Enigma

The difficulty with anxieties is that they make you feel nervous about decisions you’ve already made. You get really nervous because you’re seeing your significant other later, and as much as you love them, you almost don’t know what to do with them now that you’ve got them. If you’d dated or gotten laid a lot while in high school and college rather than pining for your friends and masturbating incessantly, maybe you would have an easier time processing this. But since you’d almost gotten used to spending all that time alone, it’s disorienting to have the option to do something else. And of course, there’s sex. Where would we be without that?

I’m still single, by the way. I’m just spitballing.

There’s been talk of making Blood Meridian into a movie for years now. It’s one of my favorite novels, and arguably Cormac McCarthy’s masterpiece. It’s a challenging piece of work. For one thing, it is unrelentingly violent. I don’t think then pages go by in that book without somebody getting skinned, shot to pieces, or their head bashed open on a rock. It’s not exactly beach reading, is what I’m trying to say. For another thing, its point-of-view is, if not nihilistic, certainly more interested in portraying evil as something that is immortal and eternally destructive than in telling the kind of story in which the good guys win. Since the story consists of a bunch of cowboys going on a killing rampage across the Southwest, I’m not even sure if it has any sympathetic characters. Actually, that’s not true. The kid (the nameless protagonist of the novel) is somewhat sympathetic, but only because he kind of just goes along with what’s happening rather than actively encouraging it. With a story like that, you kind of have to take what you can get.

I’m not sure who you would get to adapt such a book. Badlands-era Malick could maybe do it justice, but I doubt he’d want to now. The Coen brothers could probably do it, but they already adapted one of Cormac McCarthy’s books (No Country for Old Men), so perhaps they wouldn’t want to do go there again. Werner Herzog, maybe? Resurrect Klaus Kinski and he would make an amazing Judge. I’ve probably spent too much time thinking about this.

I’m on the last season of 30 Rock. It’s easy to get caught in the trap of taking things too slow when you realize that you’re enjoying something. I love 30 Rock. I think it’s one of the best sitcoms ever, but I’ve seen only a couple episodes of Seinfeld and haven’t watched Cheers at all, so I clearly have a lot to learn about that. There’s a line in Battlestar Galactica where Adama says that he likes the book he’s reading so much that he doesn’t want it to be over. Part of the reason I read, like, five or six books at once is that it’s hard for me to focus on something once I realize I like it. I’m not prolonging it so much as missing the forest for the trees. Because I have fallen into that pitfall of reading something just so you can say you’ve read it or watching something just so you can say you’ve watched it. And you can’t do that. Because then you’re just counting the pages/episodes until you’re done and then you can move onto the next new thing. I might look more composed to other people than I actually am. All I know is that sitting down to actually watch/read something, even and especially if I like it, is way more difficult than it should be.

The thing about 30 Rock is that it is not much concerned with either plot or character. It’s a joke machine, that’s all. When it’s on a roll, it will have you pissing your pants, clutching your sides and howling with laughter, because it is the kind of show that can fit a brilliant sight gag, one liner, and obscure pop culture reference into the same moment. Even the worst episodes have at least a handful of good jokes, and from what I’ve heard, the show went out on a bang, so I’ll be excited to get there. I have so much else to watch, after all.

It can be difficult to reign in your own weird impulses when you’re the only one in control. Especially when you spend 95% of your free time in your room. I’m talking about myself here, in case that’s not obvious. One of my high school English teachers was fond of reading some of our essays aloud to the class. The high points came when he read the bad ones and made fun of them, but he read the good ones as well, and wouldn’t you know it, mine were often featured. Except that one time I didn’t even do a very good job of exploring the topic; I just wrote a really entertaining (albeit) weird piece and he gave it the highest grade in the class because it was nothing if not memorable. Again, it’s easy to go up your own ass when you’re the only one calling the shots. It’s part of the reason I think Kubrick’s last masterpiece was A Clockwork Orange. The man was a genius, but to call him a control freak is putting it mildly.

I’m listening to Rent as I write this. It’s not bad. I listened to it as a high school theater nerd and thought it was the best thing I’d ever heard. I don’t still feel that way, but I sympathize with Mark, Roger, and Maureen. Maybe they are entitled assholes who don’t contribute anything. But they’re trying to. Roger’s music sucks and I’m not sure if Mark’s movie would really be any good, but honestly, who are they hurting by squatting in that loft? (Also, I saw somebody play Maureen as a dumb blonde once. It worked surprisingly well, especially her performance piece, which is actually really funny.) Benny doesn’t need the money; he can let his old friends stay there for nothing, and at the beginning of the show, he’s asking them to pay rent on the year they’ve already stayed, which seems like a half-assed way of trying to throw somebody out. I know people who hate that musical. I think it’s overlong and sentimental, but still powerful. Maybe I’ll think differently in another ten years. Then again, maybe not.

