When Instant Messaging Got Big

This was kind of inspired by Daniel's post about peaking early, which for the record, he did.

I had a strange experience over the Aol instant messenger which I think all started with Jake telling me to get a screen name. So at that point I was about 4 foot 9 and about 80 pounds, which contributed to me being at my most introverted and shyest point of my life. So I used Jake's budding social skills as my conduit to the world of the cool kids. So when I finally got my AIM account up and running, I had a buddy list, one friend strong. His screen name? Wingman836. Let me tell you what, that 13 year old kid was one hell of a wingman. He gave me the screen names of all the popular girls in the eighth grade. This was my gateway out of my cocoon into the social butterfly of the internet/blue ridge middle school. One of screen names he gave me was Jacque Christy's and hence my slow, awkward, and ineffective courting began. A couple of weeks, maybe a month or so went by of exchanging instant messages and then I finally got the guts to give her a call. In this phone call I invited her over to my house to hangout on a Friday afternoon after school. Not only that but she would be riding the bus home with me. Which at the time seemed like a big deal, I remember needing a note from parents and everything. I'm sure Jake and Matt both remember that infamous bus route. But that's a whole other story.

Apparently the fact that she agreed to hang out with me at my house was a big deal. I didn't really know why or what that meant. I had never had a girl come over to my house before, what the hell was I supposed to do? I assumed that I was supposed to make a move, since the next Monday in art class everybody asked me if I "hooked up" with her. God knows what that meant in middle school. Long story short, I didn't. But I'm sure you all knew that. I think we played some sort of game and watched the Simpsons, and she laid down on the couch next to me. And then we pretty much never talked again. So I made huge strides. The only thing I can remember when I think about this is that in the eighth grade, I was a suave motherfucker.

Childhood Embarrassments

In light of recent developments in the late stages of Childhood Saga, I was wondering if anyone can top the past stories with their own embarrassing tale of their early, awkward youth. Note that I'm inviting that we call ourselves out, since self-deprecation is always a good policy, and once it is out, we can all proudly point and laugh at the author!

Let me try and think of few of my own:

-Sitting next to Aubrey on the bus way up front on the way to middle school (during the week my parents left me to stay at Edward's - a ridiculous week in its own right), and me making it about 80% of the trip sort of swaying back and forth, my face all green, before just barfing all over my saxophone case (I'm pretty sure I missed her, but you never know). The best was the kids didn't really get the full smell until they had to walk by to get off the bus, upon which they yelled how awful it was and grimaced at what I'd become. Twas a grand embarrassment!

-Not making the Valley (high school) soccer team. (hahahaha, God, people really stood up for me saying this was an injustice, but come on, I didn't make it. Playing for shits and giggles and slackery on the tennis team was where I truly flourished anyway).

-Ah! Possibly my best of all, blowing away the others by far in my mind: the time I broke the zip line at Josh's house because I was, well, too heavy. And EVERYONE (in my mind) called me fat. Glorious. This began a string of me-breaking-things incidents that extended well beyond just being fat, but clumsy, reckless, and a dum dum.

-In 5th grade, when the final "gag" awards were given out, and the teacher was trying to make light of everyone, I was given a (completely serious) "helping hand award". Jesuso Christo I got crap for that (and deserved it, ha, let's be honest - although they did ask me to help that kid read. Was I supposed to say no? Damn you heartless bastards).

-Answering the phone that my mom called down and told me was "Alex", who I believed to be my friend (a guy), but who turned out to be Amy's friend (a girl), and it took me an excruciating dialogue to figure this out. Maybe you had to be there (at that age).

-At camp admitting to girls that I'd never kissed anyone. Buncha bitches.

-At camp having to wear that harness that basically turns your shorts into a speedo in front of those girls I told that I'd never kissed anyone.

-Various soccer camp moments involving changing or just taking random verbal assaults from diabolical ass-wipes.

-Mr. Barr telling me when I lost to Meagan Lowers in an archery contest in P.E., that she "spanked me".

