These are the reasons that I think I might not have originated on this planet:
1) My clothes never fit right, or match. They look and feel as if they do not belong on this underlying form. I was never blessed with a strong sense of fashion. As fabulous as I may be in my mind, in reality I generally look like a homeless person. I think a characteristic that aliens share with me is that they prefer utilitarian clothing with little ornamentation, uncomplicated closures, and drab coloring.
2) I don’t like watching sports, or talking about sports. I mean, what is the actual point? One set of burly men (or women) try to overcome another set of burly men in a prescribed time continuum within an arbitrarily pre-selected set of constraints, under the supervision of slightly less burly persons in zebra-flavored attire. This is somehow combined with latent wish-fulfillment from the organized seating sections, which are encouraged to make noises that are synchronized and sympathetic to the successful (or unsuccessful) completion of tasks that intersect imaginary geometric features. I just don’t get it. If you just throw a sphere at a wall and you have accomplished much the same thing.
3) I laugh at the wrong things. Almost all forms of human awkwardness are humorous, and are often more humorous if they are not supposed to be funny. Comedy seems to be based on pain for purely arcane reasons. The alien confusion over certain meat noises like “ha ha ha” is well documented.
4) I think “these kids today” are basically ok. Despite the dire predictions of gloom and despair, I find that the youngsters are generally getting on with it. I worry that their entire generation may be obliterated by portable communicators, but so far that hasn’t been an impediment to their well being. The normal human activities, fighting, fornicating, feeding, and so on, continue on their normal trajectory. Civilization just keeps right on collapsing, the same way it always has. I can picture the alien scientists on the mother ship, scratching their carapaces, wondering why we haven’t made more progress since their last visit.
5) I have trouble fawning over wealth or fame. Celebrity and good sense are only rarely coincident, and wealth only confers motivation for protecting and gathering wealth. Regarding matters unconcerned with money, the wealthy are just as clueless as the rest of us. Just because you made a few bucks stealing money from of pre-teens with a guitar, doesn’t mean you have any political savvy or understanding of what is good for the country. (You know who you are, Ted.) Since when does the opinion of an actor have any legitimacy regarding childhood vaccinations? These folks need to take their money and shut up. I am fairly sure that aliens are just as confused by the lack of discrimination in public life as I am.
6) Smart phones bore me. Don’t ask me to look at it. Don’t show me your apps. Look at me when we are talking. I mean it. I’d hate to have to put a mind meld on your ass.
7) I think that reality tv is the curse of our time. Good story telling was almost the definition of our species. Now we dispense with the search for meaning, the plot and the lessons learned, to simply throw awkward people and situations together to see what happens. Our alien overlords expect better from us.
If you are as concerned as I am, there are some tests available to determine your alien status: