I squandered a good deal of my childhood listening to the vocal stylings of Allan Sherman, a Borscht Belt singer whose schtick entailed silly parodies of familar tunes, including “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh,” otherwise known as “Camp Grenada” (“Hello muddah/hello fadduh/here I am at/Camp Grenada…”).
Most of my friends enjoyed Allan Sherman’s company as well, but not one, a kid named Marlon who lived down the block. At nine, a year older than me, Marlon was the alpha male of the neighborhood group, and he seemed to take pleasure in trying to humiliate me.
One summer afternoon as five or six of us were playing in Marlon’s front yard, he decided to hold court on my tastes in art and music. He thought that the fact I liked “Snoopy, Come Home” was stupid, for instance.
He had particular scorn towards my tastes in records. “[Bookfraud] listens to stupid music, like Alan Sherman,” he said, positively spitting out the words.
It was humiliating, I’ll give him that. Fortunately, Marlon didn’t know when to stop.
“Allan Sherman’s stupid,” Marlon said. “[Bookfraud] doesn’t like good songs, like ‘The Candyman.’”
The Candyman. The mere mention of that title brings Sammy Davis Jr.’s voice into my head: “The candyman can ’cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good…” The song might as well be a paean to child movie stars’ drug dealers.
“The Candyman” is a punch line without a joke, while “Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh” is widely acknowledged as a classic.
I was right; Marlon was wrong. Revenge is mine!
Looking back, the realm of treble and bass clef stands as one of the few things from my childhood and adolescence that doesn’t embarrass me. High school, when one’s allegiance to Band A or Band B defined your persona, was a time of particular pride: I hated REO, but loved the Ramones; I hated Rush but loved Devo; I despised Journey but loved the Clash. For these very things I was mocked, forced to wear a crown of thorns!
Years later, in looking at the Big Playlist of Life, I can say that my music was great; theirs sucked. Revenge is mine!
We must repeat
Marlon, The Candyman, and Devo don’t have much to say about the literary life, per se, but it’s come to me lately how much resentment and the need for revenge motivate people to create art.
As I’ve noted before and will probably note again as the idea-factory known as my brain reaches its natural limit, fiction writers usually do not start their quixotic journeys from a shiny, happy place in their hearts. Those who do simply are setting us up to have our hearts broken.
Do you want to read about the happiest childhood ever with completely functional parents, a story about how great it is to be rich, and why this narrator wallows in bliss, all delivered without a shred of irony or perspective? Perhaps you do, which probably explains why you are drawn to my painfully earnest prose.
Viewed from the surface, Marlon doesn’t display much in the way of inner turmoil, except as perhaps a bully; he’s a fine caricature. Marlon could write a book featuring characters who are always right.
Or take those who dominated the hierarchy of high school — jock kings and cheerleader queens. Can you think of one good novel, story, or movie that looks at them in anything but an unsympathetic light? It’s because the people writing those books about high school were the outcasts, losers, stoners, and sensitive folk nobody wanted to emulate.
They were the people who were listening to the DKs and the Sex Pistols; they were the people sitting in the corner, smirking, suffering, being ignored, and counting the days until they could escape the hell known as adolescence. If they were lucky, they could play a mean guitar and grab some girls.
The sense of alienation motivated many of us to write, usually terifficaly pretentious poetry that we’d rather eat than have to read aloud. But for someone who wants revenge, I always get the picture of an angry nerd saying “I’ll show them. Everybody who makes fun of me is going to regret it,” and, as a result of such anger, starts Microsoft or arrives at school with an AK-47.
(I often wonder if it’s still the same — in suburbia, I imagine that the jocks and cheerleaders still rule the roost, but “alt culture” has become mainstream enough that the mohawked punk — or even the computer nerd or gay teen — may not be a de facto outcast).
Best served cold
It’s a nice feeling, being vindicated. But ultimately pointless.
