Now, for a really long entry …

A couple of weekends ago, my old friend Kate and a few of her unbearable documentary-making buddies were in Chicago for a conference. They live together in some artists’ collective in New York City, which sounds really cool, unless all the people involved are as willfully aloof as those I met through Kate.

When Kate and I were in college, we spent many a valuable hour together being pretentious, arty nerds … reading scenes, praising each other for our talents, and mercilessly critiquing our peers. Afternoons found us shouting Chekhov at one another from opposite ends of her apartment, or staging scenes from Othello just for the hell of it.* Then Kate would make me some fancy euro lunch with risotto and red wine and an airy dessert with too many vowel sounds, followed by sake and discussion of Ovid. Occasionally, we’d abandon our supercilious conversation to bounce around the room like giggly pinballs.

Kate is silly and spontaneous, wickedly talented, and embodies a rare paradox of being both completely absent of vanity and totally oozing with savoir-faire. In a way, I wonder why she’s drawn to frumpy me, of the unmatched socks and the lack of fashion patience. At any rate, we have so much fun together making things, playing, and imagining the world to be big and clean. We both were, and are, dreamers.

So, I was really disappointed to discover that her current friends and housemates totally suck.

I don’t know, maybe they were just tired from their conference bullshit; but Kate had been just as busy as they had, and she was very much her sparkly self. Her friends barely made eye contact with me, and were disconcertingly out of touch with my sense of humor. Not that my sense of humor is, like, The Definitive Funny or anything, but it was weird to see my jokes and cheeriness go right over the heads of everyone but Kate.

I’m used to hanging with friends who show their love for each other by taking personal information, shoving it out into the open, and twisting it into various obscene balloon animals until everyone, everyone, laughs. Inappropriate jokes provide validation that (a) we listen to each other, (b) no one needs to be perfect, (c) we trust each other enough to make such jokes available to be used against us for later cheap shots, and (d) [CHEESY!] we’ll love each other whatever happens. (NOTE: I only take these liberties with people I know well. I’m not a total asshole.)

Kate’s friends weren’t so bad, really. They were nice enough, aside from the lack of eye-contact (that bugs me … I’m not that short) and almost complete lack of effort to be goofy and amiable. Like I said, they were probably exhausted. But they seemed to take themselves way too fuckin’ seriously, and it bothered me to see Kate hanging out with people who aren’t as cool as she is.

We all attended this show, then went to dinner, where I had a really frustrating discussion with one of Kate’s housemates. See, the show itself involves a bit of improvisation. Sometimes, this includes involuntary audience participation. I love this, because it pushes the envelope as far as audience involvement is concerned, by forcing them to play a part in which they are less informed than the onstage improviser. It expands “the world of the play,” and makes the audience question their role as active members of the show, and question the meaning of the show, itself. The audience becomes uncomfortable, which isn’t ideal for a lot of folks, but is part of the point for the particular theatre group we were seeing. We are all forced to be on guard, in case we’re put in the position to be a part of the show. The actors are kept on guard, as well, because they don't know how the chosen audience member will react. I'm a fan of this device, but maybe I just enjoy being uncomfortable.

I realize that was, like, a really obnoxiously poly-clausal thesis statement. Sorry.

Anyway, PARAPHRASED ANNOYING DISCUSSION I TRIED TO HAVE WITH ONE OF KATE’S HOUSEMATES AT THE POST-SHOW DINNER, WHICH WAS SUSHI, BECAUSE SOMEONE IN MY COMPANY DIDN’T EAT WHEAT**, AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU AVOID EATING WHEAT, BUT ANYWAY:

Him: I didn’t like how they forced that girl in the audience to be in the play. It only made her embarrassed.
Me: I think that was the point. They were taking a risk, and wanted the audience to question their blablablablablablabla (see above) …
Him: It made me uncomfortable, though. I ended up just feeling bad for her.
Me: I can see that, but that was the point. Maybe it’s not fair, but that’s kind of what they do. I like it, but can see why you don’t.
Him: It made me uncomfortable! It was mean!
Me: I think they know that not all the audience members will “like it.” That’s part of what I was talking about before..
Him: I didn’t like it, boo hoo hoo, oooh, do you like my overpriced schlumpy jeans and shaggy hair, blablabla if I make eye-contact with you, I’ll burst into flames!
Me: [Letting it go and chomping into my California roll.]

I conceded my argument, because it was falling on deaf ears. Makes me understand Kerry a little more, actually, which is sad, but that’s irrelevant.

Aw, Christ, though. I fuckin’ hate that shit. I don’t mind disagreement, but I felt like I was talking to a brick wall.

Later, Kate’s friends engaged themselves in some dumb botanical discussion of how edamame is like popcorn. They talked about this for ten goddamned minutes before I took mercy on myself and faded out. When I focused back in, they were still chuckling over the finer points of various legumes and the scientific makeup of vegetables. GodDAMN! I looked to me like they were trying really hard to be ironic, like each of them had a secret joke they weren’t even willing to share with each other, and it genuinely confused me. How is that a conversation?

