Just about everyone I know is an elitist, and so am I. We have spent years cultivating a list of places we will not go:
Our own graduation ceremonies
Bars that have neon
Each others’ houses
Public gatherings of any kind
Mainstream music events
Buffets (except “NO SUNDAY!”)
And we have an equally long list of people we will not associate with.
People who wear shoes without backs
Girls who go to church
People with tattoos
People who part their hair
Democrats (who talk about it all the time anyway)
Strangers with children
Strangers in general
People who choose sincerity over sarcasm
Many of these elitist practices are hard-earned lessons brought about by experience, but the residual cloistering effects may not be so good for us. S’quatch pushed the envelope dragging me into the teeeming hordes this past weekend. I drew the line at Ginnie Springs when he wanted to paddle right into the middle of a drunken gathering of SAT scores below 750, but at other times I enjoyed the hordes.
The little kid with the fishing pole who said he would jump in “the gator hole” for $2,000.
The state worker with the Suwannee River boyfriend.
The cyclists from Panama City who bought bikes form Higher Ground, but have never been to Joe’s.
Sometimes you have to take off the Howard Hughes suit and get dirty with the great unwashed.