Man in the Mirror

David Sedaris suggested that I start a journal or some method of writing everyday. Yes, this blog started that way, but it's tough to find the time to sit down and do it everyday like you can when physically schlepping around a notebook. Luckily for me (and all of you blogoteers out there), the entries from the latter can be transferrable to the former. Today's entry addresses vanity.

Anyone who has been following me on Twitter has seen that I am prone to ranting against the self-indulgent tendencies of those around me. For instance, one thing that grinds my gears like you wouldn't believe is when someone uses the "iPhoto" or "Photobooth" feature on their Macbook to take multiple pics of themselves. When I say multiple pics, I mean ENTIRE FUCKING ALBUMS. I have friends on facebook that do this all the time and it bugs me to no end. How self-absorbed can you be? What makes these people think that we want to see 35 variations of the same damn picture of just them? Using it every so often to create a new profile pic is one thing, but to stand/sit in front of your camera for that long to create 35 throwaway shots of yourself striking poses and making ridiculous faces IS NOT an ideal employment of the "variations on a theme" idea.

Really, random chick, really? REALLY???

Just last week, a girl in my Anthropology (DAAAMMMMMN, ANTHROPOLOGY???) class sat there and took various shots of her making kissy faces and perky boob shots. In the middle of class. A class with 300 other students. Far be it from me to get on someone's case for not paying attention in class, but really though? Is that what's hot in the streets? Nevermind the fact that this chickenhead wasn't particularly cute; how could anyone have that kind of wanton disregard for the people around them? There's healthy self-esteem and then there's brazen self-absorption, and this girl nailed option #2. I could never ever, IN A MILLION YEARS, sit in a class with that many people around me (read: ANY people around me) and do something that incredibly audacious. Needless to say, me and the few people who caught her doing this founds ourselves laughing together at the brash and oblivious vanity we were witnessing. I laughed to the point of tears, though those tears were mostly from weeping for my generation.

One reason why I would never do anything like that is that I'm self-conscious to a fault; I'm always thinking about how I will look in front of people, so I try not to set myself up for embarrassing things like that girl did. That sounds like a bad thing -- which it certainly can be most often -- but it makes me acutely aware of my strengths and my weaknesses for the most part. I know I can come off as judgmental and pretentious, but that's only because I'm twice as hard on myself, and with that in mind, I've been slowly coming to the realization that I'm a pretty vain guy myself (I mean, why else create a blog that may or may not be read by people?). Not outwardly vain in the sense that I'm braggadocious and like to draw attention to myself amongst a group of people like most vain people, but in the sense that I am not afraid (read: look for opportunities) to interject personal stakes in conversation and I care -- perhaps way too much -- about how I look. Let's just say that I'm always fully cognizant of and ready to use any mirrors around me.

For example, I have a hard time wearing clothes that don't match at least somewhat. It's a tough, self-imposed burden that I have to live with, but even when sitting around the house, I can't really bring myself to wear clothes that conflict in color. Not only do I want them to match, I want them to look good together. It gets even worse when I leave the house. One time, I recall wearing dress clothes to school all day and then coming home and changing into something more comfortable for a couple hours, only to change back into the dress clothes from earlier when it was time for me to go back out. What was I going back out to do, you ask? I was going back out to do one of the activities most people come to associate with formal wear, of course -- BABYSIT. I mean seriously, how absurd is that? Where they do that at? I still remember Gossip Girl getting on me about it that day ("Why are you wasting time changing? Those kids aren't going to care what you're wearing"). The irony of GG warning me that the dress clothes were a bad call is that I'm constantly perplexed by her insistence on getting far dressier for parties and bars than I do when we go out. Me and her don't always see eye to eye on things like this, but I generally dismissed this as the cultural differences between a young African-American male and a young Caucasian woman -- she just wouldn't understand my sense of style and my taste in clothing any more than a cat understands a dog's insistence on human companionship, and vice-versa. But guess what? GG was right, OH so right. I got to the house -- these kids lived in a trailerpark, I might add -- and those kids gave less than a damn that I was dressed up. I was clearly casting my pearls before swine, as they climbed all over me and tried to have me running all around and jumping up and down just like any other day.

