Value in Self-Deprecating: The Roast of Wes R. Kasik

I have a tendency to take myself too seriously. (Pause for laughter). Glass Duffle readers that know me personally will agree that in my haste to be something or do something, I often become oblivious to how ridiculous I appear to the outside world. Today, I take myself down a notch. Or five.

Self-deprecating, defined as being modest about or critical of oneself, especially humorously so, can be a healthy way to restore lost perspective. It’s good to recognize the peculiarities and odd-ball nuances that make us different and self-deprecating is an effective way to accomplish that. It’s all in good fun. The truth is, we’re all losers in our own way and we all do embarrassing things. We laugh when these are portrayed on TV and online by total strangers, but we often hesitate to laugh at our own expense.

With that being said… welcome to The Roast of Wes R. Kasik! I have decided to share a list of my life’s most questionable decisions and humiliating events in loose chronological order. While reading them, please try to imagine the anguish my face carried with each keystroke. Once you’re done, and have surely decided to no longer associate with me in any way, consider your own silly secrets and how much your friends may appreciate finally hearing about them.

 

+ In elementary school, I was in an advanced kids class called “Quest”. That isn’t the joke. One day in Quest, I stood up and confidently referred to the city of Vancouver as “Vow-Can-How-Ver“. I was asked to repeat it and obliged on more than one occasion. My attempts were so far from the correct pronunciation that in the painful minutes that passed before the class (and teacher) realized what I actually meant, I had already made detailed plans to burn down every forrest in Canada and accepted a self-imposed life-long exile from humanity.

 

+ In sixth grade, I sang “With Arms Wide Open” (originally performed by rock Gods, Creed) during an audition to be Tevye in a pre-teen production of Fiddler on the Roof. With twenty or so twelve year olds in the room, I held my walkman as the song played on headphones that I insisted on wearing while singing. The audition went so poorly that I was awarded the role of the Rabbi, responsible for only one spoken line in the two hour musical. “Mazeltov!”

 

+ That same year, I wore cargo capris to school. White ones, with orange trim. JC Penney.

 

+ Over the years, I’ve made the most of what is a less-than-ideal head of hair. Most notable was in 11th grade when I went with long, straightened, dyed brown locks. I rocked frosted tips in middle school. A short mohawk to begin my college career. A spikey look while sitting Student Council President that earned me admonishment for being a poor role model. And a short-lived but deeply haunting Peewee Herman look.

 

+ Some time in high school, I playfully borrowed and wore a girl’s very small cheerleading hoodie for an entire afternoon… To conceal what are to this day the most aggressive pit stains I have ever had.

 

+ In my freshman year of college I got both of my nipples pierced. A series of painful loofa accidents lead to their unfortunate demise only a year later. The piercings.

 

+ The lovely young woman with whom I’ve had the longest and most meaningful relationship to date was surprised to find that we were locked out of my Mom’s house on the very first night she decided to stay over. Well past midnight, I first bent the locked screen door far enough for her to squeeze in and unlock it. Highly intoxicated and trembling in the January cold, I then spent an hour dismantling the thirty-year-old glass sliding door with no light and no tools. I like to think my resourcefulness impressed her enough to stay interested in me, and not the fact that I seemingly lacked the social skills needed to survive into my thirties.

 

+ Attempting to vent to a co-worker in my first year as a professional, I used my company’s internal instant messenger tool to send a hateful comment about my manager, directly to my manager. I slowly rotated my chair toward her office upon realization of what I had done… Only to meet her puzzled gaze as it went from blinking computer monitor to my guilt-ridden face just across the room.

 

+ With Eric, Nick and some Cali vets in San Diego earlier this year, I ordered Crab Rangoon (a Chinese side dish) at a nice Japanese Restaurant. Our server was confused, but luckily distracted from my ignorance when Eric later asked whether or not the restaurant had been affected by the Fukushima nuclear spills.

 

+ One morning in my second year as a professional, I pulled into our bustling parking lot, found a spot, and hit the gas pedal instead of the break. This sent my car into the steel post positioned just ahead of me with considerable force. I exited the car shouting expletives, only to notice that several people were observing from all over the parking lot, and from office windows above it.

Author: Wes R. Kasik

A life-long resident of Ohio, Wes relocated to sunny San Diego at the end of 2015 to find himself, challenge himself, freelance, and every other cliche a creative person could use as motivation to drive more than fifty hours across the country with their possesions perilously in tow. He has never been happier.

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4 Comments

  1. hahaha. This takes self-awareness and cajones my friend. I think it has inspired me to roast Nick Battaglia

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    • this should be a weekly post… as i have seen first hand some of the mistakes taken place.

      i remember something about a brown paper bag……

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    • Nick, I can’t tell you how many times I deleted the part about my hair. Smh. Looking forward to your own contribution!

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  2. We all had our Creed phase, and crab rangoon is the highest of delicacies as far as I’m concerned. Play on, player.

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