Bitch, what you don't know about me I can just about fit into the Grand fucking Canyon.
- Kevin Smith, Chasing Amy
"Clarks"
You know that scene towards the end of Almost Famous when William finally gets back home and he just flops down on his bed? (Well of course I know you know it, Jeffries. Geez. Calm down. I'm talking to other people right now.) I just had a moment like that. I left for Spring Break on Thursday afternoon. I just got home at 11:48 Sunday night.
You guessed it. Mock trial.
I haven't been home for a few months, mostly because winter semester trips between Kansas City and Columbia have been known to go poorly for me. Last year, I totalled my car in Cooper County, got trapped in a demented cycle of visits trying to straighten things out with the guys who towed the wreckage away, and ended up stranded with Smith and his mother at a salvage yard in Boonville where we just kept pissing off the receptionist without really trying. And the last time I came back to CoMo from KC, the ninety-minute trip took me twenty hours.
That being said, I like Spring Break. Last year was particularly relaxing. The year before that, not so much, though I did go to New York City. For some reason, The Clark I Was Then was eager to get back to Columbia and have his mind fucked with. Go figure.
As of now, my three day ramen-noodle-eating sabbatical in Brent's Apartment has been cancelled... but I still have a few schemes to hatch... oh yes.
"Mallrats of America"
But, Clark, you ask. How was the Silver National Mock Trial Tournament in St. Paul, Minnesota?
It was fine. I'm sure Woodward will have all of the detailed results. I don't really know them, because I approach Mock Trial the same way I approach dating: show up with a smile because you're lucky anyone wants to see you at all, say what you think they want to hear, crack a few weak jokes, and go home disappointed and alone.
But hey, I got to go to the Mall of America. And there was free food. And I got some quality Irfan time. And Woodward and I blastEd the new R. Kelly single at every opportunity.
Not a bad weekend. Not a bad weekend at all.
"Chasing $%#"
On some basic level, I'm still the third grader who figured that the best way to tell Bridget Harris he had a crush on her was to tell all of her friends not to tell her, and hope that one of them did and it worked out.
It didn't work then. I really shouldn't have tried the same approach on Melissa Ford the following year... or Katherine Espisito after that... or Stephanie Gilreath... then Melissa Ford again... or Sarah Reed my freshman year of high school... I don't think the Amy Walburn thing counts...
I think you get the picture.
I'm pretty much done with games at this point... and yet -- to use a game metaphor -- I have the distinct feeling I'm dropping the ball here (something the Mock Trial kids had to hear about quite a bit this weekend... especially poor Mr. Fiedler, though considering how uselesss his advice was, he may have deserved it).
I think I've come a long way. I'm no longer looking to complete myself through someone else. My sense of self-esteem is no longer dependent upon this. I'm not looking for any type of redemption, either, because I've punished myself more than enough. And I realize that finding someone like me is crazy because, well, so am I. I get all this now.
It's just that over-thinking thing that's still killing me. I mean, without the games, what do I have left to offer?
"Dogma"
"You don't know Clark like I do."
I'm not sure if this is a phrase you've said to somebody else, or if it's one that you've heard said to you, but I think it may need some discussion today.
To be painfully honest with you, I'm easy to get along with, but a hard man to know.
I generally get along with everybody, mostly due to the fact that my general philosophy with dealing with other people is "Don't make a mess." And no matter how long I've known someone, I never seriously think to myself that I understand them (except for maybe Brent, who I've openly theorized works on three basic levels: Family, Girls, and His Truck).
It probably appears as if I share myself fairly freely. I mean, come on... I write about myself A LOT. And that might even feel make you feel comfortable saying that you understand how I think.
You probably don't.
I'm not writing this to hurt anyone's feelings. And I'm fairly certain I'm not saying this out of some pathetically angsty desire to say that no one understands me because I'm exceptionally deep and complex. (I'm not very deep or complex at all, actually.) I'm only saying this because I've noticed a disturbing trend in people to speak for me these days. And when these people make their wacked out little assertions about me, I end up feeling like I have to live up to these expectations so that we don't both end up looking like jerks.
I think there are about three and a half people out in the world who've had the opporunity to get to know me, and who have taken the time and have suffered through the sheer tedium of truly crawling into my head without just jumping to the simpler conclusions that I've left for them to jump to. Three and a half.
One of them reads this blog.
You do the math.
It's not your fault. It's mine. This is kind of the way I've let myself become. I'm just asking you to give me a break here. I don't think you have to be under the impression that you understand someone in order to be their friend.
I'm not the only person who feels like this, am I?
"Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back"
Justice is dead... or so Jay thinks.
I know it's a stretch, but I had a bit of a theme running here, and I had to run with it. I think I'm going to go read Daredevil or something.
This weekend, Irfan shared with me his belief in finding your polar opposite. You know... basically the old adage that opposites attract. It really put some things into perspective for me. The world don't seem so nuts no more.
I am the "ow" in "now"...