I know the list goes on and there are more I'm not thinking of, but I'd like to see someone top mine. I feel like a lot end up being so haunting because of the context or just being there at that moment, but that kind of makes it even funnier, that we were so humiliated over something so trivial.

driving mr. jake

Back in high school Jake and I used to drive everywhere together. This particular time we were taking his blue explorer into the burg with Kate (Jake's sister) in the back seat. We were just by the Texaco when the blue lights started flashing behind us. Jake was obviously shaken up. The cop pulled us over right in the Texaco and told jake he was going 50 in a 40 zone. He talked to Jake a bit then asked for his license and registration. I think Jake thought he would just get off with a warning because when the cop started walking back to his car Jake threw his head out of the window and begged the cop to just give a warning. As he came back into the car I could see tears running down his face. Now being a good friend I tried my hardest to not laugh. I mean what if they roles were reversed? But, when I get uncomfortable I crack up and this time was no different. I sat there in the front of the car laughing incredibly hard while my friend was having a pretty rough day- crying "because acutane makes you emotional."

I hope it's okay to tell this story Jake- It still makes me laugh a lot.

The Ugly Middle and My Early Peak

Oh! how they told us the things we'd do in the big middle school! Once we left our humble roots in our quaint and locally-based elementary schools, we'd be riding high! They spoke of the new freedoms and responsibilities. They told us how we would meet new children from across the county. And they glossed over the fact that our innocence was going there to die forever (along with recess).

Just the thought of having to leave classrooms constantly scared the bejesus out of me before we ventured over to Blue Ridge (our middle school). It just didn't make sense that we would change rooms. Why change rooms when you can stay in the same one? Lockers also were very intimidating, and I remember we even had sample locks to try out in 5th grade before the end of our last year at elementary school. It seemed like they were trying to intimidate us, "So everyone will have 5 minutes in between classes, and you'll have to figure out your schedule so that you can have enough time to go by your locker, exchange your books for the next class, or classes if you can't make it back to your locker in time, and then make sure you're not tardy, because there's a slew of reprimands of varying degrees that they can sentence you to. First off, if we're in such a hurry, why would we lock our stuff away when we're coming back in such a short time. Isn't that kind of like putting your shoes on and tying double knots every time you get out of the pool at swim practice, moments before you have to take them off and jump back in?

And where did all this punishment come from? Whoever created middle school discipline clearly had a fetish for all the ways you could wag your finger at someone: warnings, demerits, tardy slips, referrals, principal office visits, lunch detention, in-school restriction, after-school restriction, Saturday school restriction, parent-teacher conferences, suspension, and the almighty expulsion from the school and even the school district. Shit was basically hitting the fan left and right as we scrambled through the hallways, dropping our books because our appendages were all growing at different speeds, and the second we tried to scream for help our voices would crack, leaving us utterly humiliated, acne-covered, and lying in shame in the empty and window-less hallways. Ah, yes, sweet middle school.

But I feel like it was well accepted that the technical difficulties of middle school (the lockers, classroom switching, and emphasized disciplinary actions) were dwarfed by the social massacres that took place in grades 6 through 8 (dependent on what your MS offered). Suddenly, there were a hudred or more kids your age, all thrown together in the same filthy arena. Whatever relationships you claimed to observe in elementary school were about to be put to the test. And in this massive sea of awkwardness was the worst presumption of all, that of presuming to be mature. New ideas of how we were supposed to interact with the opposite sex, with our friends, and with people in general spewed into the social arena like sewage from a toilet with its flow reversed.

The place to observe such new order was in the cafeteria. Lunch tables were set up like real estate markets with some sort of established "popularity" being the currency by which these plots of land were valued. At first, things seemed loosely tied to the elementary school bonds, but inevitably, these groups would break down in the face of the pulls of the middle school social hiearchy. We watched as some of our best friends migrated away from our table, which was becoming increasingly bitter, sarcastic, and barbaric at the sight of such snobbery. Soon, it was us who had established our own microcosm of a society within our table, sentencing our own kind to obey our ficticious power and ability to give out random beatings and shovings, verbal assaults, and even in the queerest of rituals, sentencing one of our own to lick the cafeteria floor if the rules of our animalistic "drop" game were violated. The "drop" game in itself can basically epitomize our minds and intentions at that point in life. The basic setup to the game is one person dropped something they brought for lunch in the middle of the table, while the rest of us participated in a real-life version of Hungry, Hungry Hippos, and would grab at the food the moment it struck the table. The only real rule was that you couldn't grab the food before it hit the table, or else you were subjected to the ultimate punishment as stated above. We were shameless and ravenous, strange and uncomfortable. Such was middle school, especially when it came to girls.

