Who Wants To Be Normal, Anyway?
I know. I’m sorry. This is horrible. You maybe just wanted a recipe. You probably should know better by now.
I was a weird kid. I hated team sports, I liked food that other kids thought was crazy, I was frequently reminded that the assignment was to color inside the lines. I chose olives over candy, Arlo Guthrie over Raffi, and would always rather play “Stone Soup” than “House.” My parents did this on purpose, as kindred non-conformists on a mission, wanting to sow more of us tender weirdos into this empathetically and creatively bankrupt world.
“Who wants to be normal, anyway?” they asked me often, any time I said that Jessica thought my lunch looked gross or Mrs. Farrel said my drawing was messy. “Normal is boring.”
I thought about this sentiment morosely the other day, while my reading the news of another extrajudicial murder of a Black person by police was interrupted by the news of another mass shooting in this ghoulish nation that is maniacally obsessed with our right to be violent. I thought about our year, having come almost full-circle around the sun since Derek Chauvin kneeled on George Floyd’s neck until he died in broad fucking daylight. I thought about how early in the pandemic one of my former newsroom colleagues noted that isolation had brought instances of mass shootings so far down below our average. I thought about how desperately most people want to get “back to normal” — to eating in restaurants, to working together in offices, to having dinner parties, and attending sporting events, and listening to live music. I thought about how inexorably linked violence seems to be with our idea of normality.
“Who wants to be normal, anyway?” I thought. “Normal is fucking terrible.”
Listen, I miss bars too (sweet, feathery Jesus, I miss bars). I miss hugging my friends in the street. I miss being casual. But how can we not stop for a moment to discuss why our precious normalcy means that so many of our neighbors get terrorized? If you can drive to a car wash without fear of experiencing blind, obsessive cruelty at the hands of the state, you have a privilege that millions of your fellow citizens do not. If you can play outside with your friends without your mother worrying that you will get killed by the police who pretend to protect you, while the people who are supposed to hold those people accountable lie to the public about it until someone releases a video that millions of us will accidentally see auto-play on the internet and freak the fuck out, you have a privilege that millions of other kids do not.
I know. I’m sorry. This is horrible. You maybe just wanted a recipe. You probably should know better by now.
The path forward is absolutely brutal, because it means we (white people, I am talking to us) have to confront this sick obsession with white supremacy. And not just here, on the internet. It means white people have to confront it at dinner with our parents. It means we have to confront it when we hire people, and while we manage them. It means we have to confront it when someone hits our car and we have to decide if calling the police is really the right thing to do. It means we have to talk about this issue at town meeting, and on the boards we serve upon, and with our friends who think they are anti-racist because they read a book. White people have to think about white supremacy while we watch sports, and when we see plans for public parks, and when we visit museums, and when we offer or seek housing. And it’s important to note than realizing you have to think this way is deeply rooted in white privilege — Black and brown folks do not have a choice about when and where to apply this kind of thinking. It means we white folks have to confront the sick white supremacy that has manifested itself within our own hearts and brains, because in America, it is fucking normal.
Who — guys, WHO — wants to be that version of normal?
The time for “listening and learning” has long since passed. We have to do things, take actions, support the cause, go beyond performing our advocacy and make real changes in our own lives. We have to donate as we’re able, organize our efforts with folks who are already doing this work, and make the people in power understand we want things to change. The voting booth is a tool, not a solution.
If you have never, ever considered the idea of abolishing the police (or if you have thought about it, and gotten immediately overwhelmed by the implications of doing so), I think you should check out Thinking Abolition. If you have never considered the idea of abolishing prisons (or if you have thought about it, and gotten immediately overwhelmed by the implications of doing so), I think you should check out Angela Davis’ Are Prisons Obsolete? If you have never considered the idea of abolishing the death penalty (you see where I’m going with this), I think your should check out Death Penalty Action. If the only time you’ve ever thought of or heard the word “abolition,” was when you were studying the American Civil War in high school, you are probably not alone. But we owe it to our neighbors and ourselves to try harder, to fight back against the insidious ivy that is white supremacy, and to reimagine and reshape normality into something that serves everyone.
You probably need a drink. Me too. I’ve got us covered.
Listen to This Shit: I Made You a Playlist
”Daffodilia” on Apple Music
”Daffodilia” on Spotify
The Aviation
Remember a few months ago when I got so mad that I made you buy a bottle of Maraschino for a palliative Martinez? Now you get to use it again. This is the drink that made me love gin (big thanks to Uncle Mitch and Auntie Al for this discovery). This tastes like spring time, it will relax your shoulders, and you’ll get some vitamin C or whatever, to nourish your unholy rage.
2.5 oz gin
¾ oz lemon juice (squeeze it fresh or GTFO)
¼ oz Maraschino Liqueur (I use Luxardo)
1 bar spoon Crème Yvette or crème de violette (optional)
Lemon twist or brandied cherry to garnish
Add all ingredients except the garnish into a cocktail shaker and fill with ice. Shake until the outside of the shaker gets frosty, at least ten seconds longer than you think. Strain into a chilled coupe, garnish with lemon twist or cherry — or both if you’re feeling saucy and you can be bothered.
You’re reading “Soup and Despair,” a weekly newsletter by Sarah Flynn and Rebecca Orchant. It’s about food, feelings, and surviving the dark times. If someone forwarded you this email, it’s because they love you and they want you to eat. You can subscribe to it too!
So you're thanking those people for corrupting your liver?!