Tasteful Line-Pushing

We went to a hockey game this Friday, where Yale was barely beaten by Brown, and we sat in front of one of the cleverest hecklers I've ever had the pleasure of hearing. He yelled (only once or twice, I might add...he didn't do the self-obsessed constant chant) "If it's Brown, flush it down!" He also called one of the referees, a particularly short and skinny man on the ice "mini-ref." He repeated this one, but with slightly funnier (read: more extreme) intonation every time. He was drunk enough that he gave the impression of playing this all for his own amusement, and that's a true essence of comedy. An air of playfulness, performing without seeming like you're trying to perform, is a wonderful way to be a comedian. There is nothing less funny than mugging and nothing less enjoyable than having laughs pulled from you as you chuckle on cue.

I also admired his taste. He was a drunken sports fan, yet he never said anything obscene in front of the kiddies. He mocked the players with wit and restraint. One Brown player had the last name "Haggett." An easy target for rhymes, no? But this sports fan chose to yell "If you can't Haggett [hack it], get off the ice!" Hilarious and inoffensive. You go, drunk man.

I also just read Fifty Million Frenchmen, one of my favorite shows in terms of score (a Cole Porter classic). I was again struck by the lyrics to "I'm Unlucky At Gambling." Here's the verse in question:

I took the croupier to a picture show,
I took the croupier to a picture show,
And though I snuggled close when the lights were low,
The croupier impressed me as rather slow.
I said "I like John Gilbert a lot, don't you?"
I said "I like John Gilbert a lot, don't you?"
He didn't answer, but when the show was through
I realized that he liked John Gilbert, too.

Yup...as far as I can tell that's a blatant reference to homosexuality...in 1929. Nineteen-fucking-twenty-nine! That was, like, before Hitler exterminated European homosexuals...but Cole Porter had the brass balls to write it into a song. Stunning...

Now I Wallow

I'm in pretty bad shape these days. No, don't worry, I'm not suicidal or even cutting myself or starving myself. I am, however, self-destructive in the sense that I am completely unmotivated to actively job-hunt for next year. I have no idea what I want to do (when I go and talk to people that other people set me up with I say I have an idea, but that's pretty much a lie, I don't), so I have no short term goals or long term dreams. My biggest fear is calling people to thank them after I've spoken with them. My next biggest fear is getting in touch with people they recommend I speak to. Nowhere on the fear list is "starving" or "being homeless," because I know those won't happen, and I enjoy wallowing enough that living a very, very mediocre life has gained some appeal in that it will defy everyone's expectations. People who are expected to fail sometimes find that drive to succeed. I'm expected to succeed, and I have something of a drive to fail.

Doing something I'll truly hate has also gained some appeal. I see no chance that I would enjoy teach for america at all, but perhaps really working, slaving, and seeing people with actual problems will make me happier. I'm always happier when I'm around people with actual problems. Sick? Perhaps, but time and again it has been proven true.

So am I worried about next year? Oddly enough, no. I'm worried about now and me in general. I'm worried that I'm not worried about next year. I'm worried that I have no interests and a desire to fail. I really want to leave college, I don't like this place at all, but do I really want to jump into a void? What would that even consist of? Sitting at home for a while, I suppose, until I find a mediocre job in NYC. It's the obvious choice, right now. Why deny the obvious choice?