Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Whatever Nirvana You Desire
Upon occasion when my friends fall into the foul clutches of depression, malaise, and existential despair, they turn to the self-help dude with the big head (I'm talking physically) Tony Robbins. His jumping around terrifies me, as does his can-do attitude. Many have turned to the pharmaceutical cure -- the first person I knew on Prozac used to dress all in black and do performance pieces where she'd crucify herself while Depeche Mode played in the background (okay, "Hungry Like The Wolf" wasn't fabulous, but to crucify yourself? You should save that for Wham!). For me, depression means an excuse to listen to Dolly Parton, write self-indulgent poetry (I hate you/ you not-talking man person/ Do not publish any more thinly/ veiled autobiographical poetry/ about me anymore, you jerk . . . well, that sort of thing), and read drink recipe books with the passion usually reserved for studying for the LSAT. Shake, stir, don't bruise the vodka . . . I love this sort of thing. If that doesn't work, then I listen to Lou Reed for hours on end. If "Venus In Furs" doesn't cheer me up, nothing will.
It would be nice if life were like a movie, where at your lowest point someone came along to change everything, to make your black and white into technicolor (and no, dating Ted Turner does not count on this score). I'm thinking about all the plots where a simpleton, preferably someone mentally-challenged (someone dying will work in a pinch or a holy fool of sorts) comes along to teach the main character a valuable life lesson or at the very least a zippy new skill so that you can get the girl, the job, whatever nirvana you desire. You don't have to crucify yourself in a poorly-made, ill lit video. Although that might make a good movie as well if there was ever any progress. But real life generally doesn't work that way, no plot, no arc. You just make it up as you go along and hope you meet who you need, no matter if they have something to teach you or not.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Sometimes you have to play a long time to be able to play like yourself." Miles Davis
Drinking nonfiction selection: Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters: The Frightening New Normalcy of Hating Yourself Courtney Martin
Benedictions and Maledictions