Feeling superior for things I loved 20 or 30 years ago is empty solace, proving absolutely nothing. I also greatly exaggerate the sense of separation I had from my classmates; it makes me feel superior, which is a feeling I’d just as rather not indulge. Those who are motivated to take revenge on the unpleasant memories of being 16 probably are best served by something called therapy.
But damn, did I hate those years. If someone says high school was the happiest time of his life, punch him in the nose. I’ll pay your legal bills.
I think the people who say that high school represents the best years of their lives are the ex-jocks and ex-cheerleaders who, since then, have become bland, boring, soulless corporate drudges; anonymous slugs in the economic machine with nothing else in their lives but work, raising their offspring, and waiting to die.
That’s the best revenge. The height of their inner lives was the small, rigid social strata of school.
But I’ll chip in for the legal fees with you, Bookfraud, if anyone decides to punch one of those people in the face.
I think the people who say that high school represents the best years of their lives are the ex-jocks and ex-cheerleaders who, since then, have become bland, boring, soulless corporate drudges; anonymous slugs in the economic machine with nothing else in their lives but work, raising their offspring, and waiting to die.
That’s the best revenge. The height of their inner lives was the small, rigid social strata of school.
But I’ll chip in for the legal fees with you, Bookfraud, if anyone decides to punch one of those people in the face.
I think the people who say that high school represents the best years of their lives are the ex-jocks and ex-cheerleaders who, since then, have become bland, boring, soulless corporate drudges; anonymous slugs in the economic machine with nothing else in their lives but work, raising their offspring, and waiting to die.
That’s the best revenge. The height of their inner lives was the small, rigid social strata of school.
But I’ll chip in for the legal fees with you, Bookfraud, if anyone decides to punch one of those people in the face.
We’re told that writing is the ultimate form of expression, whether you want to take on a political, sociological, or economic cause. But you’ve opened my eyes.
It’s all about vengeance! Looking back on, oh, just about everything I’ve ever written, I’m always sticking it to someone. Thinly veiled caricatures, anagram names, not-so-thinly veiled caricatures….
Am I really that shallow? Should my entire writing portfolio be titled, “It’s Time For These Peckers To Die!”?
Cool. I can dig it.
We’re told that writing is the ultimate form of expression, whether you want to take on a political, sociological, or economic cause. But you’ve opened my eyes.
It’s all about vengeance! Looking back on, oh, just about everything I’ve ever written, I’m always sticking it to someone. Thinly veiled caricatures, anagram names, not-so-thinly veiled caricatures….
Am I really that shallow? Should my entire writing portfolio be titled, “It’s Time For These Peckers To Die!”?
Cool. I can dig it.
We’re told that writing is the ultimate form of expression, whether you want to take on a political, sociological, or economic cause. But you’ve opened my eyes.
It’s all about vengeance! Looking back on, oh, just about everything I’ve ever written, I’m always sticking it to someone. Thinly veiled caricatures, anagram names, not-so-thinly veiled caricatures….
Am I really that shallow? Should my entire writing portfolio be titled, “It’s Time For These Peckers To Die!”?
Cool. I can dig it.
Doesn’t have to be music, and it can start before highschool.
What do you call a 12 hear old who reads Shakespeare?
Besides “not cool?”
Or finds something everyone else thinks is boooring, funny as hell?
I did not enjoy high school. I did enjoy university.
And sometimesd isolated sweet things can produce a story.
brian f.: it’s always time for those peckers to die. stick it to the man, or whoever you hate.
quinn: that might be true about ex-jox and cheerleaders, but god, i often feel like a bland, boring, soulless drudge who typeshits for his hobby and am waiting to die.
bernita: right you are. music is such a cultural touchstone for teenagers that it’s a natural starting point. and there were many things that i liked (theater, classical music, etc.) that i never pursued because i didn’t want to be uncool.
you enjoyed “university”? you must be canadian.
