And that set of facts is one of the reasons I'm writing this blog.
You know how some people say they're "spiritual, but not religious"? Or that "things happen for a reason"? I don't say those things (at least without irony). While I am slow to mock religious people (at least not as quick as some), I am not a religious person.
When I was in college I went to three Indianapolis 500's. I was going to school in the region, and my friend/roomie was generous enough to let me visit his home and attend the race with him and his family. I was impressed by the speed and the sound and the sheer number of people present, but in an abstract, "I'm just visitin' these here parts" kind of way. I have no plans to ever attend another race, and I certainly would not spend an afternoon watching--let alone attending--a sport that has become more popular than Indy racing: NASCAR.There are a couple of pictures of me from a couple of years ago where I was wearing a fair bit of makeup. "Guyliner" can be a subtle way to create a "pop" of the eyes... or it can be a horrifically over-applied mess that makes one wonder what the eff they were thinking. I wore black fingernail polish when I dressed up as Adam Lambert for Halloween a couple of years ago, too, but in any event with the exception of occasional (very lightly applied, after learning my lesson) guyliner, I'm not really much of a "wear makeup" kinda guy.
(And, yes, I know that is logically akin to saying, "Other than those sixteen people I smuggled in from El Salvador and held them against their will, forcing them to stitch together fanny packs, I'm not really much of a 'break the law' kind of guy.")
In spite of my lack of faith ("Faith", perhaps, is more appropriate) I can recognize some value in religion--organized or otherwise. I also find myself curious about certain traditions (some of which make me wonder if defining tradition as "accepted continuation of stupidity" is more fair than I'd originally taken it to be)... one of which is the Christian/Catholic tradition of the cilice: wearing a very uncomfortable item--a shirt made of hair or a spiky leg bracelet-like thing--to impact one's own life.
Something that I didn't initially understand in NASCAR is the use of restrictor plates. I'm not at all interested in the mechanics of automobiles (although I could be, if she had a dazzling smile and a nice body), but restrictor plates restrict an engine's intake to reduce its power. In spite of the fact that everyone in NASCAR is trying to go faster than everyone else, NASCAR makes everyone use restrictor plates.Lately I've had a renewed interest in talking to girls in social settings. It's a long story, but while I'm pretty consistently around women, most of the time I am content to be reasonably passive. There are lots of fish in the sea and if you don't try then you don't fail. All that sort of good stuff.
If you've seen the Da Vinci Code, then you've seen a kind of cilice in action. The albino monk fastens and tightens a metal strap that cuts into his skin. My understanding of why someone would use a chain or a hairshirt within a religious sense is rather limited: I get the sense that it's a way to punish oneself for sins and this penance offers some level of absolution.
NASCAR, like governmental or trade-level organizations, have to place restrictions on the abilities of entities to stray too far from competitors. The NBA has a salary cap so the Knicks or Blazers or whomever can't simply hire all the best players. The SEC places burdens on corporations to ensure that investors are more protected. NASCAR reduces the speed limit of all the racers to level the playing field and to make competition safer.
On Friday I got my haircut. I've documented that my hair was becoming shaggy, and I'd been 50/50 about getting it cut for some time. I was generously given a gift card for a free haircut, and that pushed me over the edge. I got my haircut. And, to be more specific, I got them all cut.
Penance and absolution are fine, and I guess I can see why humans feel the need for them. To me, though? It seems that wearing a hairshirt is a way to ground oneself. To humble oneself and be reminded, with every uncomfortable moment, that God is divine, and man lives only by his grace (or whatever... I'm not particularly good at sounding smart about religion). Wearing nice-looking clothes is great, but if you've got something underneath that just... keeps... itching, I can see how it would knock you down a peg or two.
The thing about restrictor plates is that, while they limits the high end of speed and performance, it does create better competition, since more teams can compete. It also lowers insurance rates and (almost certainly) saves lives. The races are better, presumably, by placing limits. NASCAR improves itself by humbling itself.
Friday night I was out. I was feeling good, and my haircut had elicited multiple positive bits of feedback from friends. I was interested in talking to people (meaning: women; men are, at best, sort of a 3/5 compromise type of deal for me in social settings).
But you know what? I was feeling TOO good. I was sitting at a table, drinking my alcohol and watching people. Txting with friends and checking Facebook. Feeling so cool and so much better than nearly everyone in the room that I didn't feel like talking to anyone.
And so I didn't.
It was still a very fun night, but upon reflection the next day, I determined that I needed a hairshirt. I needed restrictor plates. I needed something to knock me off-balance and humble me and, by making me feel less good, improve things.
So I busted out the black fingernail polish from Halloween. I applied it (unskillfully, of course... precious few of us are born with a priori abilities to apply fingernail polish). And I went out as normal.It will be gone before I get to work tomorrow, and I won't be in a massive rush to wear it again, but it was an interesting (and, perhaps, slightly twisted) way to spend a couple of social evenings.
At least it wasn't itchy.
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