But if you tell anybody...
- Kevin Smith, Chasing Amy
"Clarks"
You know that scene towards the end of Almost Famous when William finally gets back home and he just flops down on his bed? (Well of course I know you know it, Jeffries. Geez. Calm down. I'm talking to other people right now.) I just had a moment like that. I left for Spring Break on Thursday afternoon. I just got home at 11:48 Sunday night.
You guessed it. Mock trial.
I haven't been home for a few months, mostly because winter semester trips between Kansas City and Columbia have been known to go poorly for me. Last year, I totalled my car in Cooper County, got trapped in a demented cycle of visits trying to straighten things out with the guys who towed the wreckage away, and ended up stranded with Smith and his mother at a salvage yard in Boonville where we just kept pissing off the receptionist without really trying. And the last time I came back to CoMo from KC, the ninety-minute trip took me twenty hours.
That being said, I like Spring Break. Last year was particularly relaxing. The year before that, not so much, though I did go to New York City. For some reason, The Clark I Was Then was eager to get back to Columbia and have his mind fucked with. Go figure.
As of now, my three day ramen-noodle-eating sabbatical in Brent's Apartment has been cancelled... but I still have a few schemes to hatch... oh yes.
"Mallrats of America"
But, Clark, you ask. How was the Silver National Mock Trial Tournament in St. Paul, Minnesota?
It was fine. I'm sure Woodward will have all of the detailed results. I don't really know them, because I approach Mock Trial the same way I approach dating: show up with a smile because you're lucky anyone wants to see you at all, say what you think they want to hear, crack a few weak jokes, and go home disappointed and alone.
But hey, I got to go to the Mall of America. And there was free food. And I got some quality Irfan time. And Woodward and I blastEd the new R. Kelly single at every opportunity.
Not a bad weekend. Not a bad weekend at all.
"Chasing $%#"
On some basic level, I'm still the third grader who figured that the best way to tell Bridget Harris he had a crush on her was to tell all of her friends not to tell her, and hope that one of them did and it worked out.
It didn't work then. I really shouldn't have tried the same approach on Melissa Ford the following year... or Katherine Espisito after that... or Stephanie Gilreath... then Melissa Ford again... or Sarah Reed my freshman year of high school... I don't think the Amy Walburn thing counts...
I think you get the picture.
I'm pretty much done with games at this point... and yet -- to use a game metaphor -- I have the distinct feeling I'm dropping the ball here (something the Mock Trial kids had to hear about quite a bit this weekend... especially poor Mr. Fiedler, though considering how uselesss his advice was, he may have deserved it).
I think I've come a long way. I'm no longer looking to complete myself through someone else. My sense of self-esteem is no longer dependent upon this. I'm not looking for any type of redemption, either, because I've punished myself more than enough. And I realize that finding someone like me is crazy because, well, so am I. I get all this now.
It's just that over-thinking thing that's still killing me. I mean, without the games, what do I have left to offer?
"Dogma"
"You don't know Clark like I do."
I'm not sure if this is a phrase you've said to somebody else, or if it's one that you've heard said to you, but I think it may need some discussion today.
To be painfully honest with you, I'm easy to get along with, but a hard man to know.
I generally get along with everybody, mostly due to the fact that my general philosophy with dealing with other people is "Don't make a mess." And no matter how long I've known someone, I never seriously think to myself that I understand them (except for maybe Brent, who I've openly theorized works on three basic levels: Family, Girls, and His Truck).
It probably appears as if I share myself fairly freely. I mean, come on... I write about myself A LOT. And that might even feel make you feel comfortable saying that you understand how I think.
You probably don't.
I'm not writing this to hurt anyone's feelings. And I'm fairly certain I'm not saying this out of some pathetically angsty desire to say that no one understands me because I'm exceptionally deep and complex. (I'm not very deep or complex at all, actually.) I'm only saying this because I've noticed a disturbing trend in people to speak for me these days. And when these people make their wacked out little assertions about me, I end up feeling like I have to live up to these expectations so that we don't both end up looking like jerks.
I think there are about three and a half people out in the world who've had the opporunity to get to know me, and who have taken the time and have suffered through the sheer tedium of truly crawling into my head without just jumping to the simpler conclusions that I've left for them to jump to. Three and a half.
One of them reads this blog.
You do the math.
It's not your fault. It's mine. This is kind of the way I've let myself become. I'm just asking you to give me a break here. I don't think you have to be under the impression that you understand someone in order to be their friend.
I'm not the only person who feels like this, am I?
"Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back"
Justice is dead... or so Jay thinks.
I know it's a stretch, but I had a bit of a theme running here, and I had to run with it. I think I'm going to go read Daredevil or something.
This weekend, Irfan shared with me his belief in finding your polar opposite. You know... basically the old adage that opposites attract. It really put some things into perspective for me. The world don't seem so nuts no more.
I am the "ow" in "now"...
But if you tell anybody...
Comments