02/28/06

I think that where you live defines who you are. I’m not necessarily referring to geographic location, (Although geopolitical lines certainly come into play when reflecting attitudes…) but more so the type of place in which you live.

For instance, it strikes me that if you refer to your home as a “compound” then for all practical purposes you are probably nuts. Allow me to illustrate further…

David Koresh and his Branch Davidians lived in a compound. Those whackos in Waco were snug as a bug in a rug. At one point they had 85 people packed into their humble adobe.

The Kennedy’s with all their mellow drama, live in a compound too, not to mention the Aryan Nations, (Well actually they got they got it taken away from them… but they used to have one.) Phelps and his cronies have one, and there are scads and scads of militias that call them home sweet home too.

Generally people who live in compounds usually have something to hide. They’re also people who tend to exhibit extreme anti social behaviour. (See “Stockpile automatic weapons” and “polygamy”)

Next on the list of homes for the less than emotionally stable are ranches. Now here I don’t mean actually cattle ranches. My thinking here is more geared to those who refer to their home as a ranch. (Although I guess some of them would actually have cows and the like…)

Michael Jackson lives on a ranch. Charles Manson used to live on one too. Charlton Heston lives on a ranch, as do the Bushs, the Regans, and a veritable litany of other kooks.

Lastly anyone who lives in a shack is likely to be off kilter. The Unabomber lived in a shack, and that guy was fucked.

Anyway enough of this silliness…