I have a very unfortunate personality trait, and those who know me well know that this is true: I am a dedicated contrarian. If the herd goes one direction, even sensibly outrunning a storm or heading toward nourishment, I go the other direction. If I hear of any sort of wisdom held by more than three other people, I will argue with it.
This has, over the years, not stood me in good stead. More often than not I am hoist by my own petard as a result. When my oldest friend, she of impeccable taste, tried to introduce me first to "Brideshead Revisited" and then to David Bowie, I waved a haughty hand at her. Then found myself sneaking a peak at the page, a listen to the song, and head-over-heels obsessed. How could I have argued against Waugh and Bowie? It's unthinkable. But argue I did. In later years, I have willfully ignored and disdained, and then "discovered," The White Stripes, Kitchen-Aid Mixers, french press coffee, ipods, libertarianism, "Velvet Goldmine," parenthood, Patrick O'Brian, the color pink, treadmills, and organic chicken.
During this past presidential election, I couldn't even think straight. I have no idea to this day whether or not I like Barack Obama, because I chafed so strongly at the bit of my rampantly pro-Obama milieu.
If you think it's ridiculous, I'll champion it. If you champion it, I'll question it.
A nice person would call me an iconoclast, spirited, fiery. A more truthful person might call me argumentative, mulish.
...I exaggerate but only a little...