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inmyriadbitsWarning: long and probably of the "And Why Do I Care?" genre.
I've always known I preferred spending time with people one-on-one, but I've never really known how to articulate just why that is. It's because everyone--including me--changes in a group, or even when there's more than one person other than them there. My friend Leigh, for example, I much prefer on her own. She seems to feel like she has to laugh more at other people's jokes, smile more, and be very clever when in a group, rather than slow down and really talk about things. Angie, especially aroud guys, will act particularly outrageous or flirt with deadly intent, although it's not much of a change from ordinary for her. She's pretty genuine. There's also the "waiter voice" syndrome, wherein she acts supremely responsible and mature. Seeing George in groups made me realize that he's always performing; he just gets "bigger" with more people, and the stories he tells get more dramatic (they're also all the same stories, over and over again in the exact same way). This was good, because it helped me realize I didn't really like him that much after all. He is not genuine. Allison G. does this, too, and I think to her detriment. I think she always feels like "the quiet one" and is now trying to compensate, but it sort of grates. I love talking to her on her own, though. Abigail is one of my favorite people up here; she's so real, and soulful, and I have the most amazing conversations with her. I haven't really figured out if she changes much in groups, but I don't think it's much.
I know I do this, too; I'll get quieter, especially when I meet new people--watching what I say and watching what they do until I've figured out who I can say what to and what tone to say it in and who's really worth having a conversation with. I've gotten pretty fucking good at it, too, if I do say so myself. And once I feel more comfortable, more secure, I turn on the charm and turn up the sarcasm. My dad sometimes talks about how he always wished his kids would have the ability to...oh, how does he put it..."be verbally adept," to be able to talk easily and eloquently, and that he tried to raise us in a way that would create that ability. I appreciate it, too; I think I have a pretty good talent for banter. I've yet to master the art of telling an effective story, though, because I always go off on tangents; I'll think it's important to explain some small detail of something that very subtly effects the dynamic between the two people I'm talking about, and by the time I'm done explaining the backstory of the story, I've lost the magic. I'm working on that. Anyway, so once I feel comfortable, I smile and laugh and make little comments that are (hopefully) charming and listen to other people and share anecdotes. If I'm with a friend to start with, and then go out with other people, I start out at that comfortable point, but I stop acting like I do when alone with them. You have to be bigger, more confident than you really are, to get by in this world without the wolves jumping on you. Not that I don't have confidence; it's just that no matter how much you have, you have to show a little more, to cover up those little moments of unconfidence that everyone also has. I finally learned that lesson. I also learned that most people really don't care that much about other people, and the ones who do are really special. I try to be that kind of person; the thing that people love the most is when someone really listens, so I try to give that gift.
When I was younger I would just say whatever I thought, and it didn't matter. I used to be so awkward, and babble about personal things that I thought mattered but no one else gave a shit about. I also used to be really, really unschooled in matters of pop culture and slang. I remember in third grade, my first two clear memories of times when that happened, and another incident in fifth (sixth?) grade. #1: On the bus, coming from a field trip at Zilker Park, sitting with Sarah (my best friend) and Sage (who was in the process of stealing my best friend). We were talking about something, and some reference was made to The Brady Bunch and I said I'd never seen it, and they said in these scandalized voices "You've never seen The Brady Bunch?" and then giggled and didn't even bother explaining it to me, and I was left feeling like I'd done something wrong. Weird, the things that scar you. (And we're not even getting to Elsa-related trauma. I'm still realizing just how fucked-up she was, and how she spread it to everyone else.) #2: Also with Sage and Sarah, this time on the playground. There's that game, Chicken, that's played on the monkey bars: one person at each end, and they swing their legs out, one person hooking their legs around the other's. Sage said something like "Do you want to be the hooker this time?" and then they both started laughing, and naive little me just didn't get it and asked what was so funny, which they also found hilarious, and then explained to me in a rather condescending way. Sage was a bitch. There was another time in the art room at Zilker; we were working on the mural for the music room, if I remember correctly. God, I haven't thought about that thing in years. It was an underwater scene with the fish playing instruments and a shipwreck. I had a lot of fun with that. I wonder if it's still there. Anyway, we were all listening to the radio, and when they started discussing what station to put it on, Katie and I were all "Oldies!" and were ridiculed for it. We were raised on 50's and 60's music, what can I say. I still love that stuff, despite the period of time around 6th to 9th grade when I was peer influenced to follow popular music. *shudders* Thank god I'm more sensible now.
