I was at a small political house party this week, and its facilitator imposed an icebreaker in which we went around the room and told one another what makes us "a badass."
I am not shitting you. As if a real badass would participate in a lame-ass exercise like that.
I was a badass for buying a business last spring. The lady next to me was a badass for escaping war-torn Bosnia 20 years ago. We were both badasses!
Two years ago, I declared that "badass" isn't badass anymore. But it's still socially useful, it seems. It's a way for soccer moms and baseball dads to feel a little, tiny-teeny-weeny bit hip, with a dash of hipster.
When really, our sense of originality, linguistic individuality and intellectual dignity—these are all dead.
And judging from easy merriment we seemed to have in discussing with strangers our status as badassess, long dead.
I’d probably ask, all innocent-like, what is meant by “badass.” Then I would make a point of using a synonym, over and over again, that I think sounds a little less stupid.
I guess that’s what makes me badass — my extreme reluctance to play bullshit bingo.
Gerry, I wish you had been there, and forced the facilitator to commit to a synonym, which would probably be something close to “courageous.” And we’d all have to go around the room talking about what makes us courageous. Which of course would be VERY close to going around the room talking about what we are most afraid of. Which of course we would never do, should never do, in a roomful of strangers.