I'm not vain.... Unless this is considered vanity

I tried to assuage some of my disappointment in their ignorance -- I looked sharp! I didn't dress like this just everyday! Couldn't children of 10, 7, 3, and 2 years of age appreciate that? -- by telling myself that more than anything else, dressing up was about making a good impression upon their mother, who certainly couldn't have been used to having a babysitter put in that kinda effort. Both of her arms were fully functional, so I was puzzled as to why she wasn't patting me on the back when I realized that this woman was questionably -- at best -- qualified to be a four-time mother, let alone give out recommendations based on the impression she got from the dapper-looking young man watching those kids. But when it really came down to it, my own vanity had as much to do with me wearing those dress clothes over there as anything else did. I wanted people to see me looking good, so much so that I deluded myself into thinking that such a thing might matter to these people. FAIL.

I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that I'm somewhat of a pretty boy. At times, I accessorize outfits like a teenage girl, and though I'm not particularly proud of that, it's just the way I am. I cannot say in full confidence that I own many clothes -- or any shoes at all -- that I would be totally comfortable getting dirtied. Yes, I know I have exposed some of my more effeminate qualities here today, but I am what I am; so sue me.

Y'all see where I get it from. 

The obvious question is: where do I get this all from? Well, the older I get and the less I want to admit it, the more I notice some of my own qualities in my dad. He came to visit a couple weeks back, and for all of the ways that we can butt heads on our differences in opinion, conflict can arise amongst some of our similarities as well:; most notably in this case, our affinity for getting dressy for banal activities. When he showed up here, he was decked from head to toe in formal wear featuring various shades of blue. He got to the house and sat around all evening and night in these clothes and shoes, which, at first glance, appeared to be gators. He insisted that they were, but as a gator perpetrator myself, I knew better; you can't bullshit a bullshitter. But throughout the weekend, I felt at times that I was looking into a slightly more compact body-length mirror. That mirror became even clearer once his late luggage finally arrived and I realized that he had packed very little in the way of clothing that could be of even any use on a potential camping trip. I guess it's a good thing that I quit the Boy Scouts so early as a kid.

My tangential anecdote was not so much about his visit as it is about the light that was further shed by it: my sometimes misguided sense of vanity is hereditary. While someone's sense of "style" is subjective (me and him differ A LOT in that regard), their obvious vanity is not quite so much. As I find myself speaking out more and more against the various forms of arrogance and self-absorption that permeate my world, it's only fair that I point those judgmental eyes at the man in the mirror.

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off.... Yall stay classy now.

Quick Update

Salutations blogosphere! Sir Marcus back here, Bringing Da Noise and Bringing Da Funk.

It's been awhile since we last spoke, and for that, I beg a thousand pardons of you. Since then, my life has been somewhat eventful -- my dad came out here to visit a few weeks ago, me and the Old Lady have reconciled somewhat, and my writing idol came to visit Mizzou.

In reference to that last item, David Sedaris came to Mizzou last Wednesday night and it was a terrific experience. He is even funnier in person than he is in print, which shouldn't come as a surprise, but I wasn't quite expecting it. I don't want my praise of him to be too effusive lest I sound like a groupie, but good Lord, I'd love to do what he does for a living: be a full-time writer that gets paid to tour the world giving lectures and reading excerpts from his books. When I say he's my writing idol, I mean something closer to inspiration -- it wasn't until I started reading his books about a year or so ago that I really decided that I wanted to be a creative nonfiction novelist, a point driven home all the more by my attendance of his lecture. It was funny, quirky, charming, endearing and self-deprecating -- everything that his fans would have expected and then some. When the lecture was over, I stood in line for three hours -- something I otherwise would never do -- to get my book signed and to his credit, even after three hours, he was as gracious, engaging and unassuming as he was on stage. While I imagine this part of his life is unbelievably tedious at times, it is a testament to his humility and good nature when we met that if I had to do it all again, I'd stand in that line for three hours again every single time. Absolutely life-changing event for me; not even joking.

The crux of the matter here is that when asking David what advice he would give to an aspiring writer, he said that I should just write everyday; he suggested starting a journal, which is what I've since done. Get ready for a bevy of blogs to come from hence forth, as that journal will be ripe with topics to share, such as the one following this update.

