It’s right around this time every year that I get all weepy about my life, and how when Jesus, Napoleon, and Alexander the Great were my age, they were dead, and what have I accomplished? A big fat nothing.
Which of course is a self-pitying lie. I’ve accomplished a great deal (although, admittedly, not as much as Jesus, Napoleon, and a select other few) Okay– a lot of other people, I admit it. But I’ve started a large festival, and created a series of shows that people like, and have improved the life (okay, maybe not the life, but at least a few minutes) of a large number of people around the world. Not to mention having a great girlfriend, a slowly improving house, an unsteady job that I like to do, more than my fair share of creativity, and amazingly, slightly more than my fair share of wealth (not that I feel like I have a lot, but there’s lots of people with less) And I’m 6’2″ for crying out loud! What else could I want? (To dunk a basketball, I suppose)
That I haven’t accomplished as much as the top echelon of world history is easy to fathom, but also it’s in some weird way to me, disappointing. Not that I should feel disappointed that I’m not in the upper .000001 percent of human beings to have ever lived, but then again, there it is.
It’s disappointing to make a realization that maybe I’m not headed on for “Better Things”, that I am more likely to be watching than receiving the Oscar, that the McArthur people that my life is about where it’s going to be (barring lottery winnings, sudden discoveries of new elements in my cereal (gertsacovium, anyone?) or a miraculous Hollywoodish milkshake discovery. “Oh my god! I’ve never seen anybody drink a milkshake like that! Come with me! I’m going to make you the next big star!”
Not sure if my disappointment is due to my overbloated ego, or to the Hollywoodized “I will win the lottery, it could happen to me” American way of life. Perhaps some conversion of the two.
Overall, I’m pleased with the tenure of my life– and of although I could probably do with more laughter and joy and less self-pitying birthday bullshit. But then again, apparently, once a year, I choose to partake in the ritual.
The good thing is that I know it will be over in a couple of days, and I will be back to my busy life of not over-achieving.
We’re going to a Brazilian restaurant tonight– Churrascaria! It’s a place in the East Village– We’re going with my brother and his newly minted wife and my other brother is not so newly minted wife and my new sister-in-laws sister and her domestic lesbian partner. They call themselves a “Meating Gallery” Should be fun.
Happy Me Day everyone.
And never fear, I’ll be happy in a few days!