I'm A Smart Mouth in Any Language
[i.e. a wicked tongue is fun when you're learning tongues]
Benjamin Kissell
I wonder why I look so angry:
could someone be calling me out on my plaid shirt and torn denim?
Every so often it's pointed out to me that my raging narcissism and snarky tongue have been around far longer than I may be aware of. Recently I was taken to task for the declared self-perception that in high school I was a mildly popular geek instead of a sarcastic, eye-rolling, smart aleck with a filthy mind and foul mouth whose quasi-egocentrism presented a somewhat cocky and yet alluring persona. A smart mouth in any language, so to say.
Huh. Perhaps this warrants examination?
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Perhaps this isn't the best photo to try and persuade you that I was "cool"?
Please ignore the insane face I am making behind my mother and friends.
In high school I was sure I had "geek cred". Not because of my expansive Star Trek/Wars book collections or penchant for comic books, but because I was a card-carrying member of the school Latin club.
Initially I didn't have much of a say in the foreign language matter [my Mum is a kick-ass Latin teacher, have I mentioned?], but by Junior year I relished it. A good chunk of this was due to having Mum for my teacher - only occasionally awkward because I never knew what to call her (Ms. Kissell seemed too formal since everyone knew I was her son and Mum wasn't respectful enough in a classroom). The fact that I have her twisted sense of humor sealed the deal on the cool factor; put the two of us together and we're practically a small Vaudeville show for you. We entertained the snot (sometimes literally - I'm looking at you, Jeremy) out of my classmates and friends and, yet, we still found time to be educational!
One of the best factors in our two years of upper-level Latin was that our classes were small and tightknit. We all knew, liked and played well off of each other (tho' Mum and I were in a league of our own ... crap, there's that narcissism. Whoops) often breaking the relative dryness of translating Vergil or Caesar with snark [see, I wasn't the only one doing it!]. Frances, Katie, Robbie, Katrina, Sara and the rest of us tossed bawdy translations and ribald jokes with practiced ease ... well, all of us that is, except Zack.
You see, Zack was ... um ... the nice one of us. The polite one. The quiet and properly All-American guy whose humor was straightforward, clean and sweet like apple pie. And yet, despite this, he was one of my best friends.
Go figure.
Between two years of class and Virginia Junior Classical League Conventions we slowly chipped away at his innocent veneer - most especially Katie, Sara and me. We found it our moral duty to help indoctrinate Zack into the sarcastic, mildly-filthy-minded and snarky world we inhabited.
[Okay, I see the point made earlier - I definitely was a smart-aleck and kinda wrong back then ... not the dorky, squeaky clean nerd I thought I was. But, hey: I never went to a high school party that wasn't Homecoming or Prom as I didn't want to lose what few cool points I had by having to refuse beer/drugs. Wow, I just lost them again, didn't I?]
VJCL Convention November 2000 Front row: Sara, Katrina, Frances
Middle row: me, Katie, Zack, Lindsey Back: Jeremy
photo courtesy of Mum and my shitty camera.
Probably the finest example of our corruptive influence - aside from Zack's/my Freshman year in college [stories for another time, perhaps?] would be when we would translate Catullus' love poetry.
Catullus, you see, is a famous (possibly infamous) Roman poet with a wicked wit when it comes to love and - like any good poet - couched his raunch in hyperbole and metaphor. One piece about his lady-love (pseudonymed Lesbia) comments about her stroking/petting his pet sparrow in the stands at the games; his jaunty wobble and hopping into her lap; his loving it when she'd stroke his red head; his deep sorrow when Lesbia leaves him and his sparrow dies.
[You get the picture, right? Your filthy mind is rollicking in laughter, correct?]
Zack's not-filthy mind wasn't in the gutter beside ours.
While Black-Adder-loving Jeremy sniggered in front of me, brawny Robbie rumbled his chuckles beside me, I could see Katie's shoulders heaving with suppressed giggles ahead, and Mum's face open with glee and a quirked eyebrow ... Zack's hand was raised in consternation.
"Guys, it's just a bird - why are you laughing?"
"His pet sparrow is dead - what're you laughing at?"
"Robbie, why're you laughing - it's sad when someone's pet dies. Jeeze."
The following 10 minute conversation as the class teamed up to explain - and prove we weren't just pulling his leg about it - was filled with such wide-eyed innocence on his part it almost made me feel guilty force-opening his eyes.
Almost.
Despite his heated protestations that "it's just a sparrow" we eventually convinced him otherwise. I think.
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Yepp ... there is definite merit to this "sarcastic, foul-mouthed" label pre- 20 something.
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