Marc
Johnny Tightlips
I ain't sayin' nothing bout nobody.
I purposefully didn't say anything about the fight I got into at the bar the other night.***1*** I mean, why should I? It was a thing between two people, though in front of a larger audience, that got a bit out of hand, but still ... why should anyone else care, really? What business is it of theirs? It made think, though, with Zach being all embarrassed and whatnot, about how there's been this culture of physicality around here lately. And I'm not talking on random generalization type levels. I'm talking between my group of friends, there's been this thing lately where everyone is hitting everyone else, and it seems to be getting out of hand.
I'll start by stating a well-known fact: I hate getting my glasses knocked off of my face. You can tell when I get serious about something by how quickly my glasses come off. There was a time when, in our old apartment, Roommate Jeff got jumped by three dudes and we had to separate them and get them going on their way.***2*** You better believe that, upon seeing Matt come inside and inform us that Jeff was getting jumped, my glasses were the first thing that I took off before I ran outside. It never fails. No matter what happens, it always seems like my glasses are getting broken.***3***
So, this whole physical element of this group friendship has shown up. I blame it on a few factors, namely the size of the people I hang out with in relative relation to my own size. Little Sean Baker has got nothing on me, size-wise. And he knows this, so he feels the need to try to break out of his little shell by showing that he's not afraid of people like me, and that he's not going to take any shit from me. And for this, I applaud him. No one should take shit from someone just because they're smaller/larger than each other. Sean, though, deals with it like this: he hits me. And I'll admit that it hurts. How can it not with those bony little hands? All they do all day, I'm certain, is pump away at his unmentionables in his room. I mean, Christ, you're hands would hurt if they hit someone if they had that much work going into them.
But it's not just Sean. The other factor is the relationship between my two male roommates, Ryan and Luke, who seem to fight each other more often than not. It's not mean-spirited, and it's not in a I'm-out-to-get-that-other-guy type of way. It's just fighting for fighting's sake. I think what's happened here is this: Sean spent a lot of time at our place during the summer and became enamoured with the fact that Luke and Ryan fought alot.***4*** He sees this, and he co-opts it, and next thing you know we're all beating the hell out of each other because this whole macho-assertiveness takes over all of our brains each weekend. Face the facts here, guys cannot get hit without wanting to hit someone in return. Once one punch is thrown, more are bound to fly. And I stress, again, the fact that this is all in good fun, and it's not meant to be predatory or anything of that nature. It's just fighting for fighting's sake.
We can measure how intense our weekends were now by the amount of bruises we wake up to on Sunday mornings. We can point at the fading yellow patches on our arms on Wednesdays and Thursdays and say, "Hey, remember that party from last Friday? Fucking awesome." But, for me, it's getting old. The punches have turned into the fun, so to speak, and now it's all about how many people you hit, and so on and so forth. Lately it's turned into slapping. For example, that bar this weekend was a friendly match to see who would puss out first, basically. Zach, and I don't mind saying this, should've been embarrassed. I mean, he can't slap his girlfriend around as they're painting the apartment together most weekends. That'd be akin to domestic abuse, right?
Once I start getting my glasses knocked off by these slaps, though, it's over. We went to a party later that night, and I was raging pissed cause Sean kept fucking going at me and kept knocking off my glasses. At one point I was standing there, breathing heavily, with my chin stuck out, yelling, "Come on, Sean. Just fucking punch me in the face. That's all I want you to do. Just hit me in the face, Sean." Over and over again. Scooter's buddies were getting a little scared, and I'm sure it was hard to tell that I was kind of kidding, because, for a brief moment, I was serious. I don't know how to explain it. I just wanted him to punch me so I could jump all over him. But, luckily, he didn't, and I cooled down, and everything's fine now. I hope that the violence starts to decrease. I don't like being punched for no reason. I'm almost 100% certain, though, that writing this is just going to increase the incidents by at least 200%. Maybe I won't even post it.
***1*** Using the word "fight" is a misnomer as it was generally a slapping match between friends. Yes, it was in a public place. Yes, it was a little over the top and rambunctious. No, it didn't mean anything. And yes, I would do it again, because that's just the way it goes, it seems.
***2*** Matt started this one, too, which is the strange part. How did Matt yell, "Wanna fight?" to three or four large, random dudes, and then run back inside as his boy got jumped? It took us, literally, about fifteen minutes and a police officer to get them out and on their way. At one point I even had to tackle Jeff as he was making a path back towards the dudes again. The only funny thing that came out of it was the cop asking for ID's, and the look on his face when his question about Luke's social security number was responded to with, "123-45-6789".
***3*** Why don't you just get contacts, Marc? is what I'm sure you're all saying. Fuck contacts. What've contacts ever done for anybody? I can't stand the thought of having anything rub up against my eyes. Ick. Gross. Yuck. Despite all the deformities and broken incidents, I'll stick to my glasses. I look better in them. I don't have to bother with losing them, most of the times, and wondering where the hell they went. I also, and I just thought of this, don't have to worry about a dog eating them and being shit out of luck if that were the case.
***4*** There's a technical glitch with this theory: Ryan wasn't here for most of the summer, but he did stop down a few times, and as Sean was around all the time, they were bound to cross paths. So, there's the cross over. There's the point of origin.
