I have a hard time not saying things I think when i think they are funny. Often I know that the statement I’m about to make will make the person I’m saying it to uncomfortable, and is totally unnecessary for furthering the conversation, but if I think that it is funny – usually for the reasons described above – I will say it.

Example: While hooking up with a half-black girl for the first time I stopped and said: “Hey, I’m finally fulfilling my domestic diversity requirement.” (That’s a scholarly requirement at my ex-institution)

This has gotten me into a fair amount of trouble, but it has also helped me weed out the unfunny people in my life.

It reminds me of 4th grade, when we had “put-up circle.” In this activity one person (a different every day) would sit in the middle of a circle of his/her peers and listen as his/her classmates awkwardly complimented him/her on something vague and unimaginative. For years I was confused as to the meaning of “good sense of humor.” At the time I was able to break down the phrase, and understand that it should mean that the receiver of the compliment understood what is funny and what is not, but the “compliment” was constantly thrown at the kids who laughed the most – the children who were indiscriminate in their taste of comedy. This was the opposite of a good sense of humor as far as I was concerned. It made me assume that nobody in my class had a decent sense of humor. This was until I realized that nobody was taking “put-up circle” as seriously as I was because there was no way that everybody thought that the kid with the snot bubbles, sweatpants and extensive Goosebump’s collection was “nice.”

So, I learned three things from “put-up circle.” People don’t care about the definition of terms, people dont take the rules of a game you are forced to play that seriously, and everybody thinks I’m “nice.”

I’m different. Obviously. I was walking through campus to print something off today and I realized that I was the only one who chose to cross campus via the grassy quad as opposed to the cemented sidewalk. Out of laziness I had become Jack Kerouac.

Maybe that’s all it is. Maybe my distaste for fillintheblank-norms, my penchant for saying inappropriate things without apology, and my love of the uncomfortable is just my extreme laziness, but I’m going to continue to try to convince myself that I’m fighting for a cause.

It’s definitely the laziness, but if I succumb to believing the other option, than I might as well kill myself and that seems like a lot of …  check the title for brilliant cyclicality.