What happened to the Drivler
The Drivler is an interesting figure. He cuts a swath, as one might say. He is not me. I think that's important. Not that I'm above coming up with alter egos and making websites for those alter egos, it's just that I didn't. The Drivler was, however, the best man at my wedding and I figure that gives me some leeway so as to describe what happenned to him.
Let me start by saying that Driv is one of the smartest people I've ever met. That's true. But he's also sort of the craziest. You'd never know. He's managed to erect a personality, a mask if you will, that covers up those crazy moments so that when he's at his worst, there would be no way to tell unless, like me, you were allowed brief glimpses behind the charade into the boiling ego of what-have-you. I'd say self doubt, but that so barely cuts it.
In any case, this drive to failure and self criticism was driven to excess by the once a semester requirement that he write a twenty page paper, and it was this pressure that finally did his academic career in. He simply could not write the paper. No idea was ingenious enough, it all smacked of banality, there was nothing to it, etc..
Tangentially, one summer, Herr Drivler announced that he would be reading Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus. But of course, before he read that work, he ought to familiarize himself with Goethe's Faust. And before reading that, well...Marlowe. But of course, Marlowe didn't come up with the tale. There were older more provential sources, and the Drivler planned on reading those first, along, of course, with all the biblical sources necessary to fully understand the cultural, spiritual, and material meanings behind a deal with the devil.
He never got to Mann's Doctor Faustus as far as I know, and if he did, I am willing to bet that he did not skip a single intermediary step.
That's what the Drivler did. He could quote from Seneca. Who the hell quotes from Seneca? But somehow, the choice of the "right" quote was killing him.
So, he dropped out. He got a job. He worked as a temp among people with third grade educations. He slipped out of the system as quickly and quietly as he could.
Now, what does he do? He schedules trucking routes for a furniture delivery place and no one there has any idea what lurks within their midst. He is probably the smartest person in the town where he works, if not the entire state, but that doesn't really matter. He fills out charts, he schedules routes, he takes phone calls and fills out paperwork.
Look, I'm not Ginsberg here. This is not a "I've seen the greatest minds of my generation..." sort of moment. If the Drivler hadn't slipped out, I am sure that he would not be here today. It's as simple as that, but still, there's something about it that I, to this day, can't get my mind around. I want to be happy for him, and I am, but there's something distresing about the fact that he's filling out TPS reports.
Or maybe it's the fact that even after a year of having his brain leeched out in such work, he's still getting more out of what he reads than I do.
Oh yeah, and he's become daoist...or maybe he was daoist and now he's just willing to take the laughter. I'm not really sure.
Let me start by saying that Driv is one of the smartest people I've ever met. That's true. But he's also sort of the craziest. You'd never know. He's managed to erect a personality, a mask if you will, that covers up those crazy moments so that when he's at his worst, there would be no way to tell unless, like me, you were allowed brief glimpses behind the charade into the boiling ego of what-have-you. I'd say self doubt, but that so barely cuts it.
In any case, this drive to failure and self criticism was driven to excess by the once a semester requirement that he write a twenty page paper, and it was this pressure that finally did his academic career in. He simply could not write the paper. No idea was ingenious enough, it all smacked of banality, there was nothing to it, etc..
Tangentially, one summer, Herr Drivler announced that he would be reading Thomas Mann's Doctor Faustus. But of course, before he read that work, he ought to familiarize himself with Goethe's Faust. And before reading that, well...Marlowe. But of course, Marlowe didn't come up with the tale. There were older more provential sources, and the Drivler planned on reading those first, along, of course, with all the biblical sources necessary to fully understand the cultural, spiritual, and material meanings behind a deal with the devil.
He never got to Mann's Doctor Faustus as far as I know, and if he did, I am willing to bet that he did not skip a single intermediary step.
That's what the Drivler did. He could quote from Seneca. Who the hell quotes from Seneca? But somehow, the choice of the "right" quote was killing him.
So, he dropped out. He got a job. He worked as a temp among people with third grade educations. He slipped out of the system as quickly and quietly as he could.
Now, what does he do? He schedules trucking routes for a furniture delivery place and no one there has any idea what lurks within their midst. He is probably the smartest person in the town where he works, if not the entire state, but that doesn't really matter. He fills out charts, he schedules routes, he takes phone calls and fills out paperwork.
Look, I'm not Ginsberg here. This is not a "I've seen the greatest minds of my generation..." sort of moment. If the Drivler hadn't slipped out, I am sure that he would not be here today. It's as simple as that, but still, there's something about it that I, to this day, can't get my mind around. I want to be happy for him, and I am, but there's something distresing about the fact that he's filling out TPS reports.
Or maybe it's the fact that even after a year of having his brain leeched out in such work, he's still getting more out of what he reads than I do.
Oh yeah, and he's become daoist...or maybe he was daoist and now he's just willing to take the laughter. I'm not really sure.
posted by Monstro D. Whale at
9:14 AM
2 Comments:
Initially, I found that a little freaky -- the part about alter egos and such. I've often wondered how common that sort of thing is (and, believe it or not, am tempted to try it myself at some point). But that's another topic...
I've known one or two such people as well -- the John Nashes, the Will Huntings. Two come to mind, actually. And, they're both utterly brilliant and yet more or less insane for all practical purposes (or, one is; sadly, the other killed himself a while back).
I'll admit that I've been jealous of such gifted people in the past, even while learning a great deal from them. But, maybe it's better to be simply "above average" -- as I said, for practical purposes. The ability to cope with the insignificant details, to go through the routine of, as you say, churning out the dull term papers of life (meant as a metaphor for all of that crap). Maybe you have to work harder for things, but you feel better about doing so... I don't know.
Ironically, the Driv's idea of banality would've still probably produced one of the more interesting term papers in the classes you describe -- had he been able to just crank them out without caring. Too bad he doesn't blog anymore, though.
Well, I gotta run... gotta get back to the novel, which I'm currently behind on.
ps No big loss on his not getting to Doktor Faustus, right? That may've led him to Death in Venice, which, to be honest, always skeeved me out (in that whole NAMBLA kind of way).
Supposedly, Death In Venice was Mann's rewrite of Lolita (or is it the other way around). In any case, my problem with Mann isn't that he's creepy--it's that he's boring.
You will be happy to know that I am not in the contest, but I do have a pretty good idea for the writing thing. Is it too late to join? Probably. I'll just print the stuff here...when I get time.
Lastly, there are no other alter-egos of the Monstro out there...sadly. I have to deal with the fact that this is my best blog and can't write about it as if somewhere out there under the name of Biggie Big and the Small Giants, I'm managing to redefine the written word into an amazing foray of language (de)-(ce)ntering. I'm just...you know...kind of occassionally angry.
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