I’d say it to your face, if I hadn’t been waiting for you to leave first

33.  I pretend to be a guy who pretends to be all sorts of things that I really am.  It’s like being a guy who dresses up as a woman dressing up as a man.  For instance, I bombastically claim to know a lot about typeface (which seems like I’m making fun of a caricature of myself) yet actually do know a lot about type.  It’s a game I play to make something true sound false and vice versa.  Meta enough for you?

Some people refuse to talk about other people at all.  You might not believe it, but it’s true.  In fact, the deaf community is very large.  For the rest of us, it’s a fine line we have to walk.

On the one hand, nobody wants to go back to middle school when they were afraid of life-altering reputation loss at every step.  On the other, vital information is often conveyed about people that it would be foolish for each person to have to discover on their own.  Furthermore, sometimes, talking trash can be cathartic.

Take for example this week.  Duke University flew out seven prospective grad students, or “prospies,” in an attempt to convince them that Duke was more bad-ass than their other options.  We soon realized that not all prospies are created equal.

All people are a mixed bag, but prospies seemed to be even more so.  Just because a person attended Stanford, Oxford, or Princeton, doesn’t mean that they know their stuff or that they should speak.  Ever.

The person I’m specifically thinking about is one short, plump, 30+ year old Mormon that insisted on establishing the fact that she was of Mexican descent.  To me.  Constantly.  I mean, I know I look white as shit. ((This simile is thanks to Wesley, who soon realized that shit is rarely white.))  But I AM a legit Mexican, complete with language, culture, history, heritage, friends, family, and travel.  She was not.  I don’t know why I always seem to meet people with questionable Hispanic credentials that feel the need to show them off.

This particular girl was a half-Mexican white girl that said the word “Latina” more often to me in two days than I’ve ever heard in my life.  I thought I was alone in realizing she was crazy until after she left for the final time and we all sighed, hoping she would decide not to accept the offer.

So we talked a bit of trash, sharing anecdotes of her various grandiloquent statements. ((She often used words like grandiloquent.))  What bothered me was why nobody had spoken up before.  Surely it would have saved someone from the torture of speaking to her.  So, to make up for it, we viciously attacked her in absentia ((And absentia)).  Is that so bad?  Is it so bad that we compared her bombastic rambling to Elmer Fudd and her voice and personality to a garbage compactor?

I mean, it’d be bad if we turned around and called her our best friend, but in this case, we would rather never see her again.  I mean, we were just telling it like it is.  It was a straightforward, honest appraisal of her misery as a human being…  She just happened to not be there.

I’d feel bad, but then I think of the reverse.  I imagine my personality does not mesh as well with some people as it does with others.  And, when it doesn’t, I fully expect for them to avoid me.  Out of sight, out of mind, right?  So, I wouldn’t care about those people that avoid me.  And since I can’t reasonably care about what people I avoid think, why would I care about what they said?

… Unless you’ve heard anything… :-/

33.  I pretend to be a guy who pretends to be all sorts of things that I really am.  It’s like being a guy who dresses up as a woman dressing up as a man.  For instance, I bombastically claim to know a lot about typeface (which seems like I’m making fun of a caricature…