Tag Archives: nathan fillion

Mal Means Bad (in the Latin)

How heavy, thine heart?
I’ll weigh it on a grey scale
and then I guess we’ll talk.
Do you recall the time you told me,
“Mal means ‘bad’ in Latin?”

I still speak in tongues and lips and fingertips,
and I keep stuttering semantics, and I always
let you fall for it, making meaning out
of every fated kiss; and I hoped that it
would never come to this

but it always does its part
I’ll weigh it on a grey scale
and then I guess we’ll talk.
Do you recall the time you told me,
“Mal means ‘bad’ in Latin?”

As always, art is open
to the interpretation
of the patron, and while I may
have lost you in translation,
I was found sleeping soundly
in a sea of constellations where
I drowned beneath the comfortable
blankets of abyss, its never-ending
nothingness reminding me
of all that I had missed.

Though I’m hardly a scientist, it seems
to be my density, and not my mass,
that helps me stay afloat; I guess that I’ve
been lying to myself all along. My heart
has only half the hallowed substance of
the ocean that it swallows (albeit eloquently),
but like drinking too much water, you
can drown your cells and suffocate yourself
until you choke; if that’s a metaphor,

I meant it for my heart
I’ll weigh it on a grey scale
and then I guess we’ll talk.
Do you recall the time you told me,
“Mal means ‘bad’ in Latin?”

My betrayal knows no tragedy, and so
my greatest stories have all spilled
from my own pen, and my authenticity
is never called to question, like the
greatest of the dead white men; it seems
I will not go down in history as the
soft romantic man that I believe myself
to be. Instead, I leave my Juliets for
dead and carry on, never stopping
long enough to wonder if I’m wrong.

To Be or Not To Be That Guy: Beer Edition

“Don’t be That Guy!” is a popular phrase that permeates most of the social groups within which the writer regularly interacts, where “That Guy” functions as a proper noun to identify a very specific type of Homo Sapien engaged in a loud and raucous social setting, typically a concert or musical event, wearing the shirt of the musical artist that he or she is seeing at that very same event. That Guy is generally viewed as a social leper by the bourgeois-hipster class, who feel that it is unnecessary for a person to wear the shirt, and thereby show support, of the band that he (or she) is going to see, as one’s presence at a concert should in and of itself be indicative of one’s devotion to said musical artist. As such, the social status of That Guy is seen as lowly, pathetic and desperate by other members of its social caste, as he or she is seen to be yearning hopelessly to impress both the members of the performing musical collective, as well as the rest of the audience.

This past weekend, however, the writer became privy to an even more bizarre sub-phenomenon within That Guy culture. En route to the American Craft Beer Festival in Boston, Massachusetts, a festive social gathering of barley, hops, and drunkards, a small but noticeable crowd of Ya Dudes (see Chapter 7, “Ya Dudes”) were seen bounding up the stairs, wearing t-shirts that in fact showed their support of the American Craft Beer Festival in Boston, Massachusetts over this past weekend. Again, it is typically assumed that one’s presence at such a festival denotes one’s support of said festival; however, these fuckers were exactly the kind of meat-heads that chase their Jager Bombs with testosterone and made the rest of my night fucking miserable by constantly grunting and chest-bumping, so all hope of talking sense to them was moot. One would presume that this aggressive display of That Guyity stems from a collective urge to differentiate the group’s identity from that of the aforementioned Ya Dude subculture by asserting an affection and respect for the craft of brewing that exceeds that with which Ya Dudes are typically associated but thereby inadvertently compartmentalizing themselves as members of the same subculture whose stereotypes they had originally wished to avoid. One would hypothesize that these individuals would have been better served by forgoing the none-too-subtly-camouflaged cargo shorts and product-supported phallic hairstyles, in obvious addition to the t-shirts they wore in support of the Craft Beer Festival that they were already attending.

Later that evening, the writer also attended a screening of the Joss Whedon film “Serenity,” (along with “Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog”) wherein it was discovered in the attending demographic a proportional relationship between obesity/social awkwardness and That Guy as well (additionally, there is an even more bizarre That Guy derivative that stems from this culture, in which an individual finds it appropriate to wear an XXL [or larger] t-shirt, regardless of his or her actual weight, that declares his or her support for the musical entity known as “Metallica,” [and their offshoot, “Megadeth”] at all times).