One of my favorite moments from one of my favorite television series, the Simpsons, actually came when the show had just begun its downward spiral into mediocrity. Gone were the glory days of Mr. Plow, Night Boat, Cape Feare, head bags full of heady goodness, etc; instead we were "treated" to a steady stream of missed jokes and winks to the audience, as if to say "remember this episode from years ago, back when we actually had writers that were funny?" But even then there were still small nuggets to be gleaned. Take the "Homer to the Max" episode, where he decides to change his name and in doing so creates a brand new persona that, ultimately doesn't live up to his expectations. My favorite moment is at the very end, just before the credits, when he's convincing Marge that she should change her name to be more suggestive of her apparently ample chest-size. He even provides her with three options: Chesty La Rue, Busty St. Clair, and what I always thought was Hooter McBoobity; but which Wikipedia assures me was actually Hootie McBoob. ...I like mine better.
Anyway, the point of this episode is something that I had hammered home to me at a very early age:a lot of times we think that all it takes for us to be a brand new person is a "fresh start;" a new name, a new school, new city, new apartment, new bookie, whatever. We as a society tend to suffer from the "grass is always greener" psychosis. My family moved around a lot when I was in elementary school; I attended four different schools while in Oregon - between kindergarten and fifth grade - and then a fifth school when my family moved to Texas and I, instead of attending a new, plush Middle School in Tualatin with my best friend, was forced to go to one more year of Elementary school in Richardson, Texas. I thought at first of just staying in the Portland area, but realized that my family probably needed me to survive; so I decided to join them. It turned out to be awesome; another year of recess? Crap, I wish I could get recesses in college...it would certainly have made my attendance record better, at any rate. But my point is, I moved around a lot; and thus, had plenty of opportunities at a "fresh start." You know what I found? All of those "fresh starts" are really just an opportunity for us to continue to never change unless absolutely compelled to do so, and to remain wedded to the same cults of personality that led us to be who we are anyway. It turns out that we really only ever get a "New Beginning" if we develop a substance abuse problem and need an expensive, expansive 24/7 support group.
[Speaking of 24, did you know they're trying to develop a movie based on the TV show 24? I don't really see how that can work in the framework of a 2 hour cinematic experience; I mean, with only 1/12 of the regularly allotted run-time, how on earth will they fit in all the necessary plot points common to every single season of the show: inner-office romance compromising the safety of the nation, Jack butting heads with every single person alive and still maintaining the moral high ground, the serendipitous proclivity of any and every police officer, FBI agent, security guard, or random do-gooder that decides to join Jack in his crusade to be dead by the end of the episode, and of course my personal favorite, the "twist" near the end when Jack is forced to switch sides and act like a bad guy in order to continue being the good guy. Also, you may notice I've refrained from making the obvious joke in regards to this TV show-turned-movie and its potential title...hold it in, you can do this...just a couple of more - 24? SHOULDN'T THEY BE CALLING IT 2 AND A HALF? Crap, I almost made it. Oh well; all of that aside, I really did enjoy the first 4 seasons of the show; after that I lost interest. But for my money - or distinct lack thereof - there are few TV moments better than the very first scene of Season 2's opening episode. Check it out. I tried to find a clip of it on You Tube, but "Jack Baur saws off head" wasn't pulling anything up. But isn't that sentence alone enough to make you want to go and find it?]
Back to my main point, though; with all of those moves I was hard pressed to find a lot of really good friends as a young lad; not because I wasn't good at making any, but because I would make some and then we would move and I would have to start all over. Frankly, it got exhausting. I still remember my best friends from each town though; and I'm sure they don't really care whether I do or not. But there was always one thought in the back of my head at the beginning of every "new school" experience: popularity. I had never really been popular, but then, what is popularity to 7-year-olds: the kid with the coolest Mickey Mouse sweater, which usually happens to also be the rich kid whose parents can afford to take him to Disneyland. And not being that kid, we - that is, me and the other poor kids - chose to hate him. I do remember though in fourth grade, I finally had a chance at being what I thought was popular (I think it's important to note that my notion of popularity stemmed from all the movies about how its okay not to be popular; the very fact that someone actually was made it enticing, whether or not it mattered if I succeeded). I had started to become friends with the "cool" kids; and I use the quotes simply to suggest that I thought that they were that specific clique. It turns out that they were actually pretty cool, so I certainly don't mean it ironically. Pretty fun guys overall, but then again what standards does a nine year old really have? As these friendships developed, I thought that there was one roadblock to my future success: my friend "Brian." I don't remember his name, so I'll call him Brian. He was the whipping boy in the class, the one kid that for some reason drew all of the ire. Maybe he was a little weird, maybe his family couldn't afford new clothes or shoes or toys; I honestly don't really remember. I just remember that 1) he was my first real friend in that class; and 2) I turned my back on him when the chance to have "more important" friends came along (now see, those quotes were meant ironically).
I didn't do it because my new friends made me, or even because they hinted any sort of disapproval to our friendship. I chose to dump Brian as a friend because I was afraid it would hurt my standing with my other friends. Pretty cowardly, petty, lame; whatever other pejoratives you want. I know, I'm with you. I was a huge dick to that kid. I remember one day taking him aside and saying, "Look Brian; we can still be friends, we just can't let anyone else know that we're friends. So I might make fun of you around these other guys, but I don't really mean it." The most messed up part to me wasn't that I said all of this to him; it was that I was completely sincere in thinking that he would take this as a compliment; that he would be so touched by my boundless generosity at condescending to be his friend that he would be struck instantly dumb. So about a month later, after completely ignoring him except to ridicule and belittle him, Brian fought back. One day at recess he threw a punch at me. He couldn't have known that my father had been taking my brothers and me to boxing lessons at some ratty old down-town boxing gym; I hadn't told anyone, so far as I remember, least of all my "secret friend." So I did what anyone trained in the pugilistic arts would do: I punched back repeatedly, and proceeded to pummel this poor kid until the recess police carted me away (quick side note: they, the Recess Police as I called them, hated the crap out of me that year; I was in fights and causing trouble and stuff nonstop. Sometimes I did it just to spite them; okay, most of the time I did it just to spite them. And to this day...I don't regret a single part of it; well, except for this current story about Brian). But that's not the worst part of the story. The worst part is, while I was punching this kid who never really did anything to me but want to be my friend and bear patiently the indignities I, in my immature search for juvenile acceptance, heaped upon his undeserving person; while I exercised my knuckles roundly about his person, I literally thought in my head, "how dare you attack me like this? I'm the only friend you ever had; I offered to continue being friends with you so long as it doesn't hurt my standing with the cool kids in class, and this is how you repay me? You deserve this pain, you little dastard!" (By the way, that's my favorite fake word in the English language; I mean, we have the adjective/adverb of "dastardly," which is evocative of...what? I mean, we know what it "means" but according to the rules of grammar it doesn't mean anything, because you can't do anything in the manner of a dastard if there is no such thing as a dastard; then you're just being a jerk, and you're illiterate. So yeah, I make a special point to say this faux noun at every opportunity. Deal with it). And what's even more messed up? The kids I had been trying to impress were obviously completely disinterested in my battle. They really didn't care whether I was friends with Brian or not, because as it turns out they were actually pretty decent guys, but I thought I had to beat up the "nerd" for their acceptance. So who was really the nerd? That's right, me.
Part 2 comes tomorrow; and no, the experience with Brian didn't teach me anything at the time.
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