Suddenly, I have so much more respect for One Direction.

Life and How to Live It

I think the reason I resist the idea of happiness as the end-all be-all of life is that too many people mistake comfort for happiness. I saw a movie last year called Another Year, by English director Mike Leigh. It covered four seasons in the lives of Tom and Gerri, an old married couple, but the only character in the film that I could relate to was Mary, their lonely, miserable single friend. Over the course of the film, she rejects the advances of another of Tom and Gerri’s friends and hits on their son, who is not only too young for her, but happily coupled with a woman his own age. In doing so, she alienates Tom and Gerri, and as she sits at dinner with them and a few others at the end after a sort-of reconciliation, she realizes that she will never have what they have. To this I say: Good. Seriously, fuck Tom and Gerri (whose names, I realize, sound a lot like that old animated cat-and-mouse duo). Who wants to be like them? If you do, go away. I’m serious.

V (from V for Vendetta) said, “Happiness is a prison.” That’s harsh, but it contains a grain of truth. Please do not act as if your liking things a certain way is an excuse for keeping them that way. Reading the reviews for Another Year, I was shocked by how many people seemed to think of Mary as nothing more than a lost lamb. I can’t be the only person who would rather be her than anybody else at that table. It’s not because her life is wonderful; it’s because it’s interesting. I hate boring people. I know a lot of people who think Rent is a piece of shit because it features a bunch of entitled young artists who are too hip and cool to, well, pay their rent. But that’s not why Mark and Roger refuse to pay. They do it because Benny, who was their friend until recently, turned on them and started demanding not only that they start paying rent (when he had previously allowed them to stay for free), but demanded that they pay rent on the year they’ve already stayed. That’s shitty, and his giving them barely any time to think it over or come up with the money suggests that he really just wants them gone. Perhaps they remind him of the life he never had the courage to live.

I hear a lot these days about how everybody, sooner or later, sells out and goes to work for the Man. That’s not true, but not because there’s anything wrong with a quiet life in the suburbs taking your kids to school in the morning and working an office job. If that’s what you want, go for it. I just don’t like the idea that it’s that or be an unemployed, broke artist squatting in a loft you can’t afford. You have to work the margins. I remember being deeply annoyed when I saw the trailer for The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and realized that they had transformed James Thurber’s clever, subversive story into some vaguely life-affirming bullshit. Here’s the problem with the idea that somebody who feels stifled by their office job can just hop on a plane and go swimming with sharks or longboarding down a mountain: Once you’re done with that, you go right back to your office job. Essentially, the whole movie revolves around the hero finding a girl and settling down, but what does “settling down” actually mean? (And if anyone who has seen the movie is thinking of commenting and telling me that’s not what happens, don’t bother. I honestly don’t give a shit.)

I think that one of the most poisonous lies in our culture is the belief that you get your ya-yas out when you’re young, then lead a peaceful, dull existence for the rest of your days. Please. Reality is usually a little bit more subtle. We can’t all be globetrotting and shit, but that seems like the sort of thing that is best done in moderation anyway. Being a “free spirit” gets boring after a while. Most of the people I know who try that burn out, and it’s because they’re addicted to feeling like an outsider. Because I’m obsessed with Calvin & Hobbes, I’ll quote my BFF, Bill Watterson: “I guess one thing I like about Calvin is that whether he fits in with the wider world or not is almost beside the point, because he can’t help but be himself.” In other words, don’t be too obsessed with being a part of something, and don’t be too obsessed with being different. Nobody can be all one thing all the time anyway.

Somebody—I can’t remember who—once said to me that sometimes, the reason everybody likes something is because it’s really good. I can’t remember the context. I want to say that I was holding back from getting into something (most likely it was Game of Thrones) because, well, I didn’t want to just follow the herd. Of course, I have since started watching/reading that series, and I like it. I hung back from reading the fourth Harry Potter book because I didn’t want to get too obsessed, but that was only what I said when people asked why I was holding off on reading it. The real reason is that I…don’t like Harry Potter all that much (blasphemy, I know). I just didn’t realize it at the time, so people thought I was being a contrarian when I really just couldn’t articulate what I was feeling. That happens a lot.

