Friday, October 17, 2003
No Cliffords for Me
The problem with doing something good for someone is the movie Pay it Forward. It wasn't enough, this idea of random giving, was it? No, someone had to go and make a terrible movie about it, something that cries out to you to give, that lops a full teaspoon of sugar on top of fruit loops. And that kid. Now Spacey and Hunt, I can see. They're older, out of touch, removed. But that damn little kid from the scary movie was in it. He sure energized his career with that one, didn't he? Crying all over the screen, then dying. Oops, no spoiler warnings here! Fucking Pay it Forward. That's a slap at film.
Here's why people fall out of touch. One or more of three reasons.
Reason (A)
Remember in high school, when they taught you how to take notes that were so organized you sat back in awe of the very straightness of the:
I.
A.
1.
a.
(i)
(a)
-
*
II.
A.
B.
1.
Beautiful, isn't it? God knows what one section of any topic could have eight further subsets. Probably the Civil War. All those bodies. Well, I guess I'll get back on topic, and start with reason number one, or
(A) The boring summaries. "How are things?" Look at that fucking question. Three words. How. Are. Things. More, like "How broad can you get?" Ask a shitty question, get a shitty answer: "Oh, OK. Things are moving along with the job. Weather's been really nice lately." When they get to the weather I want to jump over the bar and smash every single bottle just to make him shut up. Does he really think I care about the weather (or traffic, or office politics, or old stories we both know the ending to) where he lives? My God, the back of the sports page shows the temperature and precipitation for his city. And I'd rather read that than get depressed hearing it from him.
So people talk in broad, boring generalities. After a while they start wondering, "Who the hell WAS that?"
(B) They don't care. Meaning, OK, let's see if they asked a specific question, like, "So what'd you do this week?" I would answer: "Well, I taught a lesson for a couple hours to seventh-graders. I had some bullshit to do for this women's college I attend. Basically I rerecorded my speech about how some picture I took of myself defines me as a reader. Then I had a two-day seminar about substitute teaching. The sandwiches they provided were good. There was a pretty girl with freckles and a red coat and blue underwear with a tag sticking out that you could see when she leaned forward. She had a long name. I brought my notebook. I wrote poetry connecting skin and dyed hair to coastal landscape. It wasn't very good, but then it was better than actually taking notes."
All I'd really get for that would be: "Oh. So you'll be subbing soon, huh?"
(C) The unstated understanding: "The friendship was never that great to begin with. So we're both gonna let it die."
Ah, yes, the bitter, difficult reason. Maybe it's too easy to say this. Maybe not.
But they're three real possibilities. And we're all guilty of at least one of them.
That's all I have for today. Not that great, as I can see from paging backward. For someone with something real to say, try Sarah Hatter. Wonderful Sarah Hatter, who more people should read.
Here's why people fall out of touch. One or more of three reasons.
Reason (A)
Remember in high school, when they taught you how to take notes that were so organized you sat back in awe of the very straightness of the:
I.
A.
1.
a.
(i)
(a)
-
*
II.
A.
B.
1.
Beautiful, isn't it? God knows what one section of any topic could have eight further subsets. Probably the Civil War. All those bodies. Well, I guess I'll get back on topic, and start with reason number one, or
(A) The boring summaries. "How are things?" Look at that fucking question. Three words. How. Are. Things. More, like "How broad can you get?" Ask a shitty question, get a shitty answer: "Oh, OK. Things are moving along with the job. Weather's been really nice lately." When they get to the weather I want to jump over the bar and smash every single bottle just to make him shut up. Does he really think I care about the weather (or traffic, or office politics, or old stories we both know the ending to) where he lives? My God, the back of the sports page shows the temperature and precipitation for his city. And I'd rather read that than get depressed hearing it from him.
So people talk in broad, boring generalities. After a while they start wondering, "Who the hell WAS that?"
(B) They don't care. Meaning, OK, let's see if they asked a specific question, like, "So what'd you do this week?" I would answer: "Well, I taught a lesson for a couple hours to seventh-graders. I had some bullshit to do for this women's college I attend. Basically I rerecorded my speech about how some picture I took of myself defines me as a reader. Then I had a two-day seminar about substitute teaching. The sandwiches they provided were good. There was a pretty girl with freckles and a red coat and blue underwear with a tag sticking out that you could see when she leaned forward. She had a long name. I brought my notebook. I wrote poetry connecting skin and dyed hair to coastal landscape. It wasn't very good, but then it was better than actually taking notes."
All I'd really get for that would be: "Oh. So you'll be subbing soon, huh?"
(C) The unstated understanding: "The friendship was never that great to begin with. So we're both gonna let it die."
Ah, yes, the bitter, difficult reason. Maybe it's too easy to say this. Maybe not.
But they're three real possibilities. And we're all guilty of at least one of them.
That's all I have for today. Not that great, as I can see from paging backward. For someone with something real to say, try Sarah Hatter. Wonderful Sarah Hatter, who more people should read.