Hey Katie, do you remember Mr. Leonard? And his Mr. Potato Head? And when he used to go around the school and do a scavenger hunt-type thing where Mr. Potato Head had been "kidnapped"? And how he used to say our last name with all the extra S's on the end?
Moving on...speaking of art at Zilker, I had a good time in that class. I loved when we worked with clay, and I used to make all these colored pencil drawings of forest scenes with tons of trees and running water. I was still as meticulous (*coughanalcough*) then as I am now, so I always remember I was finishing my projects ages after everyone else. But while they ended up with lumpy clay bowls and things, mine were always very neat and detailed. I remember one assignment in particular where we had to copy a panel out of a comic book, only onto these giant pieces of paper. I don't know if I ever finished mine, and I don't know where it went. I do remember that it was this woman with skin that was tiger-patterned and tawny hair leaping to the side in front of this whirlwind/dust devil. No idea what comic it was from. I think the first time I ever read a comic book was when I was flipping through the ones we had, trying to find a panel I wanted to do.
My memories of Zilker art classes are very different from my ones from senior year. God, I loved that class, with our crazy hippie teacher who did acid in the '60s and told us stories about living in Austin in the '70s and all the crazy shit he used to do. He let us do anything we wanted in that class as long as it had something to do with art, and we generally worked on our own. We fingerpainted one day, for example, which was awesome. And worked with chalk and pastels and colored pencils and charcoal and clay... That class was so peaceful, with everyone working quietly. It was first period, and I always used to leave with a wonderful feeling of creative peace. *sigh* I just have to take an art class next semester.
I've always known I preferred spending time with people one-on-one, but I've never really known how to articulate just why that is. It's because everyone--including me--changes in a group, or even when there's more than one person other than them there. My friend Leigh, for example, I much prefer on her own. She seems to feel like she has to laugh more at other people's jokes, smile more, and be very clever when in a group, rather than slow down and really talk about things. Angie, especially aroud guys, will act particularly outrageous or flirt with deadly intent, although it's not much of a change from ordinary for her. She's pretty genuine. There's also the "waiter voice" syndrome, wherein she acts supremely responsible and mature. Seeing George in groups made me realize that he's always performing; he just gets "bigger" with more people, and the stories he tells get more dramatic (they're also all the same stories, over and over again in the exact same way). This was good, because it helped me realize I didn't really like him that much after all. He is not genuine. Allison G. does this, too, and I think to her detriment. I think she always feels like "the quiet one" and is now trying to compensate, but it sort of grates. I love talking to her on her own, though. Abigail is one of my favorite people up here; she's so real, and soulful, and I have the most amazing conversations with her. I haven't really figured out if she changes much in groups, but I don't think it's much.
I know I do this, too; I'll get quieter, especially when I meet new people--watching what I say and watching what they do until I've figured out who I can say what to and what tone to say it in and who's really worth having a conversation with. I've gotten pretty fucking good at it, too, if I do say so myself. And once I feel more comfortable, more secure, I turn on the charm and turn up the sarcasm. My dad sometimes talks about how he always wished his kids would have the ability to...oh, how does he put it..."be verbally adept," to be able to talk easily and eloquently, and that he tried to raise us in a way that would create that ability. I appreciate it, too; I think I have a pretty good talent for banter. I've yet to master the art of telling an effective story, though, because I always go off on tangents; I'll think it's important to explain some small detail of something that very subtly effects the dynamic between the two people I'm talking about, and by the time I'm done explaining the backstory of the story, I've lost the magic. I'm working on that. Anyway, so once I feel comfortable, I smile and laugh and make little comments that are (hopefully) charming and listen to other people and share anecdotes. If I'm with a friend to start with, and then go out with other people, I start out at that comfortable point, but I stop acting like I do when alone with them. You have to be bigger, more confident than you really are, to get by in this world without the wolves jumping on you. Not that I don't have confidence; it's just that no matter how much you have, you have to show a little more, to cover up those little moments of unconfidence that everyone also has. I finally learned that lesson. I also learned that most people really don't care that much about other people, and the ones who do are really special. I try to be that kind of person; the thing that people love the most is when someone really listens, so I try to give that gift.
