#5: I Enjoy the Taste of the Tears of My Enemies

Offspring,

I have come to realise, over time and through space, that this blog is quite depressing, wordy and also a bit of a bummer. Humour shines through in patches similar to bits of pumice that don't belong in the faeces-riddled kindergarten sand-pits (hopefully a thing of the past in your era), the premise is weak and seldom relevant, and ultimately, the content offers little to the reader and is quite evidently the rambling of a man-child with little to do.

Over time I will come to work out a way to get around this, but for now, here's another post.

Something I have trouble admitting to myself is that there are many ways in which I am like Malcolm, Frankie Muniz's character in Malcolm in the Middle. Good looks and bustling genius aside, there are certain things about this socially awkward, conceited character that ring true with my personality that I find both abhorrent and yet so familiar. The story revolves around the various neuroses of this gawky misfit. I was watching it on tv the other night, and in this particular episode of the show, Malcolm, fed up with the notion of 'prom', organises a 'morp', or anti-prom. 

"I am having more fun wearing this t-shirt that my mum bought me than a suit that I would get tear-stains on anyway" - or something to that effect...

But throughout the night of the morp, Malcolm decides that just being at this great meeting of social rejects finally coming together is not good enough. So he storms into the main hall, steals the mic, stops the music and announces, à la Holden Caulfield, that this prom - and all its friends - are merely phonies, and that while they exclude those rejects such as he, they are enjoying themselves and having the time of their miserable, lonely lives. Expecting shock and dismay on the faces of the dolled-up and dance-deficient, Malcolm wears a smug smirk that would give Kevin Rudd a run for his money for all of 4 seconds after asking "So how do you feel about yourselves now?" before the DJ fittingly plays the song "I Feel Good", by James Brown, and general pubescent Bacchanalia and virginal dancing resumes.

Though unsuccessful, it's evident that Malcolm wasn't content in achieving something meaningful. Rather, he felt that his achievement required the validation of a secondary purpose, and the acknowledgement of those whom he despised and envied the most - the popular, the normal. Basically, he wanted to see the Devil cry.

And I think that's a pretty normal behaviour. I think there's a degree to which we all want to win arguments for the purpose of making the other person lose, and acknowledge that they've lost. You can't just be right; the other person has to know you're right.

But I think I take it too far, sometimes. I've worked on it over the years, but I still find myself in situations and conversations where the other person backing down is not quite enough for me. And there's definitely a line after which it stops being necessary and starts being an exercise in wankery.

"Oh yes, [society], let me taste your tears. Your tears taste so good, ohhh [society], yes. Yeeeessssss. Yum yum yummmmmmm!" - Actually the best episode of South Park, ever.

It used to be over the smallest things; fights with mum as to whether or not I've done my homework, or whether or not someone misspoke when they said 'infer' instead of 'imply', or vice versa. In time it grew into a habit of douchey proportions, where the smallest argument had to .end.

So naturally this leaves you, my children, in a pretty dire situation. Remember when you were 4 and asked if you could have an ice-cream and I responded with "Well, can you?", and then I proceeded to explain to you why the distinction was important? That's what this is about.

So to everyone I've ever been abrasive towards in this way, I feel kind of bad about it.

Neurotically,

Dad.