Why I am twisted/mental/[insert description here]

Many people find me and my sense of humor to be twisted or mental. Other than the fact that I enjoy the moniker I often wonder why that is. I think that growing up in a large family absolutely had something to do with it (plenty of fodder and audience) but I also think that there were some significant events or inclinations that have led to it as well. I think that my early attraction to subversive (i.e challenging the status quo) comedy - especially British comedy ala PBS - led me to think that there was nothing out there that was sacred. Nothing that could not be held up to derision. Obviously my views on this have been tempered somewhat, but there are very few things that I will not make light of - even if only in my mind.

Being exposed to this type of humor also led me into different musical tastes. I would listen to anything from new wave and punk straight through to classical and new age. Again, this is not what the majority of my friends were listening to, so I would look elsewhere for support in this which led me to people just as strange as I. They would reinforce my love for the music I listened to and the view that I was developing of the world around me.

I also think that my faith in God and my attraction to the theology and philosophy that accompanies it and underpins it also challenged the conventional view of things. There is nothing more subversive than a genuine love for God in this fallen world and I truly hang out with very peculiar people as a result. My expressions of faith are a tad different than the people around me, but it has reinforced the notion that peculiarity is something that is more attractive to me than conformity...most of the time.

Maybe none of this makes sense and maybe I need to refine it somewhat. Maybe this explains why I think the "sharks with lasers on their heads" is so much more to my liking than reruns of the Cosby Show. Or maybe there is just something that is buried so deep inside of me that there is no hope of it ever being called to my conscious mind. And that would be fine. As long as my hands continue to smell like potatoes.

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