An intervention was in order.

Me: Are you guys really still talking about vegetables? Really?
Them: Heheheh?
Me: This is like the script for a crappy indie movie about a really bad date.
Kate: HEE! Heeheeheeheehee…

Maybe that was totally rude, but I wasn’t mean in my delivery. And, seriously. That conversation needed to be euthanized, with, like, a fuckin’ walrus tranquilizer. Listening to it was like watching a thalidomide baby try to swim the English Channel, it was so surreal, and there was no end in sight.

See, I completely admit to my pretentious tendencies, but I’m still genuine and fun. These people even fell short of being pretentious, (which is sad, because it’s really easy to be pretentious,) and just managed to be fuckin’ droll. Ew.

Whatever. Kate laughed, at any rate, and it was awesome to see her again.

I have this friend we’ll call Dandroid the Weird. Dandroid is one of the most book-smart people I’ve ever met, as well as one of the hardest workers. He’s a really interesting guy with a good heart, but he has Machiavellian bootlicking tendencies, a true gift for always saying the wrong thing when he feels uncomfortable, and, honestly, he can be very difficult to like. Dandroid the Weird is probably the most socially retarded person I know who isn’t mentally retarded, as well.

I know that sounds like a cruel set up for someone I just referred to as a friend, but it’s the truth. I have a theory that Danimal (as he’s also known) had too much brain when he was a little kid, and that his inability to interact with or intellectually relate to people of his own age caused his peers to label him as “weird”, a label he internalized. This subsequently made him visibly and completely uncomfortable around other people, and in his own body.

He moves as if he’s waging an eternal battle between social cues, and his own natural impulses. It’s hard to explain … he kind of moves and talks like an underwater android, a puppet, or like he’s drugged. In college, he was notorious for his terrifying hugs, which you could see coming from a mile away, and which were impossible to avoid. People (not me, mind you,) would do impressions of his hugs that looked like a Frankenstein attack in slow motion, and I must say they were dead-on.

So, yeah, most people weren’t very nice to Dandroid the Weird. To this day, when I mention to my old friends that I’ve spoken to him, they ask “WHY?” and follow up with, “You didn’t tell him how to contact me, did you?”

In college, Danimal was dating a gorgeous, vapid redhead who used to drive to Boston from upstate New York to fuck him in the light booth. (Oh, Jesus, that image just made my mind’s eye bleed a little … and there are all sorts of raunchy sound effects that go with it, so there goes my mind’s ear as well. Sorry, but there are some friends you never want to imagine having sex, ever, with anything, and the whole scenario just made my subconscious pull a total Helen Keller.) Even his girlfriend, when asked how the two of them got together, said “Oh, I dunno … at first I felt bad for him, then he grew on me.”

I liked him, though. He was nice to me, he was smart and interesting, and he had the capacity to be incredibly sweet. If nothing else, he was a perfect specimen for my private la-bor-a-tor-y of whacked out human behavior. (Kidding.)

Anyway, college was rough on my friend. Take a person like Dandroid, who is not only fastidious but also starving for social approval, and put him in a university Theatre Department setting, and the result is analogous to throwing a bloody wildebeest into shark-infested waters. It’s sick. In college, poor Dandroid was, at best, socially tolerated and cast to play small parts in shows just because people knew that as long as they kept him around, he would willingly do their bidding. Students and professors alike took blatant advantage of him, he lapped up the attention, and it was truly heartbreaking to behold.

Though we were always friendly, and I stuck up for him when people trashed him, other than the odd conversation in the dining hall, Dandroid and I didn’t become close friends until after college. He got some gigantic Fullbright or something to direct theatre in Berlin, (yay, Danimal,) and would use his calling card to phone me about once a month. We had hours-long conversations covering so much ground that it surprised us both.

In Berlin, he was doing really well. He had met a ton of interesting people who respected him, he was directing thousands of very fulfilling projects, he was generally kicking ass. He’d gained enough self-confidence to be a bit of a snob, which cracked me up. He’d also started smoking weed, which may have been a decision long overdue for the wound-up Dandroid, and I’m only partially joking about that.

(Don’t worry, this story has a point, and it’s all about me.)

He called recently, and we had one of our famously epic conversations. Among other things, we talked about our love lives, like friends do. Dandroid admitted that he’s currently stringing his girlfriend along, knowing that she’s much more committed to him than he ever will be to her. That sucks. I have faith that Dandroid is both weird and wonderful in ways so extreme that whoever falls in love with him will be absolutely devoted, and it sucked to hear him compromising himself and his girlfriend this way.

Another paraphrased conversation:

”Dandroid,” (I don’t actually call him that,) “that’s not really fair to either of you. Why don’t you let the girl go?”

