.............................................. .* * \ /\ .* O . . .. ..O .. 353 12 May 2001 ) ( ') .* O O* o o o o o o o ( / ) * ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)| * O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "Charisma Retarded" * * O * *. o |\ _,,,---,,_ * * /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ * * |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Infernal * * '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o *. .......................................* 'Anada is cat-friendly..o*` I’ve had a secret affliction all my life, and it’s time to tell the world about it. I didn’t have a name for it, or really even know something was wrong, until about a year and a half ago, when I went into business with a guy who could sell, as they say, refrigerators to Eskimos. Shit, he was so good, he could probably go back to those igloos a week later, after buyer’s remorse set in and the poor stupid fucks realized they didn’t have anywhere to plug the damn thing in, and sell them an extended warranty plan and a half dozen ice cube trays. He was that good. Watching him in action, I was astonished. He embodied every slick talker who’d ever put one over on my stammering ass. He was every guy in a band who could walk into a room full of strangers and make them all think he belonged there before soundcheck, while I set up my drums in the corner and nodded uncomfortably at all the people I didn’t know, and slept in the van rather than ask anyone for a place to crash. He was the Big Man On Campus, the baby-kissing politician, and the fox in the henhouse when women were around, and I was the tongue-tied wallflower, rarely speaking even when spoken to. People who came into our establishment during that time always tell me how I was “the pissed off guy behind the computer” and he was the glad-handing friend to all. I finally figured out what my problem is – I’m charisma retarded. Some people can charm strangers, make conversation on a plane, and think nothing of treating a total unknown at the bar like their best and most cherished friend. I, on the other hand, silently observe - I keep my mouth closed and my eyes wide, I don’t flirt, I talk to the people I already know like they’re a fort I can hide behind. It’s not really shyness, I don’t think, although I’m sure there’s some of that lingering from my childhood. In my own environment, I can converse and cut up with the best of them. On my turf, I can tell a stranger to fuck off, or treat anyone like I’ve been sitting here all day just waiting for them to come in and talk to me. In my own place, though, people come to me – it’s more on my terms, I think. It’s not really an equal relationship. On neutral ground, I’m so transparent as to disappear in the wrong light. So what’s my deal? I don’t harvest phone numbers on a night out at the bar, I stand and watch the bands, or I talk to the friends I have there, which are few in number. When I do venture out in public, which is relatively rare, I’m in and back out of where I need to go – you’ll never see me striking up a gabfest with someone behind me in line at the grocery store, and when someone does it to me I want to drop through the floor and make my way home through the storm sewers. I’ve got friendly relations going with people I see every day at the post office, or the bank – I mean, I’m not some aloof asshole. I think it just has to do with mindset, more than anything. I’d rather save my words for the small circle of people who listen, really listen to them, and are equally appreciative when I listen to theirs. Membership in my inner circle is beyond exclusive, because it’s not even something anyone would want, really – the few who’ve made the effort to get to know me are in, and I hope that in my every word and action I let them know how much they mean to me. As for the rest – what do I, or they, have to gain by schmoozing up a “friendship” larded with lies and cloying how-do-you-do catch phrases? Who has time for that shit? I’ve been on a mission (a not altogether successful one, mostly) to simplify my life for some time now – the last thing I need is to, figuratively speaking, stack a bunch of these phonies in the corner of my attic “for later” and let them sit and rot. Better to cut off the flow of hot air at its source. This means I won’t get served at the bar ahead of the twinkly-eyed smiler with the mouthful of charm (who inevitably mouths “bitch!” at the barmaid’s back if she takes too long to fetch his lager) – but when she does make it down to me, I’ll show respect, and I’ll tip better, because my feet know how much her job sucks. I’ll cut a path a millimeter thick through the world of the bullshit artists – before I’m even out the door, they’ll have forgotten I was there. The stealth nerd, the secret geek, spying on their wasted breaths and dipshit dances. But to my friends and me, we’re all fucking king size. And for those who judge me by my work and my words, or choose to get to know me, they’ll have the only thing I have to offer worth anything, which is my everlasting respect and gratitude. “Family” and “brotherhood” are more than hoary hardcore cliches. To those of us who are charisma retarded, they’re the yardstick by which we measure whether someone’s worth talking to. I’m not old, but I’m too old already for wasting breath on meaningless people and their bar games. Teenage angst is tired and long gone – I know who I am, and what I’m worth. Some of these people I see out have spent so long, convincing so many, of their merits, that the sales pitch is all that’s left of them. Their influence and their self-security is a mile wide and an inch thick, and when they dry up in the light of scrutiny, there’ll be a hundred other human puddles to take their place. So now that I’ve recognized my charisma retardation, rather than look for a support group or go on Oprah, I think I’ll embrace it. My life is a line in the sand, and if I’m not talking to you, that means you haven’t crossed it yet – you’re welcome to, but I’m certainly not going to drag you across it. I have enough friends if you don’t. And if I have nothing to say to you, I’m not going to pretend I do, because I’m already busy enough. Charisma is for people with too much time on their hands. .................................................................. /\_/\ * ( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada353 by Infernal o > ^ < o ********************************************************************