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Spam Dagger
Just because I don't know
what it is doesn't mean that I'm lying.
2-1
- I've
been putting in ungodly amounts of overtime work lately,
which has not put me in much of a mood to do much of
anything else. I have let emails go unanswered, phone
messages dwindle, and my own writing become a ripple
moving away from me in slow, concentric circles. I feel
tired all the time, yet I have been staying up
horrendously late most nights, unable to bring myself to
try and get some rest. I've been staying up so late
partially because (as much as it shames me to admit it)
Craig
Kilborn
makes me laugh, but mainly it's because a few weekends
ago while I was trying to comfort Curren through a
late-night crying jag brought on by a stomach virus I
made a rather dangerous discovery...
-
- At about 2
am NBC airs reruns of SCTV.
- God help
me, but I love that show.
-
- So instead of
recharging the batteries with the hours of sleep under
warm covers that I desperately need, I sit patiently in a
darkened room hypnotized by the flashing light of my
television, waiting for that one joke to hit.
Waiting, because SCTV misses the mark a lot.
-
- I am not sure why,
but I think it is the show's sometimes horrendously low
batting average that endears it to me. So many of the
gags feel like in-jokes, like the kind of thing that was
hilarious in production meetings or late night
improvisations, but just never translated that well onto
the screen. It's that same sort of fearless approach to
humor that made The
Kids in the Hall,
Viva
Variety and
The
Upright Citizen's Brigade
so funny to me.
-
- In it's own way,
it reminds me of days where MacEwan, Bigbee, and I would
tell the same five jokes over and over in a sort of
falsetto voice that we found uproarious but everyone
around us absolutely hated. Of days when Chris and I
would pretend to be TV anchormen during class
discussions, mainly because it pissed Tony Shauver off.
Of that time when Josh and I were hanging out in downtown
Jacksonville and we spoke in horribly exaggerated French
accents to anyone we met.
-
- It reminds me of
the kinds of jokes that Kim and I shared that made us a
sort of spectacle to be seen by others... the original
'Luftian
Wit.'
I miss my comfort
zones sometimes.
I feel as if I have
built various shells around myself in recent years;
shells designed to hide the in-jokes, the funny voices,
and the individuality from jealous co-workers and people
whom I felt no need to connect with. People and places
where suddenly I felt a need to conceal that side of
myself -- Places where I felt like my primary role was
that of "husband of Kim meeting her co-workers in a
social setting for the first time," "employee who is not
related to the boss of this family owned business and
therefore feels he has no job security," or whatever...
roles where I felt my humor, my attitude, my
personality itself would endanger my place
in the order of things.
I can't explain where
the fear of revealment came from. Just somewhere along
the line I stopped always trying to be the first guy in
the room that you noticed. Instead I started to choose my
battles, feel situations and people out, keep everything
at an arm's length for fear of losing control of
something...
Maybe it reached a
point where instead of trying to protect myself from
others, I started alienating myself from them. Pushing
people away with my silence, staying clear of
conflict.
Maybe it reached a
point where I tried to push that part of my personality
away from myself. Binding it with neckties and
obligations to credit card payments and some overblown
sense of duty, drowning it in excuses and
worry.
Sometimes I am able to
keep it in check. But I know sometimes my moon goes full,
and the lycanthrope takes over. Sometimes the wolf gets
loose, runs with the pack, and bays at the
moon.
Problem is, I can't
decide which face is the real one anymore. Am I the
artist who transforms into the corporate working shmoe,
or is it the other way around?
Who is the wolf, who
is the sheep? Where is the zipper on this costume (and
even if I find it, is there just another costume
underneath)?-
- I
am an actor who has forgotten my lines in an
autobiographical movie that I also happen to be
directing.
- As
the director I want the actor to finish the
scene so we won't lose the light, won't screw
the schedule, won't piss off the executive
producer...
- but
as the actor I desperately need him to call
"cut" so I can try to recapture my character's
motivation...
- We
both stand in place, on opposite sides of the
camera, waiting for the other person to make the
first move...
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