You can’t get addicted to the feeling of finding “new” shit, as if something new is something better than something that’s old just because it feels different. People want to try new things, but they also want to be sure they’ll like them. As somebody else asked, are you the sort of person who is afraid to eat cake just because then there won’t be any more cake for you to eat? Think about it. And once you do, move the fuck on. I have worlds to conquer.

 

The Age of Irony

I admit it: I’m a bit of a narcissist. Has anyone else ever posted something that they were really fond of on Facebook, then thrown a little hissy fit when it hasn’t gotten as many “likes” or comments as you were expecting? Yeah, me neither. The internet does that to us. And the problem is that it’s inescapable. I’m not fishing for feedback here, but I always get annoyed when a post I put a lot of time and effort into fails to get any “likes” or comments. It just makes me feel like nobody ever reads this (which, I’m fairly certain, is wrong, but sure feels that way). So from here on out, I’m going to try a bit of a different tack. I’m going to try being honest about what I actually want. Oh, I’m not going to stop being sarcastic. The one caveat is that since I still don’t know exactly what I want, I don’t exactly how to ask for it. So really, I guess you could say that I expect things to go on more or less as they did before. Sigh. My dreams have gotten increasingly vivid lately. That means that I am not quite acknowledging something that is very important to me, and need to start taking bigger risks. A few nights ago, I spent over an hour rooting around Spotify trying to remember the name of a song I wanted to listen to earlier but hadn’t been able to. When it finally came to me, I felt like I had scratched an itch inside my head. Whenever I fixate on something like this, it means something big is coming. I hope I can handle it, whatever it is.

This might sound strange coming from a dude for whom sarcasm is basically a second language, but I think we misunderstand the purpose of irony, and not just in the way that Alanis Morissette did when she wrote that song that, as every single “funny” person since the mid-90s has pointed out, lacks any real examples of irony. People use irony as a defense mechanism. That’s not how it works. Don’t say something stupid, then say that you were just being sarcastic. If it was a joke, what was funny about it? Ask yourself that the next time you can’t tell if I’m joking. If it sounds too ridiculous to be true, it probably is, but if it sounds even more ridiculous than that, it probably is true. I know that sounds confusing, but it really isn’t. We “funny” people have to walk a fine line. When I told a joke at Christmas dinner that was a bit too subtle, my father asked me to repeat it so that everyone could pretend to find it funny the second time around. I did, and they guffawed at my cleverness. I hate my family.

I think I’m beginning to understand why I dedicated so much time to tracking down that one stupid song (which is this one, in case anyone cares). Have you ever found yourself presented with so many options that you just don’t know where to begin? You know, you walk into a bookstore and see so much stuff you’ve wanted to read for years that you just want to buy everything? Sometimes, I go on a shopping spree, and that can be fun, but I prefer to moderate my approach a little more. It’s nice to not have to spend all of one’s energies at once. Part of the reason I am so cynical is that I am tired of people telling me it’ll all work out in the end. What end is that, death? I’d like shit to work itself out now, thank you very much. I’m not interested in how it all ends so much as what’s going to happen after. I still remember the first night I made quota as a canvasser. It was magical, working itself out so perfectly that I couldn’t have written it any better. They fired me not long after, as I couldn’t repeat the success (well, I almost did on the last night). It was a remarkable story, but not a happy one.

You were thinking of him just now, weren’t you?

It’s kind of sad that an unsentimental fellow such as myself has to stick up for sentiment. No, I’m not a big softie underneath it all. I do occasionally experience these things you humans call “emotions”, but that’s about it. I’m just sick of people couching what they really mean in several layers of coolness. I was surprised, upon seeing Les Miserables a couple months ago, to learn that some people consider the musical schmaltzy. Really? I just think it’s direct. Characters state their intentions, backstories, and desires just like that since we have a lot of story to unspool and musicals tend to work like that. It’s not shitty just because it’s not Sondheim, and I’m pretty sure that having characters express their feelings in a song because they would sound stupid if spoken aloud is the very heart of musical theater. I am not an expert on the medium, but I think Les Mis is easily one of the best musicals ever produced. Rent isn’t bad either, but sweet Jesus, is “Your Eyes” a godawful song.