I LOVED Snoopy Come Home.
I always managed (mostly) to avoid the wrath of the bullies with fast talk and humor.
I need to repost my “Russian Writers Lunchbox” story just for you.
Doesn’t have to be music, and it can start before highschool.
What do you call a 12 hear old who reads Shakespeare?
Besides “not cool?”
Or finds something everyone else thinks is boooring, funny as hell?
I did not enjoy high school. I did enjoy university.
And sometimesd isolated sweet things can produce a story.
Doesn’t have to be music, and it can start before highschool.
What do you call a 12 hear old who reads Shakespeare?
Besides “not cool?”
Or finds something everyone else thinks is boooring, funny as hell?
I did not enjoy high school. I did enjoy university.
And sometimesd isolated sweet things can produce a story.
From _Aristotle on Rhetoric_ (George Kennedy, trans.).
“A kind of pleasure follows all experiences of anger from the hope of getting retaliation. It is pleasant for him to think he will get what he wants; but no one wants things that seem impossible for himself to attain, and the angry person desires what is possible for him. Thus, it has been well said of rage, ‘A thing much sweeter than honeyin the throat, it grows in the breast of men’ (Iliad). A kind of pleasure follows from this and also because people dwell in their minds on retaliating; then the image that occurs creates pleasure, as in the case of dreams.”
I hated high school. The people I went to school with who picked on me. Think we are friends now, and want me to go to my 15th high school reunion. Though I see no reason to go and relive all those bad memories. I might go just because most of them shop at my job.
brian f.: it’s always time for those peckers to die. stick it to the man, or whoever you hate.
quinn: that might be true about ex-jox and cheerleaders, but god, i often feel like a bland, boring, soulless drudge who typeshits for his hobby and am waiting to die.
bernita: right you are. music is such a cultural touchstone for teenagers that it’s a natural starting point. and there were many things that i liked (theater, classical music, etc.) that i never pursued because i didn’t want to be uncool.
you enjoyed “university”? you must be canadian.
brian f.: it’s always time for those peckers to die. stick it to the man, or whoever you hate.
quinn: that might be true about ex-jox and cheerleaders, but god, i often feel like a bland, boring, soulless drudge who typeshits for his hobby and am waiting to die.
bernita: right you are. music is such a cultural touchstone for teenagers that it’s a natural starting point. and there were many things that i liked (theater, classical music, etc.) that i never pursued because i didn’t want to be uncool.
you enjoyed “university”? you must be canadian.
I LOVED Snoopy Come Home.
I always managed (mostly) to avoid the wrath of the bullies with fast talk and humor.
I need to repost my “Russian Writers Lunchbox” story just for you.
I LOVED Snoopy Come Home.
I always managed (mostly) to avoid the wrath of the bullies with fast talk and humor.
I need to repost my “Russian Writers Lunchbox” story just for you.
From _Aristotle on Rhetoric_ (George Kennedy, trans.).
“A kind of pleasure follows all experiences of anger from the hope of getting retaliation. It is pleasant for him to think he will get what he wants; but no one wants things that seem impossible for himself to attain, and the angry person desires what is possible for him. Thus, it has been well said of rage, ‘A thing much sweeter than honeyin the throat, it grows in the breast of men’ (Iliad). A kind of pleasure follows from this and also because people dwell in their minds on retaliating; then the image that occurs creates pleasure, as in the case of dreams.”
From _Aristotle on Rhetoric_ (George Kennedy, trans.).
“A kind of pleasure follows all experiences of anger from the hope of getting retaliation. It is pleasant for him to think he will get what he wants; but no one wants things that seem impossible for himself to attain, and the angry person desires what is possible for him. Thus, it has been well said of rage, ‘A thing much sweeter than honeyin the throat, it grows in the breast of men’ (Iliad). A kind of pleasure follows from this and also because people dwell in their minds on retaliating; then the image that occurs creates pleasure, as in the case of dreams.”
