Thinking about Jerks.
Hey All,
Last night was the last Saturday of the month.
Yep. Time for Strength Through Joy again.
Wore the knee high red docs over the skin-tight swedish jeans. To get to the venue I wore black combat trousers over the jeans and boots, in case anyone mistook me for a BNP activist (albeit one with very floppy hair).
Danced carefully for fear of splitting said jeans. The boots gave me blisters before I had even started, but they didn't bother me. Had a great time.
After the club, while I was waiting for a bus to take me down the street to Angel (and Slimelight) I was talking to a girl who knew me back in Brisbane about five or six years ago, before she moved to Sydney. She used to be on the door of a Gothic club that I would sometimes head to, after the Hardcore shows that I would go to earlier in the evenings. She told me that during that time I was a real jerk. She didn't describe how I was a jerk, she didn't give examples of any jerky action I took, she just told me that I had been a jerk.
That bothered me. I always like to think that I am a respected, if not univerally liked person, and I like to think that if I was a jerk I would remember it. As it was, my jerk-ness was news to me.
Granted, at that time the Gothic Community in Brisbane was basically a bloated corpse shadow of it's previous self, populated, with a few exceptions, by people I really didn't like (hence my spending so much time going to hardcore shows). The position I remember taking at that time of my life is that if I didn't like you, you didn't really exist to me. You were a caricature, vapid and dull. Your delicate sensibilities and precious feelings are no concern of mine.
Furthermore, I seriously doubt that I am often a jerk to people who haven't been a jerk to me first.
Of course, I realise that these things are probably indicative of a person WHO IS A JERK.
This bugged me all through Slimelight, where I still managed to distract myself by bopping to the music and talking to a German girl, who told me that she hated Australians. Something about Australian attitudes and lifestyles.
'I'm German. We're allowed to discriminate.'
'No you're not.' I countered. 'We established that in 1945.'
I seem to eat most when I realise I am running out of food. And I guess I act my jerkiest when I am worried that I am a Jerk.
Anyways, Miss Discriminating German didn't hold a grudge, and invited me to make a fool of myself on the dancefloor. I was tempted to tell her that I already had at Strength Through Joy (where a friend of mine describes me as one of the Kung Fu dancers, even though her Kung Fu is Greater Than Mine).
In any case, I ditched my jacket and bag at the cloak room and chatted to the friends of mine that weren't at STJ.
After STJ I hung back at Starbucks and then a Greasy Spoon Cafe somewhere in Angel, talking to Tapani (a Finnish kid), Dani (a clubbing friend of mine) and Richie, who was back from holiday and excited about the possibility that he might be interviewing Nitzer Ebb.
Discussions of dominant discourses distracted me from my angst.
By the time we all caught the tube to our various destinations, I was thinking along these lines:
It's possible I was a jerk. It was a complicated time of my life, with a lot of pressures on me from all directions, not all of which I handled well. (okay, most of which I handled badly.)
Still, I felt that I had the respect of those I respected, and most of the time I still feel I that I do.
In the past five years I know that I have had a lot to think about, and I have done my best to become the person I want to be. I am still trying to be that person. I'm not going to list my perceived faults here (that's a matter for some personal reflection, methinks), I will just say that I am working on it all.
Suffice to say that if I was a jerk five years ago, chances are I am not that same jerk now.
Nope, I might be an entirely different kind of jerk.
This much I know. If I have been a jerk and I know it, I usually apologize to the person I was a jerk to. Because I know I can be a jerk. I also know I try not to be.
Still, I do remember hearing the girl from Sydney (who is no doubt flying back their already by this time) speaking mockingly about a someone who was dancing in a curious, exuberant manner with his shirt off. They called him 'The Hairy Man', among other things.
It took me all of ten seconds to realise they were talking about my friend Callum, a cheerful, intelligent and friendly chap who always makes my night out that little bit better just by hanging out.
Nice one, girls. You judged a man without actually bothering to get to know him.
Who's the Jerk now?