Johnny Tightlips
I ain't sayin' nothing bout nobody.
I purposefully didn't say anything about the fight I got into at the bar the other night.***1*** I mean, why should I? It was a thing between two people, though in front of a larger audience, that got a bit out of hand, but still ... why should anyone else care, really? What business is it of theirs? It made think, though, with Zach being all embarrassed and whatnot, about how there's been this culture of physicality around here lately. And I'm not talking on random generalization type levels. I'm talking between my group of friends, there's been this thing lately where everyone is hitting everyone else, and it seems to be getting out of hand.
I'll start by stating a well-known fact: I hate getting my glasses knocked off of my face. You can tell when I get serious about something by how quickly my glasses come off. There was a time when, in our old apartment, Roommate Jeff got jumped by three dudes and we had to separate them and get them going on their way.***2*** You better believe that, upon seeing Matt come inside and inform us that Jeff was getting jumped, my glasses were the first thing that I took off before I ran outside. It never fails. No matter what happens, it always seems like my glasses are getting broken.***3***
So, this whole physical element of this group friendship has shown up. I blame it on a few factors, namely the size of the people I hang out with in relative relation to my own size. Little Sean Baker has got nothing on me, size-wise. And he knows this, so he feels the need to try to break out of his little shell by showing that he's not afraid of people like me, and that he's not going to take any shit from me. And for this, I applaud him. No one should take shit from someone just because they're smaller/larger than each other. Sean, though, deals with it like this: he hits me. And I'll admit that it hurts. How can it not with those bony little hands? All they do all day, I'm certain, is pump away at his unmentionables in his room. I mean, Christ, you're hands would hurt if they hit someone if they had that much work going into them.
But it's not just Sean. The other factor is the relationship between my two male roommates, Ryan and Luke, who seem to fight each other more often than not. It's not mean-spirited, and it's not in a I'm-out-to-get-that-other-guy type of way. It's just fighting for fighting's sake. I think what's happened here is this: Sean spent a lot of time at our place during the summer and became enamoured with the fact that Luke and Ryan fought alot.***4*** He sees this, and he co-opts it, and next thing you know we're all beating the hell out of each other because this whole macho-assertiveness takes over all of our brains each weekend. Face the facts here, guys cannot get hit without wanting to hit someone in return. Once one punch is thrown, more are bound to fly. And I stress, again, the fact that this is all in good fun, and it's not meant to be predatory or anything of that nature. It's just fighting for fighting's sake.
We can measure how intense our weekends were now by the amount of bruises we wake up to on Sunday mornings. We can point at the fading yellow patches on our arms on Wednesdays and Thursdays and say, "Hey, remember that party from last Friday? Fucking awesome." But, for me, it's getting old. The punches have turned into the fun, so to speak, and now it's all about how many people you hit, and so on and so forth. Lately it's turned into slapping. For example, that bar this weekend was a friendly match to see who would puss out first, basically. Zach, and I don't mind saying this, should've been embarrassed. I mean, he can't slap his girlfriend around as they're painting the apartment together most weekends. That'd be akin to domestic abuse, right?
Once I start getting my glasses knocked off by these slaps, though, it's over. We went to a party later that night, and I was raging pissed cause Sean kept fucking going at me and kept knocking off my glasses. At one point I was standing there, breathing heavily, with my chin stuck out, yelling, "Come on, Sean. Just fucking punch me in the face. That's all I want you to do. Just hit me in the face, Sean." Over and over again. Scooter's buddies were getting a little scared, and I'm sure it was hard to tell that I was kind of kidding, because, for a brief moment, I was serious. I don't know how to explain it. I just wanted him to punch me so I could jump all over him. But, luckily, he didn't, and I cooled down, and everything's fine now. I hope that the violence starts to decrease. I don't like being punched for no reason. I'm almost 100% certain, though, that writing this is just going to increase the incidents by at least 200%. Maybe I won't even post it.
***1*** Using the word "fight" is a misnomer as it was generally a slapping match between friends. Yes, it was in a public place. Yes, it was a little over the top and rambunctious. No, it didn't mean anything. And yes, I would do it again, because that's just the way it goes, it seems.
***2*** Matt started this one, too, which is the strange part. How did Matt yell, "Wanna fight?" to three or four large, random dudes, and then run back inside as his boy got jumped? It took us, literally, about fifteen minutes and a police officer to get them out and on their way. At one point I even had to tackle Jeff as he was making a path back towards the dudes again. The only funny thing that came out of it was the cop asking for ID's, and the look on his face when his question about Luke's social security number was responded to with, "123-45-6789".
***3*** Why don't you just get contacts, Marc? is what I'm sure you're all saying. Fuck contacts. What've contacts ever done for anybody? I can't stand the thought of having anything rub up against my eyes. Ick. Gross. Yuck. Despite all the deformities and broken incidents, I'll stick to my glasses. I look better in them. I don't have to bother with losing them, most of the times, and wondering where the hell they went. I also, and I just thought of this, don't have to worry about a dog eating them and being shit out of luck if that were the case.
***4*** There's a technical glitch with this theory: Ryan wasn't here for most of the summer, but he did stop down a few times, and as Sean was around all the time, they were bound to cross paths. So, there's the cross over. There's the point of origin.
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