Thursday, October 27, 2005

Bloggin' 2: Eclectic Boogaloo

My last post was much shorter than I had originally intended it to be, since most of the things I had originally thought I’d talk about in it were lost in the sea of head-pounding. But, after sleeping in a bit this morning, I’m feeling slightly more coherent, and have therefore tried to capture some of those wayward thoughts in another metablog post.

Something I meant to cover in my earlier metablogging post, but forgot due to the imminent loss of cranial integrity, was how so many of the things I remember distinctly from the old days are just blurs to the other people involved, and vice versa. I guess it all just depends on our individual personalities as to what stands out the most in our minds.

Take for example, my entry on The Clique. After posting it I got a message from Pooh saying that she had forgotten about almost all of it; she didn't even remember who the fourth member of our OKC trip was. But for me, most of that day is clear as crystal, I think largely due to the randomness and oddity of it all: the four OKC daytrippers who had never done anything as a group before or after that day; the anti-social behavior leading to the six-foot corncob incident; the substitution of one random group member for another, only this sub became permanent; this sort of stuff only happens in real life. If I were to sell my story to Hollywood (and you know they're just falling over themselves trying to buy the rights to this non-stop action-fest), they would be compelled to replace my fellow Brain Trustee with St. Flunky for the OKC trip, since it would seem more logical to have the bonding take place over an entire day's time; they'd also probably try to make the St. Flunky/Coronela relationship the focus, and turn the corncob incident into a fatal knife fight between St. Flunky and one of Coronela's jealous admirers, which would result in us all having to flee the country to avoid capture, which would result in a massive chase scene/shootout/explosive extravaganza, which would result in me, having been relegated to comic relief as the hapless, hopeless nerd, dying a tragic death, but nobody in the audience would really care because, to be honest, he was sort of obnoxious, anyway. But, that's Hollywood for ya, they never know when enough is enough.

So, yeah, I think it was the non-traditional way in which events played out that day that have helped it stick in my mind. Which might explain why my memories of my friendship with G'ovich and Wrath from that semester are hazy; we were just some guys hanging out, having a good time. Now, granted, at that point in time that wasn't exactly par for the course for me, but it was a much more natural progression than just a one-time all-nighter instant bonding session. The only moments that are really distinct to me are the faux break-dancing troupe incident which G’ovich mentioned in his catalog of sins (and yes, I was complicit in that act of mischief, as was Wrath) and the last day of Freshman year, when G’ovich and I were basically the last ones in our group still in the dorm. The former sticks out because it was just such a random series of circumstances leading up to the break-dancing incident (which, incidentally, was also the source of the Electric Toad and Dr. G’ovich monikers); the latter sticks out because it was just G’ovich and me, staying up all night talking, cleaning out our rooms, and prank-calling G’ovich’s next-door neighbor who he despised. Okay, so G’ovich prank-called him, I just sat back and watched the hilarity ensue as his half-dressed and fully-enraged neighbor stormed downstairs looking for the culprit. Y’know, it always seemed a lot funnier when it wasn’t my buttons he was pushing . . . Anyway, in my mind, that night was the point in which I began to think of G'ovich as one of my best friends; whether I really came to that point earlier or later in our friendship, I honestly don't know, but it makes a much more Hollywood story if it's true.

I really wish I'd kept some sort of journal during those early days; even when I have clear pictures in my mind of certain events, there are usually some gaps in recall, or uncertainty as to context: I remember distinctly who the four OKC daytrippers were, but for the life of me can't recall how it came to be that way; I remember the clothes I was wearing the first time I got talked into joining a pick-up game of basketball at the Colvin Center following some intramural sporting event, but can't remember which semester that was; I remember having other examples of this phenomenon before I sat down to type this up, but now can’t recall a blasted one of them.

Now, I do have a journal for an English class from the second semester of my Sophomore year which, if you've done the math, you might realize is the semester after The Golden Year had ended. Yes, there on paper is a chronicle of the beginnings of the roller coaster journey which would eventually result in my nearly transforming from an outsider in my head to an outsider for real. Good times, man, good times.

I guess that this blog stands as a sort of de facto journal, but at the same time it's far too public to be an effective one. If I was going through all of the crap today that I went through 10 years ago, I couldn't even begin to put it all out there for everyone to see; it would be too fresh, too immediate, too personal; I'd be afraid of alienating the people involved even more, or of making myself look like an even bigger freak, if possible. Even as it is, I worry about upsetting folks; no matter how much G'ovich may try to convince me not to censor myself, I can't bring myself to be brutally honest. Well, except of course when it comes to talking about the Eeeeeeeevil one, but it's not like I haven't already said all of it to him before. Or, to be more accurate, it’s not like I haven’t conveyed these thoughts to him through ICQ, email, and letters in an effort to get out everything I wanted to say without falling victim to the Doc’s patented mental whammy.

I’ve been struggling to get through the Parker years of the Secret Origin, because there’s just so much stuff that keeps popping into my mind, and I have a hard time gauging what stuff is really pertinent to shaping me into who I am today, and what stuff is just an amusing anecdote to share some other time. Although, I suppose if I use the litmus test of “if it’s amusing, it’s an anecdote; if it’s psychologically scarring, it’s an origin story” I’ll keep on track.

Speaking of psychologically scarring experiences, I’ve been reading through the aforementioned journal and letters; wish I’d saved those old ICQ histories, bet they were filled with some gems; I know that’s where G’ovich’s “If you keep acting like this you won’t have any friends left” comment came from. Good times, good times. Anyway, the letters have actually proven to be a nice reminder of some of the post-college years, highlighting some stuff that I had forgotten about. I even came across a series of letters I wrote to St. Flunky right after he graduated and headed into the Army full-time, in which I was keeping a running total of how long it had been since G’ovich and I had had a blow-up or meltdown or any other destructive euphemism for stupid fights over stupid stuff.

The whole Secret Origins thing is proving to be a positive experience for me, but it’s also served to stir up a lot of stuff I’ve tried not to think about for a while. Remembering how things were during The Golden Year, how messed up they were afterwards, and how much of it could have been so easily prevented: it’s tough. I’m overwhelmed by nostalgia and melancholy; I have a feeling that going through all of this has been a big contributor to my recent insomnia. But, I have to plow ahead, for myself if for nobody else; my borderline OCD demands it!

5 comments:

CAP'N Disaster said...

"they'd also probably try to make the St. Flunky/Coronela relationship the focus, and turn the corncob incident into a fatal knife fight between St. Flunky and one of Coronela's jealous admirers, which would result in us all having to flee the country to avoid capture, which would result in a massive chase scene/shootout/explosive extravaganza, which would result in me, having been relegated to comic relief as the hapless, hopeless nerd, dying a tragic death, but nobody in the audience would really care because, to be honest, he was sort of obnoxious, anyway."

And you call me the Dramatic One...at least I always end up a drunk lying dead in a ditch. There are no chase scenes, shoot-outs or explosion extravaganzas....although there should be. From now on the road to the ditch will be filled with land mines and snipers will be strategically positioned to shoot me when I am in a drunken stupor and am on the verge of losing my job to the inability to sober up and show up to work on time. BRILLIANT!

G'ovich said...

Snipers can't hit drunks.

CAP'N Disaster said...

Too much staggering?....what if the snipers were drunk too? Then they are both all wobbely and the chances of a shot hit could be increased.
Or I could just have the snipers shooting oil cans all around me...cuz maybe they hate the cans.

Cap'n Cluck said...

And clearly since you will be drunk, you will be smoking, so the cigarette will ignite the spilt oil from the cans causing a huge explosion!

CAP'N Disaster said...

Brilliant!!!!