Joss Whedon once observed that people tend to communicate better when they have to find nonverbal ways to communicate it. (Bonus points if you can guess what he was commenting on when he said that.) I would like that to change. It might make things easier on everyone if we could just take people at their word when they say they’re not interested, or that they’re happy to see you. I’m tired of wondering whether that person who promised to call me sometime is actually going to call me. And for the sake of bros everywhere, we have to be able to believe guys when they say that they’re just friends, and are totally not gay in any way, shape or form. For that to happen, however, all of the closet cases will have to stop lying to themselves. That could take a while.

French Fries & Cinnamon Rolls

French fries and cinnamon rolls have one thing in common, besides deliciousness: both have a shelf life of about fifteen minutes. You can reheat them if you like, but they’ll never recapture the glory that they had when they were fresh out of the oven (or oil.) Cookies and brownies last a little longer. They’re best right after cooking (or before, really), but they still taste all right for at least a couple of days after. French fries and cinnamon rolls are the only two foods I know of that just can’t be reheated.

I find the increasing sexualization of men in our culture quite amusing. (There’s a food double entendre in here somewhere.) The Internet, I learn, is abuzz with pictures of divers in their skimpy Speedos and swimmers in those ugly compression shorts. Not surprisingly, some douchebags are complaining, saying that they logged onto [insert website here] to read fart jokes or the news, not see close-ups of male genitalia. Pointing out the hypocrisy of whining about scantily clad men when we are bombarded with images of scantily clad women day in and day out always brings one response: more people are bugged by naked men than naked women, so we should go with the consensus. First of all, I’m not sure that more people like to ogle women, but more importantly, the douchebags, in this case, do have a point. Feminists, generally, do not complain as loudly when confronted with the objectification of women than male shitheads do when confronted with the objectification of men. It isn’t because they aren’t vocal–on the contrary, the feminists I know are very vocal–but because they actually want to appeal to people’s better judgment. Douchebags don’t care about that; they just figure that if they yell loudly enough about how totally gay it is that someone dared to, I don’t know, include a gay side character in a video game, people will acquiesce to their demands. Problem is, they have a point. I’m all for diversity, but if I, as a businessman, found that my efforts to make sure gay men and women felt included in whatever I was doing was hurting my bottom line, I’d change my policies. Can you really blame me?

There is a room in the student housing building that I live in where I spend much of my time. It’s air-conditioned, which is nice, but also very pretty and relaxing. Everybody needs their safe space. The trick is becoming comfortable enough outside of that space that returning to it feels less like a retreat than a vacation. I can lie on my bed listening to classic rock all day, but when I’m done, there will still be work to do and people who expect me to return their messages. I try not to get too hung up on that. No matter what, I insist that it is they who must work for my approval and not the other way around. The nice part is that the more I accomplish, the harder it is to turn back the clock. When my fifth grade teacher warned us that sixth grade would be completely different, I worried. Now, when a project leader implies that I’m not pulling my weight, I laugh. I’ve heard this song before. And even if I’m not meeting expectations, I’m not sorry. I have enough on my hands just carrying my own anxieties around. I don’t have the energy to reassure people who are projecting their own insecurities onto me.

I don’t like confrontation very much, so I’ll shift to something a little bit lighter: fashion. I don’t give a shit about it, so there’s no way I can get all that worked up when discussing it. Some people do care about fashion. I believe they are known as “girls”. I kid, I kid. Not all women care about their appearance. In fact, I think it’s sad that more men don’t put work into their appearance. It would be nice to see men having to work as hard to impress others as women often do.

It takes time to tease out the subtleties of one’s own imagination. I’m still getting it down. If much of my writing reads like a stream of consciousness, it’s because I don’t know where the fuck I’m going. I do believe I’m going somewhere, though. The world only spins forward, as Tony Kushner once wrote.

One thing that I’ve been looking forward to since moving to New York is experiencing a snowy winter for the first time in years. Ever since my family relocated to California from Michigan when I was seven, I’ve regretted not being able to have snowball fights, admire freshly fallen snow, and sit by the fire with a hot cup of cocoa. It’s doubtful that where I’m living then will have a fireplace, but you get the idea.

Completely random: musical theater fans, I think Rent is due for a reappraisal. It’s corny and overlong, sure, but I don’t think it deserves all of the slagging it gets. For one thing, it’s sincere, and for another, it doesn’t really matter to me whether or not the art the characters create is any good, so long as the emotions ring true. Whatever else I can say about that show, it means what it says. Give it another chance.

That’s pretty much all for today. Remember the simple joys, folks. They’ll keep you going when all else fails.