I went to Tucson, Arizona yesterday. It wasn’t the first time, and sadly, it probably won’t be the last. The city isn’t without a certain charm, but whatever that charm may be, it is trodden under hoof by the burgeoning population of crazy people that hang about Tucson like a fog. On any given street corner you can find a guy who looks Jamiroquai in the Virtual Insanity music video if he had been living beyond Thunderdome for the last decade. I don’t care what museums a city has, how good its coffee is, or what its national or historic significance may be. Having Methraham Lincoln and his Dreadlock Jug Band on every corner ruins it all.
To be clear, and to prevent myself from coming across as a total monster, there is a big difference between crazy people, and insane people. The city I live in is full of insane people; they are falling off the vine. From the vine most of them appear to go directly on the train or, if they still need a little ripening, the bus. Insane people don’t talk to you. If anything, they talk to themselves. And they don’t wear t-shirts that advertise this quality about themselves, half the time they don’t wear shirts. This is because they are insane; their world is not the same world as everyone else. This is not the case for crazy people. Just because someone wants to be an anime character, or a vampire, or an anime vampire, it doesn’t mean that they have a mental health problem. Even if an insane person believed he was an anime vampire, I doubt he would have the presence of mind to dress the part. But crazy people, they appear to devote all of their mental wherewithal to this task.
The hunter gatherer with a cat-in-the-hat hat look is pretty universal among crazy people. You can see variations of it in Austin, Texas; Athens, Georgia; Burlington, Vermont; and Portland, Oregon[1]. But if a crazy person is a Christmas tree, this look is just the Douglas-fir, it’s not truly festive (read: crazy) until you put up the lights. Some of the most common crazy garnishes are:
Canes. Canes are usually accompanied by dozens and dozens of rings. This gives the person a certain “quiet dignity” and by quiet dignity I mean the look of a Spencer’s Gifts pimp Halloween costume that crawled out of a toilet.
Whacky pets. Ferrets, parrots, snakes, a cat dressed as Emily Dickenson? If it can be transported on one’s shoulder or a baby carriage, it is crazy companion material. Behavior regarding these faux-pets will fall into one of two schools. There is the person who is desperately bringing your attention to the ferret on his shoulder that has the same stove-top hat and monocle combination as its owner, and the person who is deeply and truly annoyed that a man in a snakeskin vest and leather pants can’t take the bus with a snake coiled around his body and not suffer the stares of wage-slaves.
Little braids. If Korn’s music manifested into a material item it would be tiny little blonde braids poking through the Kangol visor on the head of an urban man-child asking you for cigarettes. It should go without saying that the sides of his head are shaved.
Piercings. Now, before you think that your grandfather is writing this. Hear me out. I know that nose-rings are given out to every girl who gets into a state university now; generally all facial piercings are pretty white bread; except for the eyebrow ring[2]. I am saddened to admit that I have known more people than I can count on one hand who have had eyebrow rings. But, after very brief periods of time they took them out, either because they looked in the mirror, or someone who cared deeply for them told them they looked like a total idiot.
All of these things voltron together for the worst activity in the world; busking for attention. Admittedly, I’m not too keen on regular busking. But, everyone’s got to eat, and I can appreciate someone banging on a bucket or playing jazz on a B.C. Rich Warlock[3] while standing on a milk crate. What I appreciate most about these things is that I can walk around or away from them.
Now, back to Tucson. I was drinking coffee outside and a person who was everything described above rolled up in a shame-tortilla of human flesh came up to me. Important fact, he was on stilts. He started dancing, or walking in place, or whatever the verb associated with being on stilts is (stilting? sucking? being completely awful?). The entire time he acted like he wasn’t on stilts; like he wasn’t easily five feet taller than I was, or on the verge of falling through a storefront window at any given moment. I brought them to his attention and he replied with a surprised “oh these?” The coffee now tasted like it came from a bilge pump and I contemplated biting through my own tongue to escape the living menagerie of “look-at-me.”
I don’t know who to blame for this. Society? The Parents? Public Schools? In keeping with the “I’m a grouchy conservative old man who hates everything” tone of this piece I’m going to say art. All the cities I mentioned before, which are veritable hatcheries for crazy people, have large and vibrant art scenes; galleries, murals, art in restaurants, art in the bathrooms of restaurants, and on and on. When there is so much creativity in a place no one is going to tell nu-metal Marcel Marceau to take it down a notch. So I blame art.
Would I rather live in a world with no art at all than ever have someone with a braided beard tight-rope walking and playing the violin; a world with no Mona Lisa just so that I’m never annoyed again? Totally. Most art is pretty crappy anyway.
[1] Especially Portland.
[2] Although this is a trapping of crazy people, it comes pretty close to legitimately insane behavior. Someone has to be pretty out of sorts to think an eyebrow ring looks acceptable, let alone good.
[3] http://tinyurl.com/4xvcu5x the jazz man’s choice.
Burlington is beautiful. That is all.
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