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means an excuse to listen to Dolly Parton, write self-indulgent poetry (I hate you/ you not-talking man person/ Do not publish any more thinly/ veiled autobiographical poetry/ about me anymore, you jerk .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

Cocktail Hour
Drinking nonfiction selection: Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters: The Frightening New Normalcy of Hating Yourself Courtney Martin

Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday!


the walking man said...

Yes you can get an AMEN sister!



Charles Gramlich said...

I try not to let myself get sad anymore. Too painful

Cheri said...

It might be eerie, but I cheer up listening to intense classical music, like Carmina Burana or Bach's Requiem.

Pythia3 said...

Existential despair - that sums it all up wonderfully! Ok, you named my dragon, but it's so hard to slay it for its name is far too beautiful!

I tend to indulge myself when I get depressed, melancholy or nostalgic, so I try to stick to vodka instead!

Have a great day, Michelle.

realbigwings said...

You know what's screwed? Even when things go WELL with them, it still spins the head and provides something that looks a heck of a lot like depression.

And hey, Wham!? If you were a fifth grade me you'd be offended at that comment. But as far as I can tell neither of us is.
Ack. Boys make me stoopid.

John Ricci said...

Dear Michelle
Such a lovely smile post and view and let us throw rocks at boys for I am a man and this is funny. Champagne wishes and caviar dreams always and always Bravo!