Saturday, January 06, 2007
The Ruining
It's no secret to anyone who reads this blog that I am a stickler for spelling and punctuation. This obsession has been forged in me from childhood, because of my competitive spirit. I have actually lost sleep after catching random typos on RAZZY.org, wondering how many more typos and misplaced commas are lingering undiscovered. People actually read this, so my copy has to be of the utmost quality. God help me if my website has poorer spelling and/or grammar than any given asshole with a MySpace page. I am driven to have the finest fucking blog on planet Earth, because I want to be better than everyone else.
I'm viciously competitive when I'm competing for something that piques my interest. However, I'm not unnecessarily competitive. I don't care if I lose things I have no skill at. I was watching Caddyshack tonight, and when I wasn't thinking "holy SHIT, Rodney Dangerfield is hilarious", it reminded me of golf, and how I suck at it. I don't mind losing at golf, because I am abysmally bad at it. If I were to play a great game of golf (great game being defined as less than thirty over par after nine holes), it would be a fucking miracle on par with Croat ragamuffins getting the secrets of the coming apocalypse from the Virgin or whatever at Medjugorje. Getting my ass kicked at golf is no problem, because I can drink while playing, make vulgar jokes about the ball-washing devices, and can expect nothing from myself except trying my best to suck as little as possible, so losing gracefully is no big deal. That is NOT the case, however, when it comes to battles of wit or intellect, and specifically those involving spelling.
I rarely resort to physical violence in arguments. I learned at a young age that the resultant trouble from slugging somebody is disproportionate to any gain from the act of punching itself. Consequently, I haven't had cause to give anyone an authentic, put-up-your-dukes knuckle sandwich for going on twenty years. However, if there is any competition that will make me an insane, go-for-the-throat opponent, it is the spelling bee.
I dominated the All Saints School (aka ASS) spelling bee starting in the second grade, where we were challenged by bullshit words like "apple" and "tree" and the more challenging "chief" and "Mississippi." That was before this chick Joy came along. Joy enrolled in my class and gave me a heaping helping of motherfucking humility. That bitch mopped the floor with my ass in the finals of our third grade spelling bee. I seem to recall a heated duel over the word "gymnasium", in which I was subsequently vanquished. I was pissed. In second grade, people called me a "human dictionary" (and at that age, this was a pejorative term, but I embraced it nonetheless). I not only took the spelling bee with ease, but I totally ruled "Around the World" when we worked with the alphabet, spelling, phonics, social studies, or anatomy. I got to skip regular school once a week to attend the goddamn gifted program, and I wasted no time telling everyone so. At the time, I could back my shit-talking up with things like pointless spelling bee victories, and was sitting pretty as the ASS resident genius. I guess I got too comfortable, because Joy showed up and snatched my credible intellectual elitism out from under my nose.
Joy became my friend because we were both nerds and could spend our time playing with our My Little Ponies and discussing The Chronicles of Narnia, but I secretly nursed a tremendous grudge. Making matters worse was her tendency to brag about spelling triumphs in regular conversation. Her behavior was the academic equivalent of one of my brother's favorite pesky-little-brother techniques: the Ruining. When I was about five, I occupied much of my time either writing and illustrating stories or building large, cult headquarter-esque structures from Lincoln Logs. I would build these elaborate, gigantic meeting halls, complete with necessary infrastructure (police station, jail, fire department, hospital, armory, etc.), that were great examples of the architectural style made famous in legendary places like Waco, TX and Jonestown, Guyana. Lil' Tevie, in true toddler little brother form, would sneak up on me and, when my back was turned, gleefully start jumping on my masterpieces. My much toiled-over Branch Davidian compound would be reduced to a pile of Lincoln Logs, and I would invariably be furious. According to my mother, in these situations I used to point at my brother and scream "He's RUINING me!" Well, that is exactly how I felt about that bitch Joy and her superior spelling ability.
