In Which Animals With Prominent Facial Appendages Provide Great Promise for Self-Improvement

Tonight's is going to be a short post, I think, although I suppose I'll see how it shakes out once I'm finished.  As you can tell by the late hour at which I am posting, it has been a long day—one that began with a severe lack of sleep, was distinguished by a great blockage in writing, and punctuated by a severe lack of blockage in my digestive system.  Having already gone into too much detail, let me just say that I have come out the other end of this day feeling relatively satisfied with the result. 

Not to change the subject, but I love walruses.  Next to this paragraph is the taxidermic walrus from the American Museum of Natural History, here in New York City.  I used to go the Natural History Museum all the time when I was little, mostly because I really, really, REALLY loved dinosaurs.  I loved dinosaurs so much that I knew everything there was to know about them, but I still dragged my parents to the museum just so I could repeat all the things I knew, and discuss which dinosaur was my favorite (Brontosaurus, of course, because he was a gentle giant, and YES, I am aware that they have since decided Brontosauri do not exist except as a juvenile Apatosaurus). Anyway, the only thing that I loved almost as much as the dinosaurs, and always made sure to see when I went to the museum, was Mr. Walrus over there.

I think walruses have always appealed to me because of their extreme oddness.  I mean, there really isn't much in the world that looks like a walrus, and yet there it is, in all of its whiskers and tusks and blubber and glory, paddling along in that painfully maladroit way, yet maintaining an air of nonchalance.  To my mind, the walrus is aware that he is out of place, perhaps even ugly by some standards, yet he carries himself with a certain pride and elegance.  This makes him one of the most beautiful creatures on Earth, as far as I'm concerned, and I do not tolerate anyone who disagrees.  Seriously—if you cannot also see why the walrus is one of the most graceful, admirable, resplendent things in this world, then I have trouble seeing how we can be friends. 

The number one thing I associate with a walrus is Gonzo from the Muppets, who also happens to be one of my all-time favorite characters.  Gonzo is weird, he's kind of ugly, he is always screwing up, and he just absolutely doesn't belong; nobody can even identify what he is, including Gonzo himself.  Yet Gonzo maintains a certain pride about his difference, and he revels in his weirdness.  He just wouldn't be himself if he weren't married to a chicken and launching himself out of a cannon, and he's not going to apologize for it. 

I aspire to be like Gonzo or a walrus.  I feel painfully out-of-place all the time; uncomfortable in my own skin, and achingly different from those around me.  A lot of the time I find a way to cope, either by trying as best as I can to blend in or by asserting my difference in a humorous and therefore innocuous way.  What I very rarely do is assert my difference with elegance and pride.  But there is always hope for the future.