Oh Ninnies

Since moving to Salem, I’ve become acutely aware of a certain subclass of humans that exist, and in fact, are indigenous to the United States, that, having lived in other places previously, such as San Diego, San Francisco, Portland, Eugene, etc., one simply does not notice. This is not to suggest that this particular group didn’t exist in those places, but that they simply weren’t a large enough part of the population to gain the critical mass necessary for recognition. Truly, in Salem, however, the Ninny is unmistakable: a bulbous sore on the landscape no easier to ignore than a nuclear plant’s sentinel cooling towers. She is ubiquitous.

Perhaps it would be better to describe the outer manifestations of the Ninny, before we discuss this subject further, in order to establish a visual cue, and thereby gaining some familiarity with our subject. Let us start with the most basic facts: the Ninny is usually a female with a distinct, rounded shape in her midsection; thick, fat legs tapering down covered with some kind of soft, stretchable material (think sweatpants or tights, often tights with stirrups; the latter is markedly worse to behold), to smallish feet dressed in shoes that are slip-on or Velcro. Her spider’s body of a torso is sweatshirted, mumued, or sweatered, and upon this corpulent pedestal sits her head. The face is flushed with red checks swollen from eating sugar cookies, eyes narrow and small, often bespectacled, mouth thin and also narrow, so much so that a smile (if it can move her fat checks) takes the shape of a U, or more often, a small, round black hole. Her hair is short, or if not short it is beehived up toward the sky in a tight perm. This is important to realize—a Ninny will almost never wear her hair down or long. I don’t know why, but I know it has a lot to do with giving up. Of course, this visage, though certainly unattractive, is not particularly alarming, nor does it strike the viewer, initially, as dangerous. Not at least until you understand the psychology of the Ninny.

She is dumb. Not necessarily unintelligent, but dumb; unwilling to direct what intelligence she does possess toward the accomplishment of any decent endeavor. Her mind is weighed down with Walmart sales, her pastor’s dawdling words, and bad music (I’d speak more to this, but not having had the disprivilege (yes, this is not a real word) to ride in the car, or be in the home of such a human, I don’t really know, but I can guarantee you that it’s absolutely god-awful). Even more than this, her mind is ruled by a constant state of irrational, baseless fear. Fear that her children will be kidnapped or involved in a fatal bicycle crash; fear that she will be robbed; fear that the world is large, diverse, and sexual. She is afraid, most of all, of change, and for this reason she is generally a Republican—easily led if the message fits what she wants to hear, stubborn to a fault, believing simply that the solution to all of the world’s problems lies in cutting taxes, owning guns, locking up the bad guys forever and ever, and being a first-class, blue-ribbon bigot. But mind you, regardless of her party, she doesn’t get involved in politics—it’s much too nasty. You see, in a Ninny’s world, everything is fat, sweet, pleasant and planned. She is the kind of person that douses her food and drink with lemon juice, Ketchup (though the Ninny will call it catsup, which is just fucking ridiculous), fake sugar, and ranch dressing. She is the kind of person that has a bumper sticker that says “keep ‘Christ’ in Christmas,” and then proceeds to ensconce her house in gaudy Christmas lighting, decorate the insides with the pagan colors of silver and green, watch every Christmas special, and go to every sale known to the holiday season. She is the kind of person that wears teddy bear sweatshirts, gives and wears bad Christmas sweaters, doesn’t drink much, but will eat as much sugar and imbibe as much coffee as humanly possible—a real fucking snack factory. In a word, she is classless. Think Paula Dean in a bad wardrobe with zero charm. Other words that I’ll just include as abstract Ninnies descriptors: mediocre, trite, boring, provincial, clueless, dated, ignorant, foolish, pre-geriatric, etc…

Did I mention that the Ninny is an absolutely horrific driver? It is almost unbelievable, not to mention dangerous. The Ninny is slow, never knows quite where she is going, and indecisive on the road, primarily stemming from the fact that the Ninny doesn’t really have any confidence in anything she does. She is the ultimate waffler when it comes to making choices, the ultimate mule in sticking with what she believes in.

As it happens, Salem is both the capital of the state of Oregon and the official capital of all Ninny’s. Whereas most people that come to Oregon visit Portland, unquestionably one of the most beautiful cities in the U.S., Ninnies come from all around the Midwest and South to visit Salem. No one knows for sure where the Ninny’s came from originally (see the endnote for more on this), but God knows they’ve found their perfect town in Salem, OR. A town with two Walmarts, two Best Little Roadhouse Restaurants, and Three Fred Meyer’s. A town where there is not one decent gourmet restaurant (not one with any class or originality anyway), not one good grocery store, and a myriad of strip mall like fixtures dotted with greasy take out eateries and bargain stores…

Now, so far I have been saying “she” when referring to the Ninny, but there are male Ninny’s as well, and they are pretty much the same as female Ninny’s. It is just that they are less common…you see, when men hit rock bottom in middle age, they are what I would term the “dipshit.” Look to “Throwingstones” for future news on this alarming group. That is all, for now, on Ninny’s, I hope it has been useful.

(Endnote: most historians now believe that the Ninny actually originated during the period in medieval Europe in which it was common to try and execute women accused of being witches. Becoming a Ninny was a way for the average woman to avoid being accused of witchcraft, being that witches were believed to be mystical holders of the sacred feminine, beautiful, capable of seduction and manipulation with their female charms. Hence the Ninny, the ultimate symbol of anti-beauty and anti-intelligence, was at least safe from being accused of witchcraft. Therein also lies the Ninny’s fondness for Salem, Oregon, as the witch trials famously reached their apex in Salem, Massachusetts.)