“I’m terrified of being alone, Kell.”

“Ah. But isn’t it lonelier to put your energy into maintaining a bad relationship than to be by yourself for a while until you find someone great? You’re young, hon. There are plenty of people out there. You’ll be fine.”

“I know. And so will you. But it’s really hard for me to meet people I’m interested in dating, because most of them are just boring.”

“Okay.”

“It’s probably the same with you, right, Kell? It’s hard for people like us.”

“…”

“Kell?”

“Um …”

Oh. Sweet. Jesus.

Okay, he wasn’t completely right. People don’t bore me, but it’s very rare for me to meet someone I feel a spark with. I think it's the same for everybody.

Still. Sweet Jesus.

It gave me pause to realize I may have found a kindred spirit in Dandroid the Weird. I know I sound like a total asshole right now. It’s not that I think I’m above him or anything, I’m just being objective; it is very difficult to ignore Dandroid’s social shortcomings, and shitty as it sounds, it was jarring to hear him so readily put the two of us in the same category. (Not to mention, the phrase “It’s hard for people like us” makes me squick, because it whoever says it seems to be setting him/herself up for a doomed life of self-fulfilling prophesies.)

Thing is, I’ve been thinking about it lately, and I might be just as bad as Dandroid. Could be the impending move is making me feel really vulnerable, so maybe I’m being too hard on myself. I know that I’m generally fun to be around, but I’ve been seriously considering the possibility that I’m not just “quirky,” but a genuine WEIRDO.

- I tend to treat all social situations pretty much the same.
- I'm taking a break from trying to fit into the “nightlife scene,” as far as dressing up is concerned. I go out, and pretty up, but I’d much rather be comfortable than kill myself making efforts to look hot.
- I break into conversations with comments that make even the stout of heart go, “Er?” I usually make people laugh, but sometimes I wonder.
- My eating and sleeping habits are, like, Bukowski erratic.
- I say things like “Bukowski erratic,” when I'm fully aware that I might not mean what they imply.
- I can be very quiet for long periods of time, when in a new setting. Even I don’t realize how quiet I can be. It might come across that I’m judging everyone, but I really just don’t have anything to say. (Until one of those weird conversational juggernauts hits me, and then I can’t keep it to myself. See countless past entries for details.)
- I can be a bit of a recluse, if I’m not careful.

I don’t think I make folks uncomfortable, but I don’t know. I’m sweet, I like people, and I laugh a lot every day. I make friends easily, but I’ve noticed that my favorite people are giant weirdophiles, just like I am. I have always blended pretty smoothly with both the Squares and the Freaks, if we must label, (and come on, at this point, we must,) but I’ve always preferred the Freaks, even if it ends up that all of my friends are more interesting than I am. Freaks have a cool perspective about the world.

I don’t want to seem like one of those people who has carefully constructed her personality; I basically just tire easily of bullshit, and like to have fun. I’m probably going to be a huge pain in the ass when I’m a cantankerous old lady who has let go of any fuck I could possibly give, but until then, I don’t want to forego all classiness. You know? I don’t really want to change, either, but I should mind my manners.

This is embarrassing, in a really funny way. I already know I’m making way too much of it, and sound like a jerk with the whole “social categories” crap, but hell. That’s reality. At any rate, it’s just something to think about.

Things I meant to do today:

1. Get some housework done.
2. Get my bike fixed.
3. Apply for financial aid.
4. Pay bills.
5. Meet up with friends.

Things I did today:

1. Said goodbye to the friends I hung out with last night, who had crashed in my apartment after karaoke, “Mr. Show,” and 4 AM stuffed-crust pizza.
2. Talked on the phone.
3. Briefly considered cleaning, getting my bike fixed, applying for financial aid, paying bills, and/or making plans for the day and the evening.
4. Fell asleep at 6 PM because I’m horribly sleep-deprived these days.
5. Woke up way after midnight.
6. Read, listened to music, wrote this damned entry.

Goddamn, I’m so awesome.

I should go back to bed. It’s dawn.

* Kate was always Othello, because she’s part Japanese, and everyone knows that in the world of pretentious, cheap Shakespeare, the actors’ genders are flexible, and text can be easily bent so that any minority equals “Moor.” I’d kind of love to see a wiseass staging where Othello’s played by a blind amputee, or something. I’m tempted to blame my and Kate’s overzealous artiness on the over-exuberance of our youth, but it really wasn’t that long ago, and I know full well that if Kate lived near me now, I’d be at her place on Saturday afternoons doing the exact same things we used to do, with more confidence and a more formidable arsenal of snobby arty knowledge.

** Okay, maybe I’m not being fair. It was actually Kate who didn’t eat wheat. I fear the soul-suckers are getting to her. SAVE KATE!

~ Last Five Entries ~

Arm-in-Arm Down Burgundy - 09.05.05

Motivated! - 08.25.05

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

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