This was when, ideally, we all frolicked bashfully like Disney romantics among the cartoon birds and bees and bears and brachiosauruses, but in reality it was a time of jitters, secrets, deceit, impossibly folded (and then crumpled) love notes, rampant AOL instant messenger banter, and complete and utter confusion about what the hell was going on. It was all incredibly exciting of course, but no one really knew why. Rumors would just start circulating and people would be implicated into various love circles, triangle, and and hyperboles. I believe the phrase, at least at that time, was "going out" with someone, which meant you two were together (somehow), even though in all reality, you didn't go anywhere, you didn't really know each other, and in all reality you probably never even said a word together (let alone touched physically). I seemed to have backed right in the middle of all this when someone told me some girl liked me (probably through a 70-time folded note with pink ink scribbled in loops and flowers all over it (and for those who would know, it was Jennifer Everhart - Jim, I think you had the exact same situation maybe a week apart from my own experience). Not only did I not know this girl, but I certainly had no idea what to do about this newfound information. Of course this wasn't really a problem, because her friends seemed incredibly adept at pulling me through the gauntlet that was a middle school relationship. I was told who liked me, why they liked me (because I was soooo cute! xoxoxo!!!), and when and where this girl thought would be a good time and place for ME to ask her out, all of this second-hand knowledge from her friends. I don't think I got my first directly-sent-by-her note until after I fumbled across the schoolyard track (past all the leering eyes of her entourage) and uttered something to the likeness of "D'ya wanna go out with me?", after which (she said yes) I promptly smiled, blushed, turned, and walked back into the school.

Our beautiful two or three (I really have no idea) week relationship was one for the storybooks. A flirty pink inked note here, a chance glimpse of her smiling at me from another lunch table there, and basically me befriending her friend (Jenna Livesay) at the big high school basketball game where she was going to sing the national anthem. I may have said five words to her. What a ride it was, and then, as if plotted out carefully on all those girls' calendars, I was dumped a few days before Christmas break. I even remember some of her friends seeing me in the hallway telling me to run because they knew she was close and she was about to drop the axe, and me being completely confused because it didn't seem like that was the best way to keep a relationship going (not realizing that they just wanted to watch me squirm for their enjoyment).

After that, I was pretty sure the whole "going out" thing was bullshit and I was to have none of it. But as my friends may know (and remind me constantly of it), this whole thing was far from over; I was well on my way to hitting my peak of my life, whether I wanted to or not. For whatever reason, among the ranks of girls, word spread that I was "super-cute", in the way that I would imagine a puppy shrunk to the size of pea and dressed like a little fireman or some shit would be cute (the more u's the better - cuuuuuuuuute). That's all it took basically. I caught a wave, a big one. I was "hot", and allegedly "a buncha girls" liked me. This was it, I had made it. And what did I do? Absolutely nothing. Blushing and smiling and shyly going from class to class, I fucking rested on my laurels. I was completely complacent and honestly had no real inclination to do anything, mostly because I didn't really know what to do. Even though I did happen to have my own super secret crushes on acknowledged reciprocating parties, I was scared, scared to lose it all and scared to reveal to these girls I was in no way suave or cool or knew how to make a move. And so eventually, it all died down. The show left town and the word was I was a frickin' prude, too nut-less to do anything but smile and blush. But such is life, and damn it, I had a good run while it lasted.

wordsmithery: post-apocalypticism

I invent -isms quite often. For example, "sextism" can refer to the preference for, or more broadly the practice of, engaging in sexual communication via text message; refers to the partiality of an individual (a "sextist") to engage in sexting. For those uninitiated, "sexting" itself is a portmanteau; for more information please see my post on the subject. Now, on to the meat of this post:

I am a lifelong lover of stories, movies, games, and adventures the realm of the post-apocalypse. Please note that my love of all things post-apocalyptic extends to the sub-genres doomsday, mega natural disaster, and dystopia. This covers a broad range, but for the purpose of this post, I am merely referring to the post-apocalyptic category.