When the fourth grade spelling bee rolled around, I was fucking prepared. There was no way that bitch was going to beat me in the fourth grade. I read feverishly and even copied challenging words out of the dictionary for my mom to grill me with. I showed up on spelling bee day ready to lay waste to Joy and anyone else who dared challenge my spelling prowess. Slowly the class thinned out as the words grew progressively harder, until only Joy and me were left spelling. And the bitch beat me...AGAIN. I was outraged. I had been practicing, for God's sake. I should beat people in intellectual battles without even trying, and CERTAINLY when I actually practice. Joy was congratulated, and our class was dismissed to the parking lot for recess.
While the other kids were busy playing hit the jerk with the tennis balls Manny Rivera and Joe Whelan always carried with them for this purpose, I calmly strolled up to Joy. I think she thought I was going to say something gracious, and actually be a good sport. Fuck that. I was incensed.
"You won," I said venomously.
"No hard feelings?" she said.
I didn't respond. I seethed at her for a moment. Then I closed up my fist, and punched her square in the nose.
I remember being disappointed at both the lack of a satisfying crunching sound and the absence of the "thwack" sound that movies led me to believe results from slugging someone in the face. I also remember being completely alarmed at how much my hand hurt. Blood started pouring out of Joy's nose onto her Peter Pan collar, ASS sweatshirt, and lloyd plaid pleated uniform skirt, so my attempt at vengeance wasn't entirely unsuccessful.
Unfortunately, my victory in the gladiatorial arena was short-lived. I was promptly dragged into the principal's office, and my parents received phone calls at work. I got in BIG TIME trouble with the folks, and was restricted from phone calls, computer games, slumber parties, and Babysitter's Club books for a solid month. I couldn't believe it. I thought that if I couldn't win at spelling, a pugilist victory would mitigate the sting of defeat, and the adults would understand. When they didn't, and I got in trouble, it was like Joy beating me all over again. That bitch was ruining me, in spite of my best effort to ruin her.
In fifth grade, I got pneumonia and was out of school for several weeks recuperating, thus missing the spelling bee that year due to absentia. It was just as well, because I didn't think I could stomach another loss to Joy. The year after that, she moved to a different school, and I handily won the sixth grade competition. I went to the Pierce County Private School district competition, and took first prize in that by mowing down inferior spellers from St. Charles and Visitation like I was Cortes and they were the Incas. I got my picture in the Tacoma News Tribune and went on to compete in the Pierce County finals.
I walked in to the room at Tacoma Community College where the county finals were being held prepared for epic battle. I was wearing a very stylish banana clip in my freshly permed hair, a pair of Guess jeans with zippers at the ankle, and a neon windbreaker. I was ready to destroy all the other district winners, until I heard something that fucked up my game BIG TIME.
"Hey, Razzy! I thought you'd be here!" a familiar voice said. I turned and saw Joy sitting there, looking smug. Apparently she'd won the Orting district competition, and once again, we were going to throw down. "Good luck!" she said sweetly. I managed to return the sentiment in an irritable and insincere tone, and resolved to outspell this hooker once and for all.
When the competition started, I did well for the first three rounds until I came across the word that was my undoing. I still grit my teeth in anger when I come across this word now. I have to write it all the time in my lab notebook with respect to sacrificing mice using carbon dioxide gas, and every time I do I seethe just a little bit inside. I remember standing on that stage, looking at the three solemn judges moderating the spelling bee, and hearing the word that was my downfall.
"Your word is...asphyxiate," said the head judge.
I had no fucking clue how to spell this word. I stalled, asking for the definition, asking for it to be used in a sentence, etc. I was hoping to get a flash of divine inspiration, but I did not.
I finally had to suck it up and give it a try. "A-S-S-F-I-X-I-A-T-E. Assfixiate."
