4:05 pm | 12 December 2003 | antic-social

A recent typo on The Wizard's Bungalow--"antic-social" instead of "antisocial"--got me to thinking. Contrary to the complete social genius I may present myself as on this website, I can actually be an agoraphobic, socialtarded weirdo as first-meeting-type situations occur. That's why i love art openings so much, I think. It is perfectly acceptable--no, wait, pretty much required--for you to bust in, grab as much free wine as you can, and then roam around solo, peering at photographs and stuffing spinach dip and brie en croute into your mug, all while projecting an air of "fascinating, yet aloof, and also really really interested in this large silver gelatin print of rocks." THAT? I can do, and do with aplomb, gusto, and sass. All my clothes are black! I am mostly thin but sort of potbellied in an acceptably-art-quirky-physiognomy kind of way (i keep telling myself keep telling myself)! I have a wide array of weird scarves and chunky jewellery! I BELONG at art openings goddamnit!

We have already also all covered together my need to dance. At parties where dancing happens, I am more than ready to hijack your Jim Beam and jump up on a table. Oh no, it's true. When the cops broke up our Fourth of July party, who was that hottie in the picture window, belting out "Tiiiiiiin roof! rusted" all obnoxiously, in three seconds immediately after the stereo was silenced, and despite really kind of HATING the B-52s? Oh yes. It was me. i was Wastor the Destroyer at that point, and i made the cops giggle. So dancing? Hell yes. My card is already full, and i'm dancin with myself, just like Billy Idol.

Where I do not belong, frequently, emphatically, is at sit-around-and-talk parties with people I don't know. I am flighty and freaky. I dart around like a bird trapped in the house, perching on the edges of furniture (I am kind of known for this, for only sitting on chair-arms when I am nervous). Unlike a bird, I try not to crap on the floor, but it doesn't help things. I am fidgety, prone to breaking things (making the awkwardness worse), talking too fast and waving my hands. And this is what sprang (heh) to mind when i read antic-social. Because either the evening concludes with my having done nothing, having sat quietly and observed until the night's end, or with the horrible option of anticness.

What happens is this: I get asked a question. I answer it, usually kind of overemphatically or theatrically, testing the water for humour, and it goes over well. And then i become a monster. It's all over! The circular 1920s hand dancing comes out! The Esther Merman voice! The improv, the charades, the one-man-banding! Impersonations! Digressions! Light, colour, sound! And, in seven hours, a hangover, and the lingering feeling that maybe i was a leetle too freaky-deaky and animate. It's a subtle form of mania. Or is it...antic-social behaviour?! Yes, yes it is. RAMA LAMA DING DONG! clm.