This morning on my way to work I noticed that the trees had started changing colors, and I thought, “When did that happen?” Then I got to wondering about what else I might have missed lately–how many things have happened when I wasn’t paying attention?
When you’re a kid, time is unbearably slow. And then suddenly…it isn’t anymore. Days, weeks, months fly by and all of a sudden it’s my favorite season again and I haven’t even noticed. Well, that’s not entirely true. I noticed the Halloween decorations were out at Target the other day. Clearly I’m spending too much time at Target and not nearly enough time outside looking at leaves. Goal for the weekend: look at leaves and whatever else is around that I haven’t been noticing lately.
I really hope I realize I’ve been not noticing a large pile of money in the corner of the living room. It’s more likely that I’ll realize I’ve been not noticing a large pile of dog poop in the corner of the living room. On second thought, maybe I’ll stick with the not noticing.
I am choosing to live my life in a permanent power failure. I look at the screens and glossy pages and I don’t let them become memories.
When I meet people, I imagine them in a world of darkness. The only lights that count are the sun, candles, the fireplace and the light inside of you, and if I seem strange to you at times, it’s only because I’m switching off the power, trying to help us both, trying to see you and me as the people we really are.
The enemy of irony is having the courage to love something, or like something, or trust your own opinion, to not be part of the united front of condescension.
I’ve never been what you could call an achiever. Sure, I’ve accidentally done some things pretty well a time or two, but I can’t really say there’s been much that I’ve truly applied myself to. I generally try to keep expectations low–it makes the gutter balls less painful and the strikes that much sweeter.
But like my mom always said when I was young, “It’s time to shit or get off the pot.” Mainly it was literal, because I can easily spend an hour or more in the bathroom. I can’t help that it’s ergonomically the best position for reading, people. But that phrase has a pretty good figurative interpretation too, and for once I think I might actually try to take my mom’s advice. I’ve been feeling restless lately, and usually when I get that feeling it’s because I’m slacking off on something. I’m a notorious procrastinator, and it generally stems from either (A) drunkenness or (B) fear not necessarily of failure, but of not doing whatever it is the best that I can. I know I can do something mediocre, but where creative pursuits are concerned, I hate putting something out into the world that I don’t feel is up to whatever ridiculous standards I’ve set for the task at hand. As a result, I wind up not putting a lot out into the world. And that’s just sad, for the world as much as it is for me. Oh, what you people are missing!
When I was in the third grade, I decided to try out for a community talent show. My act was a delightful interpretive dance to “The Heart of Rock and Roll” by Huey Lewis and The News, complete with lip sync and air saxophone. That’s right, AIR FUCKING SAXOPHONE. Think that dance scene at the end of Napoleon Dynamite, as done by a 9-year-old girl with an unfortunate hair cut. I didn’t make it into the talent show, but I made a whole room full of people laugh for the four minutes I was on stage. That’s gotta count for something, right? I cried for hours afterward.
Flash forward 23 years. I’ve spent the last year getting on stage in the hopes that people will laugh at me, ideally at appropriate times. I still have what some might call an unfortunate haircut, but I no longer care about making it into the talent show. I just care about putting something–anything–out into the world. And I hope you feel the same way about whatever you do. It may never be perfect or what other people want to see, but as long as you’re doing it and it makes you happy, screw ‘em. So here’s a video from my last set at Flicker. To use the parlance of my mother, I think it’s time to shit.