Although I'm still convinced that "assfixiate" should be a word, I was appalled to see the judges raise the red flag indicating that I was wrong. I went to my seat cursing myself for failing to ask the word origin, believing that if I'd heard this word had Greek roots I would have spelled it with one "s" and a "phy". This bothers me so much to this day that I'll go to my grave wishing a pox upon the house of whoever included the word "asphyxiate" in that county-wide spelling bee competition.
Then it was Joy's turn. Her word was ventriloquist. Fucking ventriloquist! I got asphyxiate and that bitch lands an easy word like ventriloquist! I wanted to shout something dramatic, like, "This contest is a travesty! It is FIXED!", but since my parents were sitting there and encouraging me to be a good sport, I simply sat and fumed, stomping my LA Gear Brats periodically in anger. Ultimately, Joy lasted long enough to win fourth place.
I never made it back to the county competition. Although I continued to dominate the ASS spelling bee in seventh and eighth grade, I took second in the districts both those years. This kid Jason Dye beat me both times, and promptly got his ass handed to him at county. I could only console myself by dominating the ASS geography bee and the Puyallup Valley Piano Olympics (where, I'm proud to say, I took home blue ribbons for note-reading and--my favorite--fingering). By a strange coincidence, my high school best friend G-Boner knew Joy from Orting, and in high school we met up and smoked pot with her a couple times, but I still could never really get over the fact that I never defeated her in spelling competition. The fact that she dropped out of high school, and may have won the spelling bee but clearly lost to me in the game of life, was of little consequence. I can't let the spelling bee go. I remember sitting around in some field in Orting getting stoned and saying something along the lines of, "Remember how I rearranged your face after you beat me in the spelling bee? Man, that was awesome." She said she only vaguely recalled that, as her most vivid All Saints spelling memory was of repeatedly defeating me. Fucking bitch.
That is why I am so fucking picky about spelling and grammar now, because my dreams of spelling glory were summarily crushed by Joy, the Ruiner. I think that, one day, if Joy starts looking for useless bullshit on the internet and happens to stumble across my site, she'll be like, "God damn, Razzy is so superior in her command of the written word that I was one LUCKY-ASS BITCH to have ever beaten her in the spelling bee. I'm not worthy!" And that's why I'm so vigilant about spelling. Go asphyxiate yourself, Joy.
I'm viciously competitive when I'm competing for something that piques my interest. However, I'm not unnecessarily competitive. I don't care if I lose things I have no skill at. I was watching Caddyshack tonight, and when I wasn't thinking "holy SHIT, Rodney Dangerfield is hilarious", it reminded me of golf, and how I suck at it. I don't mind losing at golf, because I am abysmally bad at it. If I were to play a great game of golf (great game being defined as less than thirty over par after nine holes), it would be a fucking miracle on par with Croat ragamuffins getting the secrets of the coming apocalypse from the Virgin or whatever at Medjugorje. Getting my ass kicked at golf is no problem, because I can drink while playing, make vulgar jokes about the ball-washing devices, and can expect nothing from myself except trying my best to suck as little as possible, so losing gracefully is no big deal. That is NOT the case, however, when it comes to battles of wit or intellect, and specifically those involving spelling.
I rarely resort to physical violence in arguments. I learned at a young age that the resultant trouble from slugging somebody is disproportionate to any gain from the act of punching itself. Consequently, I haven't had cause to give anyone an authentic, put-up-your-dukes knuckle sandwich for going on twenty years. However, if there is any competition that will make me an insane, go-for-the-throat opponent, it is the spelling bee.
I dominated the All Saints School (aka ASS) spelling bee starting in the second grade, where we were challenged by bullshit words like "apple" and "tree" and the more challenging "chief" and "Mississippi." That was before this chick Joy came along. Joy enrolled in my class and gave me a heaping helping of motherfucking humility. That bitch mopped the floor with my ass in the finals of our third grade spelling bee. I seem to recall a heated duel over the word "gymnasium", in which I was subsequently vanquished. I was pissed. In second grade, people called me a "human dictionary" (and at that age, this was a pejorative term, but I embraced it nonetheless). I not only took the spelling bee with ease, but I totally ruled "Around the World" when we worked with the alphabet, spelling, phonics, social studies, or anatomy. I got to skip regular school once a week to attend the goddamn gifted program, and I wasted no time telling everyone so. At the time, I could back my shit-talking up with things like pointless spelling bee victories, and was sitting pretty as the ASS resident genius. I guess I got too comfortable, because Joy showed up and snatched my credible intellectual elitism out from under my nose.