I hated high school. The people I went to school with who picked on me. Think we are friends now, and want me to go to my 15th high school reunion. Though I see no reason to go and relive all those bad memories. I might go just because most of them shop at my job.
I hated high school. The people I went to school with who picked on me. Think we are friends now, and want me to go to my 15th high school reunion. Though I see no reason to go and relive all those bad memories. I might go just because most of them shop at my job.
Fun post BF! I loved Devo and hated REO too. I hated high school, my life began as soon as i left, thse are the years that are the most rewarding
)
)
Happy Easter to you and Mrs BF
hmm well i went to an all-girls school. so fortunately i didn’t have to deal with much of what you are talking about. but i completely agree with what you said about certain people remembering it as the “best years of their life.” high school is where i learned how to identify which people to steer clear of…namely, those individuals who can make sure their scrunchies and socks are the same color but have serious problems remembering where they parked their car.
Fun post BF! I loved Devo and hated REO too. I hated high school, my life began as soon as i left, thse are the years that are the most rewarding
)
)
Happy Easter to you and Mrs BF
Fun post BF! I loved Devo and hated REO too. I hated high school, my life began as soon as i left, thse are the years that are the most rewarding
)
)
Happy Easter to you and Mrs BF
hmm well i went to an all-girls school. so fortunately i didn’t have to deal with much of what you are talking about. but i completely agree with what you said about certain people remembering it as the “best years of their life.” high school is where i learned how to identify which people to steer clear of…namely, those individuals who can make sure their scrunchies and socks are the same color but have serious problems remembering where they parked their car.
hmm well i went to an all-girls school. so fortunately i didn’t have to deal with much of what you are talking about. but i completely agree with what you said about certain people remembering it as the “best years of their life.” high school is where i learned how to identify which people to steer clear of…namely, those individuals who can make sure their scrunchies and socks are the same color but have serious problems remembering where they parked their car.
phoenix: i’m glad that somebody on god’s green earth has seen “snoopy come home,” much less remembers it. any post that invokes russians, writers, and lunchboxes definitely grabs my attention.
e.p.: what, you’re getting all didactic on us? you think i’d actually enjoy getting revenge, or that the aristotelian idea of revenge gives me sweet relief? damn greeks. there’s a reason the romans beat them.
double b: if they bring up bad memories, and you see them already at your job, then why should you double your pain, if you’re already doubling their bags?
michelle: glad to know there was some sanity down under. thanks for the easter tidings. happy passover to ya back.
dora: so the biggest people to avoid from your h.s. days were superficial airheads ? as opposed to people who were snarky, shallow, proudly ignorant, and borderline violent. you had a blissful time of it.
yeahh none of those violent people roamed the halls. i wouldn’t call it blissful, though. we had our share of creep shows. i mostly just kept to myself. not too much of a problem there.
phoenix: i’m glad that somebody on god’s green earth has seen “snoopy come home,” much less remembers it. any post that invokes russians, writers, and lunchboxes definitely grabs my attention.
e.p.: what, you’re getting all didactic on us? you think i’d actually enjoy getting revenge, or that the aristotelian idea of revenge gives me sweet relief? damn greeks. there’s a reason the romans beat them.
double b: if they bring up bad memories, and you see them already at your job, then why should you double your pain, if you’re already doubling their bags?
phoenix: i’m glad that somebody on god’s green earth has seen “snoopy come home,” much less remembers it. any post that invokes russians, writers, and lunchboxes definitely grabs my attention.
e.p.: what, you’re getting all didactic on us? you think i’d actually enjoy getting revenge, or that the aristotelian idea of revenge gives me sweet relief? damn greeks. there’s a reason the romans beat them.
double b: if they bring up bad memories, and you see them already at your job, then why should you double your pain, if you’re already doubling their bags?
michelle: glad to know there was some sanity down under. thanks for the easter tidings. happy passover to ya back.
dora: so the biggest people to avoid from your h.s. days were superficial airheads ? as opposed to people who were snarky, shallow, proudly ignorant, and borderline violent. you had a blissful time of it.
michelle: glad to know there was some sanity down under. thanks for the easter tidings. happy passover to ya back.
dora: so the biggest people to avoid from your h.s. days were superficial airheads ? as opposed to people who were snarky, shallow, proudly ignorant, and borderline violent. you had a blissful time of it.