While apocalypticism is a well-known subset of religious belief, the area of post-apocalypticism is much less discussed and dwelt upon. While there is a massive body of cultural work in the area, the -ism itself deserves more respect. Below is the treatise of a self-declared post-apocalypticist.

I used to think that survival after the end of the world was such a romantic concept - the idea of man against nature or machine or alien or plague, but always, simultaneously (and most importantly) against himself. But then I figured it out. I believe the revelation came as I was reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road. As horrible as some of these post-world worlds are, I see them not as hellish scenarios, but as fantasies. I see them as escapes from a reality that is complicated by meaningless detail and an existence which is increasingly distracted. I tend to think that our priorities are screwed up 95 percent of the time. How often do we place money over friendship, image over knowledge, having more things over having meaningful experiences. But in the post-apocalyptic world, it's all about naked, obvious truths. What really matters comes to the forefront. Good over evil. Survival. Use everything efficiently. Coexist with what is left of nature. Money is value-less. Love triumphs. Sure there aren't any comforts, and you're constantly paranoid about impending attack from roving thieves or zombies, but I am still, to a degree, envious of the characters whom I read about, watch, and play as.

There's plenty more to be said on this subject. In fact, I am using this post to formally propose to the powers that be that "post-apocalypse" be the theme of October. Perfect as we head into the fall season and Halloween. Daniel and Edward, I am looking to you for validation here.

Of Nemeses and Archenemies

Some of you may have already heard me yabbering about this topic, but I think it warrants a post and some responses. I've been reading the book Chuck Klosterman IV: A Decade of Curious People and Dangerous Ideas on loan from Edward (tanks Eddy!), and I definitely recommend it to any and all of you. In the second half of the book - Things That Might Be True, he goes into his more exploratory essays about concepts and societal situations (leaving the first half - Things That Are True, which is composed of interviews with celebrities and musicians as well as other pretty cool crap), and one of them has to do with nemeses and archenemies.

It's kind of an interesting concept he brings up in that all anyone really needs for a compelling and successful life, he says, is a nemesis and an archrival. The differences between these two can often be hard to really see clearly, but one of the best defining statments he gave was, "you measure yourself against your nemesis, and you seek to destroy your archenemy." He also provides some guidelines that help:

"Recognizing your Nemesis:
- You kind of like your nemesis, despite the fact that you despise him
- You will always have drinks with your nemesis.
- You would attend the funeral of your nemesis and-privately-you might shed a tear over his or her passing
- At some point in the past, this person was (arguably) your best friend.
- You and this person once competed for the same woman (or man), and you both failed.
- You have punched this person in the face.
- If invited, you would go to this person's wedding and give them a spice rack, but you would secretly hope that their marriage ends in a bitter, public divorce.
- People who barely know the two of you assume you are close friends; people who know both of you intimately suspect you profoundly hate each other.
- If your archenemy tried to kill you, this person would attempt to stop him."

"Recognizing your Archenemy
- You would never choose to have a cocktail with your archenemy, unless you were attempting to spike the gin with arsenic.
- If you were to perish, your archenemy would dance on your grave, and then he'd burn down your house and molest your children.
- You hate your archenemy so much that you keep your hatred secret, because you do not want your archenemy to hate the satisfaction of being hated.
- Every time you talk to htis person, you lie.
- If you meet someone who has the same first name as this person, you immediately like them less.
- This person has done at least two (2) things that would be classified as "unforgivable".
- The satisfaction you feel from your own success pales in comparison to the despair you feel from this person's triumphs, even if those triumphs are completely unrelated to your life.
- If this person slept with your girlfriend, she would never be attractive to you again.
- Even if this person's girlfriend was a hateful bitch, you would sleep with her out of spite."

Now, I thought it would be interesting if people would pipe in and try to suggest some duos that are nemeses and some that are archenemies. One of the interesting aspects of this dynamic, as I've discussed with others, is should these relationships be reciprocated, as in if you are my nemesis then I am yours? Or is it possible for these relationships to be more one-sided where you could be my nemesis but Weird Al Yankovic is yours?

