The only currency in this bankrupt world are the things we share with each other when we're uncool.
- Cameron Crowe, Almost Famous
"You Know I Know You Know"
Here's what I don't get: Presumably, you start a blog so you can get out all the stuff that you can't get out during the mundane doings of your everyday life. But all of the actors of that mundane life read the damn thing... so how the hell can you bitch about them? It's another one of those no win situations I find myself surrounded by these days.
I've worked very hard to convince all of you useless jerks around me that I'm a nice guy. I don't want to piss any of you off because you're all so freakin' touchy (And at least one of you may think that I'm afraid of you, which I never was before you said that I'm afraid of you. I mean, Jesus, do you know something that I don't?). That's why I end up doing so much stuff I hate.
I'm gonna go ahead and rock the boat anyway. You know... Really break up everyone's day. What's the worse that could happen? You won't want to talk to me anymore? Do you have any idea how ineffectual it is to give the silent treatment to someone who doesn't want to talk to you in the first place?
"Mock Tribulations"
I don't want to go to mock trial. It's Saturday. I got a room to myself. That means I can get up at nine and watch Spider-Man and turn up the volume because My Crazed Roommate isn't here to be woken up. Then I can go back to sleep. Listen to "Accident" for a few hours.
Instead, it's up by seven and a trip to godforsaken Kansas with a motley crue of mental deficients. It's not even a real mock trial. (No, I can't believe I just wrote that sentence either.) It's a scrimmage. A whole day shot so I can spend a maximum of thirty minutes pretending like an eight-year-old with epilepsy ran into the street and got his stupid ass ran over.
We're not going to gain anything from this. I'm just going to have to listen to psycho Mary cry over her dead fictional kid again. But hey, at least I get to do it again next week at our other scrimmage.
I swear to god, people must think that I've made up the mock trial team. Everytime someone asks me to go somewhere, I have to say something like "Oh, not this weekend, I've got to go to mock trial." They've got to think I'm just an asshole.
"Shut It, Ebert"
I'm content to let a good movie just be.
"Always the Bridesmaid"
In high school, when we'd drive through the parking lot of the movie theater, I'd always lean out the window and scream "I hate couples!"
On some level, I'm still that guy.
Sometimes, I just don't feel comfortable around couples, and while in the past, that's been because Irfan and Angela get into these screaming matches that just suck the air out of a room, and on the opposite end of the spectrum, the cutesy stuff from those two nut jobs at the Truth of Dare Jenga thing made me want to puke up my jello shots, now a days it's usually because I feel like a hanger on or something.
Now, please. Understand that this isn't one of those self-pityingly mopey and psychotically annoying situations where I don't like being the sole single guy because "It reminds me that I don't have anyone in my life who loves me and wah wah wah," because at this point, I'm more than content with my comic book collection. The day I need to add another person's problems and inadequacies to the fairly neurotic mix I've blended for myself in order to feel happy and/or complete I'm taking a swan dive off of Jesse Hall. It's just that simple. (Just keep telling yourself, Clark: They're not all high maintenance.) No. My discomfort comes from the sinking feeling that if I wasn't there, these couples would be doing far more interesting, and certainly far more enjoyable things. Or that I'm the extra guy they feel they need to entertain.
It's that feeling you get when you stumble upon two people in the midst of an intimate moment in some public place, and they suddenly stop to engage in the social and superficial pleasantry of asking how you're day is:
Yo, asshole. I just wanted to get a drink of water at the freakin' water fountain. Don't take your hand out of her blouse on my account.
"My Father Once Said..."
I've made a lot of outrageous claims about my father. The one that most comes to mind is the thing about him being killed by a Big Giant Bee. Before that, he was in prison.
I've also made up a lot of fake advice that my father supposedly gave me. Stuff like "Stay two steps ahead of your enemies, three step ahead of your friends, and four steps ahead of any woman you're pursuing," or "Don't go to bed angry, son, YARGH! I'VE BEEN IMPALED UPON THE STINGER OF A HUGE FREAKING BEE! GET HELP YOU STUPID LITTLE BASTARD!"
Here's one piece of advice that the old man did give me, and I now share with you:
"When playing Asteroids, don't shoot at an asteroid that's coming at you. Move out of the way, then shoot."
The man's a genius.
