Turf

Everyone knows that familiarity breeds contempt, and that Crazy Uncle Chester breeds armadillos.  But what does unfamiliarity breed?  If we take a logical, antonymical approach, we would have to conclude that it breeds, what?  Respect?  That doesn't seem right.

Based on the Solipsist's experiences today, it breeds mild discomfort.  YNSHC had to travel to a strange (that is, unfamiliar) place today for a meeting.  And while the settings were all quite picturesque--lots of mountains, clean walkways, the smell of inexpensively catered breakfast items wafting on the breeze--the Solipsist couldn't help but feel that slight frisson of unease at being away from one's own turf.

That's the problem: Turflessness.  Because have you ever noticed that, when you're on someone else's turf, no matter what lengths the hosts go to make you feel welcome, you can't help but be conscious of a certain superiority complex?  They, after all, or on their turf, and they know it.  And they show it in all sorts of subtle and not-so-subtle ways: enjoying little in-jokes with their fellow hosters ("Oh, Myrtle!  Grover actually let you take the day off from collating (hee hee)?"  What the hell is that?!?); sashaying casually to the cafeteria at lunch time; peeing in a bathroom because they know where it is instead of behind the nearest mailbox.  Perhaps we've said too much.

Frankly, there's nothing like being away from one's own turf to make one truly appreciate one's own home away from home.