Somebody, and I don't remember who, except that he was a man, white, and long dead- since I was reading his work in my Long Dead White Man's Literature 101 class sometime freshman or sophmore year- said, "Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds"
I've been pondering that ever since. It was one of those quotes which stuck with me way past even remembering who wrote it (Emerson? I know we were in that period- post Enlightenment, post Romantisicm, maybe naturalism? Ah, who cares).
If consistency is so devilish and only small-minded people are plagued with it, or plague the world with it- depending on your view of the half full/ half empty glass, then what is inconsistency? In this person's writing it was probably some grand romantic expression of the true sense of self. Expressionism, romantic, imaginative artful beautiful pockets of human instability, challenging the status quo and reaching for the stars with all ten fingers open wide. I find inconsitency in daily life to be a pain in the ass. People who get on the bus and don't have their change ready and make you wait, on the stairs, for them to dig around in their pockets for the damn 75 cents. Or how about those shitheads at the grocery store who leave their cart in the line while they go to exhange chocolate for rocky road? Annoying.
Make your ass a list/ pull the change out while we are all freezing our butts off waiting for the bus.
However, life lived completly the same, day in day out- now that is a bit terrifying. Ask anyone mid-twenties and younger and its all about not "selling out".
Dude in skater pants, FUBU sweatshirt, spiked belt, and Bed-head product: "I don't want to just get the degree thats gonna get me the job that will make me enough money to buy a mortgage on a house and a car so I can make babies and die."
Its totally unhip to just want to settle down into a comfortable life, but ask any of these people if they vote or know why Henry Kissinger is wanted in some countries for war crimes, and they couldn't tell you a damn thing.
I voted for president, but I didn't vote for Gov. I think that leaves me somewhere in the middle between watching too much MTV and not enough Peter Jennings, but being just well read enough to be up late at night thinking about consistency. Obviously, I'm also a judger. Judge others and knit while watching tv, that my hobbies.
Too much consistency is Tapioca pudding. You know, when you were a kid and went to buy your lunch, and the desert was pudding, chocolate or cream-colored. You got all excited to think of yummy vanilla pudding, and suffered through the sloppy joe or cold fish sticks just for the ultimate joy of OH GOD LITTLE BITS OF SOMETHING THAT CAN'T BE CHEWED AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY ARE BUT I HAVE TO SWALLOW. (insert gross sexual joke here, pervert). The fear of a tapioca life makes me want to take off for the desert in the middle of the night, but then I am too responsible and think about who will take care of our dear crazy Purry McFurry. Then the fear of being too responsible makes me want to smoke cigarrettes and watch shallow tv programing until my eyes bleed from hours and hours of that zany Crocodile Hunter.
"Aye'm just gonna grab'er round the tayle and give er a queek kiess before she bietes me head aff."
All in all, its a nasty battle, trying to find yourself in this mess between dead white men telling you what to do (don't get me started with Plato- who wasn't even white but Greek, when you think about it) and modern day culture telling you that maybe just maybe you could be the next guy to be plucked off the streets by Calvin Klein and then plastered on 30 foot billboards if your lucky, but more than likely you'll just be reading about him in the next Cosmo or, even better, watching it on Access Hollywood.
Being famous is really the only escape. Then, you get all the appearance of inconsistency- flashy life, rock star drug habit, money and good looks, but you just know that J-lo and Ben curl up and watch themselves on tv just the rest of us on a tuesday or wednesday night. (Friday's, of course, being the highlight of the inconsistent week, where your romantic, self-expression of true human spirit and strength explodes in the crowded bar filled with a bunch of tired people doing the exact same thing, forced to shake off the smell of 9 to 5 with beer and bad house music unless they dare appear too consistent by going to bed at a reasonable hour).
Speaking of bed, I'm going to go have a cigarette. Oh la la, I am sooooo cool.