Despite my altruistic aims at helping inculcate my sister into the society of her peers, I realized this week that my presence at social functions and such may prove more of a detriment than an asset. She and I share many similarities, but I have always felt her destined for a better society of confluence than myself, and by being affiliated with me, I cannot help but worry that she will be denied the companionship of those with whom she rightly belongs by being affiliated with a throwback of a bygone age such as myself.
Americans lack class, having dispensed largely with the concept and largess of aristocratic affiliation with which most of the civilized world remains beset. As such, we seem ignorant of our place when conversing with strangers, each of us believing himself to be the equal of his neighbor by virtue of our plenipotentiary society. However, among the American people, we divest into cliques of varied nature. I find myself by chance sadly among the lowest echelons of American society, not for lack of intellect, wealth, or good breeding, but by virtue of the things with which I choose to occupy my time.
One grouse Europe levies against America is that we lack culture. Most Americans truly do not look to philosophy or classical literature in their free time, preferring instead to buy beer and hunker down around some gladiator event or a camp fire. When I spoke last eve with a friend about my "summer reading list", he remarked that it consisted of things "85% of folks would never ever consider reading", ranging from DeTocqueville to Marcus Aurelius. My fascination for these subjects automatically makes me an outsider in my own country because most Americans prefer not to discuss that sort of thing.
People who therefore freely associate with me are most accurately described as the outcasts of American pop culture. Having nowhere else to go, we converge together and belong to that group of outcasts, not unlike the Land of Misfit Toys... The well-endowed among us, whether fiscally, aesthetically, or fashionably, eschew the outcasts and any who may be found in our company for a myriad of shallow reasons at which I shall make no attempt of explanation. This phenomenon is as old as time.
One of the themes of Pride and Prejudice is (gasp) prejudice. The gentry in whose company Mr. Darcy finds himself disprove vehemently of any and all association with the Bennett family, especially after the youngest sister elopes with Wickham. Mrs. Bennett is one of the most classless people I've ever heard, without tact and reserve in any situation, and although Mr. Bennett is himself some sort of aristocrat, fiscal restraints on his home relegate him to an undesirable peerage and denigrated role in the echelons of England. This particular theme of the novel deals with the differences between the Haves and Have-nots.
Ironically, I have much more than some of the pretentious busybodies from whom I shy and to whom I would shuffle my sister. Unlike them, I am debt free with $25000 in assets, a full-time job in my career field, and a myriad of skills that tend toward my putative self-sufficiency. I am also done with college. I have already bought and sold a home, bought and sold several cars, traveled to Europe twice, and written and published a book (details forthcoming). How many of those in my age bracket can lay claim to that curriculum vitae? I am well spoken, well read, and interested in becoming more so with age instead of this pish-posh about Xbox and Playstation.
Yet, this makes me abnormal.
I make no nevermind about fitting in. I am comfortable with myself. I worry only about judgment by association for those who may appreciate me but may not want to be counted among my entourage of dork henchmen while they still have a chance to be someone in their own right and ascend the ranks of what passes for American peerage.
Americans lack class, having dispensed largely with the concept and largess of aristocratic affiliation with which most of the civilized world remains beset. As such, we seem ignorant of our place when conversing with strangers, each of us believing himself to be the equal of his neighbor by virtue of our plenipotentiary society. However, among the American people, we divest into cliques of varied nature. I find myself by chance sadly among the lowest echelons of American society, not for lack of intellect, wealth, or good breeding, but by virtue of the things with which I choose to occupy my time.
One grouse Europe levies against America is that we lack culture. Most Americans truly do not look to philosophy or classical literature in their free time, preferring instead to buy beer and hunker down around some gladiator event or a camp fire. When I spoke last eve with a friend about my "summer reading list", he remarked that it consisted of things "85% of folks would never ever consider reading", ranging from DeTocqueville to Marcus Aurelius. My fascination for these subjects automatically makes me an outsider in my own country because most Americans prefer not to discuss that sort of thing.
People who therefore freely associate with me are most accurately described as the outcasts of American pop culture. Having nowhere else to go, we converge together and belong to that group of outcasts, not unlike the Land of Misfit Toys... The well-endowed among us, whether fiscally, aesthetically, or fashionably, eschew the outcasts and any who may be found in our company for a myriad of shallow reasons at which I shall make no attempt of explanation. This phenomenon is as old as time.
One of the themes of Pride and Prejudice is (gasp) prejudice. The gentry in whose company Mr. Darcy finds himself disprove vehemently of any and all association with the Bennett family, especially after the youngest sister elopes with Wickham. Mrs. Bennett is one of the most classless people I've ever heard, without tact and reserve in any situation, and although Mr. Bennett is himself some sort of aristocrat, fiscal restraints on his home relegate him to an undesirable peerage and denigrated role in the echelons of England. This particular theme of the novel deals with the differences between the Haves and Have-nots.
Ironically, I have much more than some of the pretentious busybodies from whom I shy and to whom I would shuffle my sister. Unlike them, I am debt free with $25000 in assets, a full-time job in my career field, and a myriad of skills that tend toward my putative self-sufficiency. I am also done with college. I have already bought and sold a home, bought and sold several cars, traveled to Europe twice, and written and published a book (details forthcoming). How many of those in my age bracket can lay claim to that curriculum vitae? I am well spoken, well read, and interested in becoming more so with age instead of this pish-posh about Xbox and Playstation.
Yet, this makes me abnormal.
I make no nevermind about fitting in. I am comfortable with myself. I worry only about judgment by association for those who may appreciate me but may not want to be counted among my entourage of dork henchmen while they still have a chance to be someone in their own right and ascend the ranks of what passes for American peerage.
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