the Boonie and the Moonbeam

A newbie in town and I had lunch together the other day. Perhaps it could be called a "date," but I'm so far out of it that I don't even know the technical, legal definition of a date anymore. She was from a college town in Oregon, so I was suspicious, but tried to keep an open mind.

Several times she introduced key buzzwords into the conversation: organic, Asia, yoga class, and whether there might be trace amounts of meat in the chili; then she appeared to wait for me to take the topic up. With each succeeding blow, my shoulders slumped a little further. Finally she mentioned "vibrations." I'm happy to report that I did not audibly groan, nor did my face fall into the plate as a sign of final surrender. Maybe I sighed a little.

Well who ya gonna blame? I moved to a town full of aged hippie-dippies and New Agers, and then complain when they act like it. Actually they are only 10% of the town, and are concentrated in the hippie district. Oddly enough, it seems like any cultural stereotype adds something to a town as long as there aren't too many of them. In fact the only towns that I have actively disliked are the ones dominated by one sector, say, students, pickup-driving rednecks, panhandlers, lah-dee-dahs, LDS, or Mexicans.

You might remember that scene in Woody Allen's "Annie Hall" when the liberal Democratic Jewish woman said that she loved being reduced to a cultural stereotype. I sometimes wonder what label applies to me after a first meeting.

Is it really such a crime to stereotype people? For one thing it creates an opportunity for a delightful surprise. If there aren't any surprises, the sin is theirs.

People seem most alive and genuine and interesting when they are deviating from their own stereotype. Recently I was watching an interview of Peter Ustinov, asking him to reminisce about the making of "Spartacus." He made a point how important it is in movies to have three-dimensional characters with internal contradictions.