Joy became my friend because we were both nerds and could spend our time playing with our My Little Ponies and discussing The Chronicles of Narnia, but I secretly nursed a tremendous grudge. Making matters worse was her tendency to brag about spelling triumphs in regular conversation. Her behavior was the academic equivalent of one of my brother's favorite pesky-little-brother techniques: the Ruining. When I was about five, I occupied much of my time either writing and illustrating stories or building large, cult headquarter-esque structures from Lincoln Logs. I would build these elaborate, gigantic meeting halls, complete with necessary infrastructure (police station, jail, fire department, hospital, armory, etc.), that were great examples of the architectural style made famous in legendary places like Waco, TX and Jonestown, Guyana. Lil' Tevie, in true toddler little brother form, would sneak up on me and, when my back was turned, gleefully start jumping on my masterpieces. My much toiled-over Branch Davidian compound would be reduced to a pile of Lincoln Logs, and I would invariably be furious. According to my mother, in these situations I used to point at my brother and scream "He's RUINING me!" Well, that is exactly how I felt about that bitch Joy and her superior spelling ability.
When the fourth grade spelling bee rolled around, I was fucking prepared. There was no way that bitch was going to beat me in the fourth grade. I read feverishly and even copied challenging words out of the dictionary for my mom to grill me with. I showed up on spelling bee day ready to lay waste to Joy and anyone else who dared challenge my spelling prowess. Slowly the class thinned out as the words grew progressively harder, until only Joy and me were left spelling. And the bitch beat me...AGAIN. I was outraged. I had been practicing, for God's sake. I should beat people in intellectual battles without even trying, and CERTAINLY when I actually practice. Joy was congratulated, and our class was dismissed to the parking lot for recess.
While the other kids were busy playing hit the jerk with the tennis balls Manny Rivera and Joe Whelan always carried with them for this purpose, I calmly strolled up to Joy. I think she thought I was going to say something gracious, and actually be a good sport. Fuck that. I was incensed.
"You won," I said venomously.
"No hard feelings?" she said.
I didn't respond. I seethed at her for a moment. Then I closed up my fist, and punched her square in the nose.
I remember being disappointed at both the lack of a satisfying crunching sound and the absence of the "thwack" sound that movies led me to believe results from slugging someone in the face. I also remember being completely alarmed at how much my hand hurt. Blood started pouring out of Joy's nose onto her Peter Pan collar, ASS sweatshirt, and lloyd plaid pleated uniform skirt, so my attempt at vengeance wasn't entirely unsuccessful.
Unfortunately, my victory in the gladiatorial arena was short-lived. I was promptly dragged into the principal's office, and my parents received phone calls at work. I got in BIG TIME trouble with the folks, and was restricted from phone calls, computer games, slumber parties, and Babysitter's Club books for a solid month. I couldn't believe it. I thought that if I couldn't win at spelling, a pugilist victory would mitigate the sting of defeat, and the adults would understand. When they didn't, and I got in trouble, it was like Joy beating me all over again. That bitch was ruining me, in spite of my best effort to ruin her.
In fifth grade, I got pneumonia and was out of school for several weeks recuperating, thus missing the spelling bee that year due to absentia. It was just as well, because I didn't think I could stomach another loss to Joy. The year after that, she moved to a different school, and I handily won the sixth grade competition. I went to the Pierce County Private School district competition, and took first prize in that by mowing down inferior spellers from St. Charles and Visitation like I was Cortes and they were the Incas. I got my picture in the Tacoma News Tribune and went on to compete in the Pierce County finals.
