You see, I find solace in writing in all its myriad forms. Often, I write for money, and while I sometimes feel like an apologist for what I have come to think of as bookish prostitution, I appreciate that my profession allows me to preside over an orderly universe of signs and symbols, even when they aren’t, in themselves, all that interesting. And those words take on a fuller meaning in my personal life, whether I’m purging the crazy in my journal, chipping away at a creative project, or cracking wise for this page. Writing brings things into focus; it helps me make sense out of things that, on the surface, seem pretty fucking weird.
But after a few false starts I haven’t been able to find a way into this particular problem. I just stare at my screen feeling sadder still that my words have let me down. In fact, I haven’t been up for any of the things I enjoy most, whether it’s talking on the phone with my mother (because, deep down, I’m no better than Buster), reading, or baking. Evidently, in times of crisis, my most trusted coping mechanisms devolve into the stupid shit I enjoyed when I was, like, twelve years old.
To wit: two nights ago, I found myself at McDonald’s ordering the Big N’ Tasty value meal (and also Chicken McNuggets, but those were for D). I know that some people (like my friend R, who I hereby out as an eater of Manwich, which I had thought was a casualty of the eighties) might not think that’s so weird, but I’m not really into fast food because I prefer to be able to trace my food to a readily identifiable plant or animal. Also, I don’t smoke pot.
The first funny moment was when I rolled up to the counter (I actually had to go inside since I don’t drive) and worried that the cashier was judging me as some kind of binger-and-purger who could knock back both a Big N’ Tasty and a 10-piece McNugget, which was immediately followed by the realization that the typical McDonald’s customer would probably consider my order a light appetizer.
The second funny moment came after I walked by a gaggle of homeless people, who hungrily eyed my stinking bag of shame, to my home, where I ate the whole thing (minus D’s nuggets) while watching bad television, enjoying squeezing those little ketchup packets to such a degree that I began to worry that I might become a huge fat person on top of everything else.
I have also found myself watching a lot of MTV, and I’m not just talking about quality programming like The Hills. When I can’t sleep, I chain smoke and watch this appalling (awesome?) show where really skanky people stay in a hotel where they fuck their exes in the shower while their new partners watch on cc-tv. Or, when I’m really lucky, I watch Headbanger’s Ball, which, like Manwich, still exists against all the odds, much to my delight.
When there is something so terrible on MTV (e.g., Jackass) that even the new/old me can’t bear to watch, I turn to terrible movies to distract myself. The other night, I watched Because I Said So because (1) it has Lorelei Gilmore and (2) it has Mandy Moore and (3) I’m just too sad to concentrate on anything remotely good or interesting. It was the worst movie I have ever seen, worse even than Saw IV. Seriously, I can’t believe that people watch this sort of thing for real pleasure. I feel like I have turned into the stereotypical disgusting American, which has me wondering: is America depressed? That might explain a lot.
There. That’s a start. My words, I know, will find their way back. Maybe I should continue to channel my twelve-year-old self by writing some bad poetry. That should really get the ball rolling.
3 comments:
Wowzers.
To get the bad out of the way: yes, America is depressed. My internal curmudgeon prevents me from saying otherwise. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
On to the happy: Arrested Development fans unite! Also, the Headbanger’s Ball still exists?! But...what...how...why? Some of my best memories of the late 80’s and early 90’s are from Saturday nights watching that show with my cohorts. Oh, and in another reality, Lorelei and I are SO married.
Don’t even get me started on McDonalds, I don’t have the juice this morning to rant about corporate branding. Seriously. Just read “No Logo” by Naomi Klein and let the rage begin.
On to the blogging, I had a period a few years back where mine served as a surrogate therapist as I worked through some issues. I’ve never had any problem letting people see/hear what is going on in my world, mainly because what you see is what you get (or as my one-time friend Michael put it, “Phil doesn’t have a representative”). Much to my surprise, several people that knew me fairly well--I thought--started commenting about how the blog showed a side of me they had not previously experienced. Was that good or bad? You’d have to ask them (Ellie being the one mutual acquaintance we have who could answer, if you were so inclined).
Point being, we go through odd and sometimes difficult seasons in our silly little lives, and do what we must to persevere. As long as you question your motives and act when you see something out of whack, you’ll weather the zaniness.
That’s all I’ve got. Hope I’ve rambled something helpful, kiddo. We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.
Thank you, Phil, for saying these things.
Firstly: I love this idea of “representatives.” I’d like to think that I don’t have any, either. Guards, perhaps, but no representatives.
Secondly: My only concern with calling America depressed is that the statement is too generous. Is that sad? I always assumed that America is just sort of stupid; now, I wonder.
I used to read things by Naomi Klein and Kalle Lasn until I realized that I don’t really care for taking life so seriously. I think it might be a concession to even argue as though there’s another point of view, if that makes sense. I thought that Adbusters was awesome until I realized they were preaching to the choir in an obnoxious self-righteous sort of way. Plus, I shop at J Crew, and reconciling The Hypocrisy seemed like an exercise in futility.
Thirdly: I went to high school with the guy who played Logan on Gilmore Girls. While that probably means I’m a douche by association, I aspire to the awesomeness of Lorelai, even if she’s a bit much, honestly.
Fourthly: Where in the sam fuck is Riki Rachtman when you need him? I’m waiting with baited breath for his triumphant return to reality television, perhaps on Drawn Together or The Surreal Life.
Yes!
K
Sorry I am a bit late to the party, but your post made me want to comment, so here I am.
I think it is generous to say that America is stupid. Stupid people tend to be happy anyway. They don't know any better. I think America is self-absorbed, which would explain the depression, the overeating, and the stupid behavior. I can't wait until America has grown out of this teenager phase and finally gets a job and starts paying rent to this world!
Also, I miss you and think that we should hang out more, which will never happen because our lives are busy and far apart, and that is depressing to.
I love your writing. I thoroughly enjoy reading this blog, and I think you are great.
PS. I listen to your valentines mix everyday!
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