I’m a biker. Two wheels, a motor, usually loud pipes and a rock and roll IPOD. It helps me keep perspective on life. You see mine is out of control in almost every way. No nine to five job, no “Leave it to Beaver” home and family, crazy women abound and crazier friends. But, nothing ordinary.
Ordinary would mean that I’ve become accustomed to the extraordinary. The beautiful and amazing can no longer grasp my attention. The small pleasures in life aren’t as pleasing. Ask a resident of Flint, Michigan how ordinary a clean glass of water is. Ask the homeless how ordinary it is to sleep in a warm safe place.
Nope. Ordinary is as rare as common sense, which makes it extraordinary. Like vanilla ice cream. If you take the time to think about it, it’s not ordinary.
The New Word Wars 