I walked in to the room at Tacoma Community College where the county finals were being held prepared for epic battle. I was wearing a very stylish banana clip in my freshly permed hair, a pair of Guess jeans with zippers at the ankle, and a neon windbreaker. I was ready to destroy all the other district winners, until I heard something that fucked up my game BIG TIME.
"Hey, Razzy! I thought you'd be here!" a familiar voice said. I turned and saw Joy sitting there, looking smug. Apparently she'd won the Orting district competition, and once again, we were going to throw down. "Good luck!" she said sweetly. I managed to return the sentiment in an irritable and insincere tone, and resolved to outspell this hooker once and for all.
When the competition started, I did well for the first three rounds until I came across the word that was my undoing. I still grit my teeth in anger when I come across this word now. I have to write it all the time in my lab notebook with respect to sacrificing mice using carbon dioxide gas, and every time I do I seethe just a little bit inside. I remember standing on that stage, looking at the three solemn judges moderating the spelling bee, and hearing the word that was my downfall.
"Your word is...asphyxiate," said the head judge.
I had no fucking clue how to spell this word. I stalled, asking for the definition, asking for it to be used in a sentence, etc. I was hoping to get a flash of divine inspiration, but I did not.
I finally had to suck it up and give it a try. "A-S-S-F-I-X-I-A-T-E. Assfixiate."
Although I'm still convinced that "assfixiate" should be a word, I was appalled to see the judges raise the red flag indicating that I was wrong. I went to my seat cursing myself for failing to ask the word origin, believing that if I'd heard this word had Greek roots I would have spelled it with one "s" and a "phy". This bothers me so much to this day that I'll go to my grave wishing a pox upon the house of whoever included the word "asphyxiate" in that county-wide spelling bee competition.
Then it was Joy's turn. Her word was ventriloquist. Fucking ventriloquist! I got asphyxiate and that bitch lands an easy word like ventriloquist! I wanted to shout something dramatic, like, "This contest is a travesty! It is FIXED!", but since my parents were sitting there and encouraging me to be a good sport, I simply sat and fumed, stomping my LA Gear Brats periodically in anger. Ultimately, Joy lasted long enough to win fourth place.
I never made it back to the county competition. Although I continued to dominate the ASS spelling bee in seventh and eighth grade, I took second in the districts both those years. This kid Jason Dye beat me both times, and promptly got his ass handed to him at county. I could only console myself by dominating the ASS geography bee and the Puyallup Valley Piano Olympics (where, I'm proud to say, I took home blue ribbons for note-reading and--my favorite--fingering). By a strange coincidence, my high school best friend G-Boner knew Joy from Orting, and in high school we met up and smoked pot with her a couple times, but I still could never really get over the fact that I never defeated her in spelling competition. The fact that she dropped out of high school, and may have won the spelling bee but clearly lost to me in the game of life, was of little consequence. I can't let the spelling bee go. I remember sitting around in some field in Orting getting stoned and saying something along the lines of, "Remember how I rearranged your face after you beat me in the spelling bee? Man, that was awesome." She said she only vaguely recalled that, as her most vivid All Saints spelling memory was of repeatedly defeating me. Fucking bitch.
That is why I am so fucking picky about spelling and grammar now, because my dreams of spelling glory were summarily crushed by Joy, the Ruiner. I think that, one day, if Joy starts looking for useless bullshit on the internet and happens to stumble across my site, she'll be like, "God damn, Razzy is so superior in her command of the written word that I was one LUCKY-ASS BITCH to have ever beaten her in the spelling bee. I'm not worthy!" And that's why I'm so vigilant about spelling. Go asphyxiate yourself, Joy.
Labels: assholes, comeuppance, grammar gestapo, oh the horror, overcompensation, ranting, scathing indictments, vengeance is sweet
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