamond, you.
Find your diamond, find your weird.
Just don’t burn down the hotel while you’re at it.
This message has been brought to you by J.J. Pryor.
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In defense of those of us who are forced to live below the frozen north, I would like to defend our policy of incarcerating the mentally ill. We do not lock up all the people who show signs of being unhinged. Many of the unhinged are elected to Congress. We call them Trump Supporters. We have global warming deniers, anti-vaxxers, and Jewish space laser believers, all serving proudly in various elected positions in our government. This must provide hours of amusement to those of you who are lucky enough to view this shit-storm from the outside. Please pity those of us who are providing you with your evening comedy show - commercials are mandatory.
As usual, your weird outlook on life is making me feel 'normal.' Coming from the country that calls mentally ill people prisoners, we call the ex-girl showing up to be a 'booty' call and we always try to rise to the occasion. I never heard of sweaty squirrels, but if they truly exist, other than in your deranged imagination, then I am sure they will find you. Don't worry, no one who has met you or read your writing will ever call you 'normal' - whatever that means.