For godsake, send lemonade.
- Cameron Crowe, Almost Famous
"You Know I Know You Know"
Here's what I don't get: Presumably, you start a blog so you can get out all the stuff that you can't get out during the mundane doings of your everyday life. But all of the actors of that mundane life read the damn thing... so how the hell can you bitch about them? It's another one of those no win situations I find myself surrounded by these days.
I've worked very hard to convince all of you useless jerks around me that I'm a nice guy. I don't want to piss any of you off because you're all so freakin' touchy (And at least one of you may think that I'm afraid of you, which I never was before you said that I'm afraid of you. I mean, Jesus, do you know something that I don't?). That's why I end up doing so much stuff I hate.
I'm gonna go ahead and rock the boat anyway. You know... Really break up everyone's day. What's the worse that could happen? You won't want to talk to me anymore? Do you have any idea how ineffectual it is to give the silent treatment to someone who doesn't want to talk to you in the first place?
"Mock Tribulations"
I don't want to go to mock trial. It's Saturday. I got a room to myself. That means I can get up at nine and watch Spider-Man and turn up the volume because My Crazed Roommate isn't here to be woken up. Then I can go back to sleep. Listen to "Accident" for a few hours.
Instead, it's up by seven and a trip to godforsaken Kansas with a motley crue of mental deficients. It's not even a real mock trial. (No, I can't believe I just wrote that sentence either.) It's a scrimmage. A whole day shot so I can spend a maximum of thirty minutes pretending like an eight-year-old with epilepsy ran into the street and got his stupid ass ran over.
We're not going to gain anything from this. I'm just going to have to listen to psycho Mary cry over her dead fictional kid again. But hey, at least I get to do it again next week at our other scrimmage.
I swear to god, people must think that I've made up the mock trial team. Everytime someone asks me to go somewhere, I have to say something like "Oh, not this weekend, I've got to go to mock trial." They've got to think I'm just an asshole.
"Shut It, Ebert"
I'm content to let a good movie just be.
"Always the Bridesmaid"
In high school, when we'd drive through the parking lot of the movie theater, I'd always lean out the window and scream "I hate couples!"
On some level, I'm still that guy.
Sometimes, I just don't feel comfortable around couples, and while in the past, that's been because Irfan and Angela get into these screaming matches that just suck the air out of a room, and on the opposite end of the spectrum, the cutesy stuff from those two nut jobs at the Truth of Dare Jenga thing made me want to puke up my jello shots, now a days it's usually because I feel like a hanger on or something.
Now, please. Understand that this isn't one of those self-pityingly mopey and psychotically annoying situations where I don't like being the sole single guy because "It reminds me that I don't have anyone in my life who loves me and wah wah wah," because at this point, I'm more than content with my comic book collection. The day I need to add another person's problems and inadequacies to the fairly neurotic mix I've blended for myself in order to feel happy and/or complete I'm taking a swan dive off of Jesse Hall. It's just that simple. (Just keep telling yourself, Clark: They're not all high maintenance.) No. My discomfort comes from the sinking feeling that if I wasn't there, these couples would be doing far more interesting, and certainly far more enjoyable things. Or that I'm the extra guy they feel they need to entertain.
It's that feeling you get when you stumble upon two people in the midst of an intimate moment in some public place, and they suddenly stop to engage in the social and superficial pleasantry of asking how you're day is:
Yo, asshole. I just wanted to get a drink of water at the freakin' water fountain. Don't take your hand out of her blouse on my account.
"My Father Once Said..."
I've made a lot of outrageous claims about my father. The one that most comes to mind is the thing about him being killed by a Big Giant Bee. Before that, he was in prison.
I've also made up a lot of fake advice that my father supposedly gave me. Stuff like "Stay two steps ahead of your enemies, three step ahead of your friends, and four steps ahead of any woman you're pursuing," or "Don't go to bed angry, son, YARGH! I'VE BEEN IMPALED UPON THE STINGER OF A HUGE FREAKING BEE! GET HELP YOU STUPID LITTLE BASTARD!"
Here's one piece of advice that the old man did give me, and I now share with you:
"When playing Asteroids, don't shoot at an asteroid that's coming at you. Move out of the way, then shoot."
The man's a genius.
For godsake, send lemonade.
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