Klosterman gives some more interesting examples of who he sees as nemeses and archenemies:

Magic Johnson was Larry Bird's nemesis but Isiah Thomas was his archenemy - whenever Magic and Larry played it was an instant classic in match-ups, a beautiful battle of skill, talent, and hard work, but when Larry went against Isiah, it was a "train wreck", as in everything fell apart and was hard to watch. From this I think it should be noted that nemeses, when put against each other, often create something greater than themselves, while archenemies clashing usually result in destruction and bringing each other down to very basics of humanity.

Joker was Batman's nemesis but Superman was his archenemy - this may not be the best example, especially depending on interpretations of the concepts and which versions of these characters you refer to, but I think the idea of it is that Joker and Batman were often on the same level of head to head battling, each basically challenging they other to push them to the top of their game in order to prevail. With Superman (and again I don't know a whole lot about the relationship here), I think he's saying that Batman basically hated Superman because Superman rendered Batman "entirely mortal and generaly nonessential". I could also see him hate Superman because Superman was eternally clean cut and much more willing to side with the cops or government it seemed, while Batman pursued independence from such forces (at least later on in the Frank Miller and Nolan versions, where he might have an inside man - Gordon, but stay out of it for the most part).

Vince Neil of Motley Crue was Axl Rose of Guns n' Roses's nemesis, but Kurt Cobain was Axl's archenemy - I don't know a whole lot about these guys, but it sounds about right.

My own suggestions:

Michael Jordan was his own nemesis, and the Detroit Pistons were his archenemy - possibly cheap for taking the Pistons again, but I honestly didn't know much about Bird and the Pistons. Most of my knowledge about that team of the early 90's was that they would kick the shit out of Jordan, literally, fouling him so hard that he would just get furious while not allowing him to be the immortal basketball player he was. And he basically measured himself against himself, which proved to motivate him like crazy.

South Park are the Simpson's nemesis but Family Guy is their archenemy - South Park provides an experienced competitor that is honestly of a contrasting style, is more violent and crude, but still very intelligent in its execution. Family Guy has been accused of stealing all kinds of jokes from the Simpsons and seems to breed an even more sarcastic of an audience than the Simpsons or South Park ever did, which makes them even more snarky, irreverant, and basically an entity that is like an ungrateful successor who doesn't even seem to deserve that sort of title. Don't get me wrong, Family Guy is a hilarious show, but I could see how the Simpsons would want to destroy it and rather measure themselves against South Park. Feel free to debate.

The Beatles were nemeses with the Rolling Stones, but they were the archenemy of the Beach Boys. - I'm basically taking this from what I've heard from Edward (hopefully I interpreted this right, but he could tell you better than me).

Winter is Summer's nemesis, but Fall is Summer's archenemy - a little abstract I'll grant you, but it is Fall that ends Summer every year, while Summer and Winter compete more head to head in various types of activities (snowboarding vs. surfing, Olympics vs. Olympics, cold vs. hot - I mean come on!).

All right, let me know some of your own ideas for pairings of any kind, maybe even some of your own nemeses and archenemies.

House League

Right before the dawn of dunking burned a deeper ritual, that of getting up at 6:30 on a Saturday morning, watching a few half hours of cartoons, playing House League Soccer, and then coming back to watch more cartoons (and picking up McDonald's if we were lucky). Those original years before it was even possible to play on a bigger, better, and traveling-farther team were amazing. I don't remember a whole lot of the actual soccer, but more just being in awe at those that kick the ball hard (the aforementioned John Sheehan and Max Farley), messing around at practice (getting in fights with the Wheelers, a pair of brothers bent on destroying everyone and everything, including each other - the younger one, Nathan, bit me, twice, and the older one I got into an actual fight with at DZ Discovery Zone (probably my only true fight in life); I mean he had my name, c'mon!), and avoiding the oranges at half time (don't ask me why. I love them now, but never tried them then). Soccer was a huge Waterford tradition, as was scrimmaging the Hamilton kids, who for whatever god-forsaken reason, ALL had rat tails. It was a deeply potent sport in those days, before we knew the meaning of anything really, back when for whatever reason the opening of the MLS coincided with our youth; back when we went to DC United games to watch Marco Etcheverry rip shit up, marveling at how much he resembled what we believed the greatest player of all our peers, Edwin Hammerman, would grow up to be. The kid scored a goal off a corner with a bicycle kick when we were like ten years old.