I understand the feelings of being a typeshitting, bland, drudge just waiting to die. but I think what causes that is our sensitivity to the fact that those same jox and cheerleader still seem to be so far ahead of us – house, family, possibly lucrative careers, etc, while we’re still sitting in a tiny room telling stories to ourselves. But the fact is, they’re done. they might win the lottery, or get a promotion, but they’ve finsihed their journey for the most part. We’re still on the journey.
and it’s much better to be on the journey than at the end, just waiting for the grave to open.
Ah, back to the music posts. I, for one, vote that you must have been incredibly cool for your taste in music.
*mwah* and I’ll be sending your virtual postcard soon.
yeahh none of those violent people roamed the halls. i wouldn’t call it blissful, though. we had our share of creep shows. i mostly just kept to myself. not too much of a problem there.
yeahh none of those violent people roamed the halls. i wouldn’t call it blissful, though. we had our share of creep shows. i mostly just kept to myself. not too much of a problem there.
I understand the feelings of being a typeshitting, bland, drudge just waiting to die. but I think what causes that is our sensitivity to the fact that those same jox and cheerleader still seem to be so far ahead of us – house, family, possibly lucrative careers, etc, while we’re still sitting in a tiny room telling stories to ourselves. But the fact is, they’re done. they might win the lottery, or get a promotion, but they’ve finsihed their journey for the most part. We’re still on the journey.
I understand the feelings of being a typeshitting, bland, drudge just waiting to die. but I think what causes that is our sensitivity to the fact that those same jox and cheerleader still seem to be so far ahead of us – house, family, possibly lucrative careers, etc, while we’re still sitting in a tiny room telling stories to ourselves. But the fact is, they’re done. they might win the lottery, or get a promotion, but they’ve finsihed their journey for the most part. We’re still on the journey.
and it’s much better to be on the journey than at the end, just waiting for the grave to open.
and it’s much better to be on the journey than at the end, just waiting for the grave to open.
Ah, back to the music posts. I, for one, vote that you must have been incredibly cool for your taste in music.
*mwah* and I’ll be sending your virtual postcard soon.
Ah, back to the music posts. I, for one, vote that you must have been incredibly cool for your taste in music.
*mwah* and I’ll be sending your virtual postcard soon.
Sorry, BF–sometimes this stuff has to pop out of my head to keep it from exploding.
High school is one big bad memory. Yuck. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Sorry, BF–sometimes this stuff has to pop out of my head to keep it from exploding.
High school is one big bad memory. Yuck. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
Sorry, BF–sometimes this stuff has to pop out of my head to keep it from exploding.
High school is one big bad memory. Yuck. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
dora: i am kind of curious who the “creep shows” were at a girls school. maybe you could write a novel about it.
quinn: actually, i’m not jealous of people with a lot of money and suv and big house in the suburbs, who may have “finished the journey,” as you say. i’m jealous of those people with a lot of money and cool car and big house in the big city, who are writers and get to keep telling stories for wealth and fame.
then again, if you want $$$ and fame, writing is not the best way to do it, and, as you say, it’s the journey that counts. man, i hated journey.
michele: welcome back, good to see you. cool is only in the audience beholding it, and my musical taste did not make me such ? also, was a nerdy, awkward, poorly spoken teenager, like most of the world.
e.p.: no, keep this stuff popping out of your head. i was just messin’ with ya. i happen to agree with the great aristotle. he’s da man.