When I was younger I would just say whatever I thought, and it didn't matter. I used to be so awkward, and babble about personal things that I thought mattered but no one else gave a shit about. I also used to be really, really unschooled in matters of pop culture and slang. I remember in third grade, my first two clear memories of times when that happened, and another incident in fifth (sixth?) grade. #1: On the bus, coming from a field trip at Zilker Park, sitting with Sarah (my best friend) and Sage (who was in the process of stealing my best friend). We were talking about something, and some reference was made to The Brady Bunch and I said I'd never seen it, and they said in these scandalized voices "You've never seen The Brady Bunch?" and then giggled and didn't even bother explaining it to me, and I was left feeling like I'd done something wrong. Weird, the things that scar you. (And we're not even getting to Elsa-related trauma. I'm still realizing just how fucked-up she was, and how she spread it to everyone else.) #2: Also with Sage and Sarah, this time on the playground. There's that game, Chicken, that's played on the monkey bars: one person at each end, and they swing their legs out, one person hooking their legs around the other's. Sage said something like "Do you want to be the hooker this time?" and then they both started laughing, and naive little me just didn't get it and asked what was so funny, which they also found hilarious, and then explained to me in a rather condescending way. Sage was a bitch. There was another time in the art room at Zilker; we were working on the mural for the music room, if I remember correctly. God, I haven't thought about that thing in years. It was an underwater scene with the fish playing instruments and a shipwreck. I had a lot of fun with that. I wonder if it's still there. Anyway, we were all listening to the radio, and when they started discussing what station to put it on, Katie and I were all "Oldies!" and were ridiculed for it. We were raised on 50's and 60's music, what can I say. I still love that stuff, despite the period of time around 6th to 9th grade when I was peer influenced to follow popular music. *shudders* Thank god I'm more sensible now.
Hey Katie, do you remember Mr. Leonard? And his Mr. Potato Head? And when he used to go around the school and do a scavenger hunt-type thing where Mr. Potato Head had been "kidnapped"? And how he used to say our last name with all the extra S's on the end?
Moving on...speaking of art at Zilker, I had a good time in that class. I loved when we worked with clay, and I used to make all these colored pencil drawings of forest scenes with tons of trees and running water. I was still as meticulous (*coughanalcough*) then as I am now, so I always remember I was finishing my projects ages after everyone else. But while they ended up with lumpy clay bowls and things, mine were always very neat and detailed. I remember one assignment in particular where we had to copy a panel out of a comic book, only onto these giant pieces of paper. I don't know if I ever finished mine, and I don't know where it went. I do remember that it was this woman with skin that was tiger-patterned and tawny hair leaping to the side in front of this whirlwind/dust devil. No idea what comic it was from. I think the first time I ever read a comic book was when I was flipping through the ones we had, trying to find a panel I wanted to do.
My memories of Zilker art classes are very different from my ones from senior year. God, I loved that class, with our crazy hippie teacher who did acid in the '60s and told us stories about living in Austin in the '70s and all the crazy shit he used to do. He let us do anything we wanted in that class as long as it had something to do with art, and we generally worked on our own. We fingerpainted one day, for example, which was awesome. And worked with chalk and pastels and colored pencils and charcoal and clay... That class was so peaceful, with everyone working quietly. It was first period, and I always used to leave with a wonderful feeling of creative peace. *sigh* I just have to take an art class next semester.