The World's Best Countries (According to Newsweek)

I have come upon a beautifully interactive website showing the breakdown of the best countries in the world. Hard to tie this into Childhood Saga Month, so I won't try. This is more of an interesting look at how these rankings were created and to get some inspiring feedback from our highly astute scholars who frequent this blogovoyage we call Demons in My Britches. Without further ado,

THE WORLD'S BEST COUNTRIES

(http://www.newsweek.com/2010/08/15/interactive-infographic-of-the-worlds-best-countries.html)

Ringing in Y2K with Timbo Cotter

You remember it.. They inadvertently programmed computers to shut-down and reset when the clock struck 12:oo am in the year 2000. Planes were going to fall out of the sky, whole financial networks would be destroyed, society was doomed. This isn't about that.

Much of my childhood was spent at the Cotter's house hanging out with Timbo, Patrick, and Brian. I always liked it there because we could stay up as late as we wanted, eat whatever, and sleep in. I was allowed to go to his house for New Year's- and lucky me, they were throwing a big party.

The night started off great. People brought tons of food- kids played, parents drank- it was all around a good time. Then it started to happen. My stomach was wrenching and I could do nothing to alleviate the pain. After much deliberation, I asked Brian Cotter to take me home.

So, Timbo and I sat in the back of his Ford truck while Brian and his friend Austin Bowie drove and rode in the front. I was getting progressively worse and am pretty sure I said I might puke, but being so close to my house that I could 'probably hold it.'

'Just tell me if you need to and I'll pull over," Brian said. "Don't puke in the Truck."

'Don't puke in the truck. okay- just concentrate you can make it' i was thinking-

Just about then we made a really sharp turn and I lost control. Knowing that it was coming and that no puke was allowed in his car I covered my mouth. Bad idea. Vomit (which was coming out at a crazy pace) sprayed everywhere. Austin was riding shotgun and looked back at me with a face of pure amazement. I basically puked directly into his mouth. He then proceeded to projectile vomit all over the front of the truck.

My spray was not localized and it hit Timbo too- who also started puking his guts out. Brain started to freak out and pulled the car over as soon as he could. It wasn't soon enough because by the time we all escaped there was probably a good 1 to 2 inches of puke over the truck.

I've never seen people move so quickly to get away from something before. The truck stopped and we were all instantly out of it- all of us puking on the side of the road.

It was everywhere- - we were saturated with 3 different kinds of vomit. It covered our clothes- our faces- our hair- everywhere.

The big problem was that we were still decently far from my house and the car was un-drivable. Who was going to get in that car and drive the rest of the way? Timbo and I were 13 so not us. It had to be Brian. We made a plan- all of us would sit in the truckbed and Brian would drive with his head out of the window like some overjoyed dog- but there was no joy here. Just a shit-ton of vomit.

By the time we got to my house the puke had frozen in my hair and to my face. I felt terrible for the next 3 to 4 days. My mom told them she would drive them home and clean his truck. And to this day, every time I see the older Cotter brothers (which is rarely) they bring up this story- and I really am glad it happened because I love it.

I Dream of Dunking

What's hard about all these childhood saga posts is that I always want to put more into them because these posts are mere portholes into the universe that each refers to. The dream of dunking goes far beyond just my childhood as this is one of the few things I'm almost certain every single kid had tucked away somewhere in their dreams. I mean we grew up with Michael Jordan. Let's get serious. There was nothing greater than him dunking. There was nothing greater than a dunk. The move is so damn simple, and yet it works so well every time.

I was one of the many children who played on a lowered hoop, enabling myself to perform such an awesome move. And we got into it, I mean really into it. Entire summers consisted of nothing but dunking on lowered hoops at Edward's, Greg's, Aubrey's, Matt's, and even my lowered hoop, as well as various public ones like around Hamilton randomly and in the Purcellville community center; basically any lowered hoop we could find. We even dunked at the pool as referenced in Edward's pool entry. Dunking was everything and anything that was fun, exhilirating, and empowering as kids. God bless Woody Harrelson for wanting it so bad in White Man Can't Jump.

As a quick reference to this religion of dunking on lowered hoops, here is a not-so-quick video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6X5nmA_lZko

Hopefully more will be said on this subject through the days and millenia ahead.