Chapter 3: Anything less than nothing

I am firmly of the belief that ranting every now and again is healthy. Shit, I rant on here all the time, basically every night. Or more recently, every other night. But you've got to know your audience.

For example, I don't particularly believe anybody is reading this thing, so I write as though nobody is. And my brother, bless his soul, has been laying out the type of rant you usually pace back and forth in your room to deliver.

He's been doing volunteer work on some show at the Oakville Centre for the Performing Arts. Every night after every show, the cast and crew go out for drinks. He's got a chip on his shoulder that basically amounts to him feeling underappreciated. And it appears to have been such a minor slight that has him headed in this tailspin and unable to extract himself; not only because he's so pissed off, also because, as I mentioned earlier, he's pissed in the UK sense as well.

Now, I feel for the guy. He's doing real work for no money and not getting his due. But he's going over and over it again, helplessly trapped in his own pathos. At the same time, it's late, it's been a long day, I don't much feel like getting a tripl laid so heavily upon me. I don't speak up, however, because I'll admit that'd be a douchey thing to do. The guy's feeling vulnerable and I can sympathize with the feeling of being under-appreciate it, I'm no stranger to it myself.

The other evening, mom was reminiscing with us about our days of ADAPT counselling, which she confesses may have screwed her up more than help her (ah, simpler times.) She started going to ADAPT (and sending me there as well) because some comment I made, probably in imitation of TV, caused her to wonder if maybe she'd inherited a bent toward problem drinking from her father, a notorious lout. I've never seriously seen much trouble, other than she tends to get boistrous and weird when she drinks. But maybe Eric got a bit of the ole Grampa Ross gene. Ever since he developed a taste forn the drink early last year, I've been keeping an eye on him. He probably wouldn't want me talking about this shit, so I guess it's a good thing he doesn't read this bad boy.

I'm not worried, but I do note, mentally, his mood anytime he comes home after a few brews, which as I mentioned earlier, has been often lately. Some days he's quite boistrous, but tonight he is absolutely stuck in this funk and I suspect he won't be able to sleep it off. No, I expect it to carry well over into the morning. Myself, I try to dispose of emotions when I drink. Yes, sometimes I feel bad, but I let it go and acknowledge that your body chemistry gets looser and affects you when you drink. You get moody. It happens. The key, I suppose, would be to not let it own you.

A friend of mine (if I can call Jeff that - we haven't spoken in many many months,) once said, you have to "Drink it, before it drinks you." I'm not sure that applies, but I like the saying myself.

Add to that, hey, my brother's always been just a little touchy when sober, so the drink will naturally magnify that. If I exhale or roll my eyes when he says something, he will easily get irate. So when he's drunk, and he doesn't feel like he's gotten the appreciation he deserves from the people he's working for, it's not something he can brush off. I just doubt he'll see that the incident he's upset about - which involves a bar tab and a little brush off - is quite insignificant, despite being part of the bigger problem of underappreciation.

Time, I hope, would care for this wound.

My night, by comparison, was a cake-walk. I met up with some friends/classmates; Haasim, Mansoor, Andrew S. and his girlfriend Melissa, as well as Haasim's brother and the brother's friend. We all went to see Spider-Man 3, the tickets to which Haasim had wisely pre-ordered. Sadly, a few of the people he'd ordered tickets for no-showed, so he was left with a couple unclaimed tickets that were pre-paid. And we had to hang around outside waiting for people to show (and as much as Mansoor is my friend, it was he who arrived last,) so we ended up getting shitty seats in the second row.

As much as I could enjoy a movie from that angle, I did. The cinematography was at times quite pain-inducing, and of course that atmosphereis going to affect your perception of the movie, not only visually but mentally. You're going to be less predisposed toward enjoyment. You feel like shit, so nothing can please you. Haasim in particular disliked the movie, and a few of the others agreed. I didn't, I thought it was really good, but I hope to see it properly someday so that I can be sure I am right. My memories of it, regrettably, are quite, erm, slanty.

We talked it out for a while, and after Haasim realized he wasn't going to convince me (and I already knew I wasn't going to convince him,) we said goodnight and Mansoor was nice enough to give me a ride back to Oakville along with the young lovers. As much as I was annoyed that he showed up at the near-last minute, he's such a great guy. It was a nice night apart from the strained neck.

I guess the lesson of the night is to try to enjoy things in spite of their flaws, and to, as a stupid book once put glibly as its title, don't sweat the small stuff.

Me, I just hope I can get to bed at a decent time, the way my brother stomps around when he's intoxicated. I'll probably wait until after he goes to bed, which might be a while.

He's a good guy, I can't deny. And he's getting shafted. But maybe he need not pout.

The world is full of assholes, of nthat I'm certain. When you're not, you should take pride in that and carry yourself well.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott