I remember in highschool we had a friend who looked like Shrek personified. He hated it when we would tease him endlessly about this relationship. I never gave him peace from this frustration, as it gave me great pleasure to point out his similarity. I suppose this entry is a way of saying that he got the last laugh.
I enjoyed teasing him about it so much because I knew then, as I know now, that in actualy I am the real Shrek. I've always felt like the big ogre in the group, and the group has always made me feel like the big ogre. The natural tendancy of my presense is to scare people away, in a regular ogre-like fashion. To compensate for the fear brought on by my oversized presence, I've armed myself with an over-developed sense of humour. With each delivery of comical genius, the ogre's ogerness is looked past, as the townspeople begin to see that their fears are unwarranted.
I don't mind mentioning at this point that in fact all of my closest friendships have been founded on this principle of motivated humour. I suppose that at the face of it there's a natural and optimistic macro-explanation for all of this. After all, everybody uses the tools afforded to them to achieve their goals - a samurai will use his sword. All the same, in the face of things, as much as my humour allows me to walk the streets of the township without fears of subsequent pitchfork attacks, I'm reminded every-so-often that I infact am not a townsperson, I remain an ogre. Subtlety is harder than most people think.
1 comment:
True enough. Especially in the second movie. The donkey owes most of his social woes to his annoying nature although. I like to think that's not the case with me. :)
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