Hugs, Not Drugs

What it do baby boo? 'Tis Sir Marcus again here, providing yet another glimpse into the bucket of neurosis that is my brain; I do it because I care, people. Even HM would have to admit that I've been pretty diligent about these updates in the past few months, so if you see or speak to her soon, tell her yes, to answer the age-old question, I do want a cookie. While waiting on that, let's get right into this week's topic: drugs.

So as I was outside in Speaker's Circle people-watching between classes today, some guy comes up to me and gives me a flier from some group he's in -- the "Students for Sensible Drug Policy." I'm all for what they're trying to do. We can all acknowledge that our country's drug policies are less than perfect. The flier he handed me implores students to vote yes on Prop. 19 (California-based ballot for the legalization of marijuana). Though marijuana isn't for me, I've gone on record for conceding that legalizing it would do more good than harm, so it only makes sense that it becomes legalized. It's far less harmful than nicotene and alcohol, yet cigarettes and booze are both legal? That logic is unbelievably weak; no one's buying it and we shouldn't be selling it.

Here's the kicker, blogosphanatics: it's no secret that I'm straight-edge. That means that I don't drink, don't smoke, and generally don't take prescripted medications. That's just my choice - some of it has to do with my family's history of substance abuse, but it's mostly because I just don't personally find it that appealing. I'm certainly no C.M. Punk - I don't have an issue with those that do these things in moderation. It's your life and I say do whatever floats your boat, but keep in mind that said boat will most likely be sunk by the HUGEmongous crack rock that you're storing. You've been warned.

Speaking of crack... It still kills.

Back to the original premise of this post, the flier then proceeded to give "3 reasons that YOU should fight for sensible drug policies."This is where it falls apart for me. The first reason states "Your education is in danger," and then goes on to talk about how many students have had to drop out of school or find alternate means of paying for school because they had drug convictions and were denied financial aid. At the risk of sounding callous, I call tough titties on that one. Again, no one's saying that all of our drug laws are perfect, but at the same time, the law is pretty black and white about what's legal and not. It has always astounded me how people can willfully take part in an illegal activity -- that means ecstasy and meth as well, for those of you who are reading this from rehab -- but then act surprised or even angry when they are chastised for it. If part of the allure to breaking rules is that feeling of danger and the thrill of getting away with it, then part of that should also be the full resignation to the possibilities of getting caught and the subsequent consequences. You can't have your caked up crack rocks and eat them too.

Yes, even I will say that I think weed should be legal, but for the time being, it's not legal, and because of that, you are and absolutely should be subject to the full letter of the law; it's that simple. The flier also goes on to say that their 2nd reason is that the War on Drugs is a multi-billion dollar exercise in money wasting, but it doesn't suggest any solutions to this problem. Legalizing marijuana isn't going to mean that the drug industry WON'T cost money to maintain, and while it isn't legal, obviously we can't just stop spending on it cold-turkey, lest we risk freelance drug-dealing and usage running amok. So tell me, how would NOT spending money in the War on Drugs help? Don't worry, I'll wait...

Finally, there is reason #3 -- most drug-related violence is based on the prohibition of them as opposed to the abuse of them, consequently causing police to spend their time chasing the wrong criminals -- which also brings the weak sauce. That implies that cops are completely ignoring criminals for crimes not related to drugs. Rapists, arsonists, and those that murder just for the hell of it are no less important than drug dealers or those that murder over drugs, and this flier shouldn't try to reduce that issue  -- or any of these issues, for that matter -- to something so black and white; something so trivial. It's ridiculous to even begin to suggest that the time spent on drug-related crimes -- something that rightfully is very important -- is what has really been preventing cops from catching a serial rapist. Don't bring that weak shit into my house.

I will admit that I appreciate their enthusiasm though. Obviously the War on Drugs is much bigger than what I've mentioned here, but you guys get the gist. I believe they're sending the right message and plugging the right product, but their packaging is a little off. They need to come stronger than that because you can't sell me bullshit -- I know the prices. 

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....... Yall stay classy out there and take care now.