Last night was the last Saturday of the month.
Yep. Time for Strength Through Joy again.
Wore the knee high red docs over the skin-tight swedish jeans. To get to the venue I wore black combat trousers over the jeans and boots, in case anyone mistook me for a BNP activist (albeit one with very floppy hair).
Danced carefully for fear of splitting said jeans. The boots gave me blisters before I had even started, but they didn't bother me. Had a great time.
After the club, while I was waiting for a bus to take me down the street to Angel (and Slimelight) I was talking to a girl who knew me back in Brisbane about five or six years ago, before she moved to Sydney. She used to be on the door of a Gothic club that I would sometimes head to, after the Hardcore shows that I would go to earlier in the evenings. She told me that during that time I was a real jerk. She didn't describe how I was a jerk, she didn't give examples of any jerky action I took, she just told me that I had been a jerk.
That bothered me. I always like to think that I am a respected, if not univerally liked person, and I like to think that if I was a jerk I would remember it. As it was, my jerk-ness was news to me.
Granted, at that time the Gothic Community in Brisbane was basically a bloated corpse shadow of it's previous self, populated, with a few exceptions, by people I really didn't like (hence my spending so much time going to hardcore shows). The position I remember taking at that time of my life is that if I didn't like you, you didn't really exist to me. You were a caricature, vapid and dull. Your delicate sensibilities and precious feelings are no concern of mine.
Furthermore, I seriously doubt that I am often a jerk to people who haven't been a jerk to me first.
Of course, I realise that these things are probably indicative of a person WHO IS A JERK.
This bugged me all through Slimelight, where I still managed to distract myself by bopping to the music and talking to a German girl, who told me that she hated Australians. Something about Australian attitudes and lifestyles.
'I'm German. We're allowed to discriminate.'
'No you're not.' I countered. 'We established that in 1945.'
I seem to eat most when I realise I am running out of food. And I guess I act my jerkiest when I am worried that I am a Jerk.
Anyways, Miss Discriminating German didn't hold a grudge, and invited me to make a fool of myself on the dancefloor. I was tempted to tell her that I already had at Strength Through Joy (where a friend of mine describes me as one of the Kung Fu dancers, even though her Kung Fu is Greater Than Mine).
In any case, I ditched my jacket and bag at the cloak room and chatted to the friends of mine that weren't at STJ.
After STJ I hung back at Starbucks and then a Greasy Spoon Cafe somewhere in Angel, talking to Tapani (a Finnish kid), Dani (a clubbing friend of mine) and Richie, who was back from holiday and excited about the possibility that he might be interviewing Nitzer Ebb.
Discussions of dominant discourses distracted me from my angst.
By the time we all caught the tube to our various destinations, I was thinking along these lines:
It's possible I was a jerk. It was a complicated time of my life, with a lot of pressures on me from all directions, not all of which I handled well. (okay, most of which I handled badly.)
Still, I felt that I had the respect of those I respected, and most of the time I still feel I that I do.
In the past five years I know that I have had a lot to think about, and I have done my best to become the person I want to be. I am still trying to be that person. I'm not going to list my perceived faults here (that's a matter for some personal reflection, methinks), I will just say that I am working on it all.
Suffice to say that if I was a jerk five years ago, chances are I am not that same jerk now.
Nope, I might be an entirely different kind of jerk.
This much I know. If I have been a jerk and I know it, I usually apologize to the person I was a jerk to. Because I know I can be a jerk. I also know I try not to be.
Still, I do remember hearing the girl from Sydney (who is no doubt flying back their already by this time) speaking mockingly about a someone who was dancing in a curious, exuberant manner with his shirt off. They called him 'The Hairy Man', among other things.
It took me all of ten seconds to realise they were talking about my friend Callum, a cheerful, intelligent and friendly chap who always makes my night out that little bit better just by hanging out.
Nice one, girls. You judged a man without actually bothering to get to know him.
Who's the Jerk now?
posted by the.exile at 5:27 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home