A toast to all for the new year:
To my students past and present, I have the best job in the world because of you. I actually get excited when I go back to work. I love watching you grow and change and I want to be at your weddings.
To Robert, who told me to go see Hugo in 3D. Yes it made me cry, almost throughout. It also made me believe in the power of art, reminded me that there is beauty. If we are a dying planet, we are going out in style. There are a thousand other things to say. Thanks for being friend.
To Kris, who should have said no, but probably didn't out of friendship and a sense of duty that is rarer and rarer. I will not let you down.
To Brad and Natalie, what a great end to a hard few years. Here's to many more!
To Sean and Carol, I think I love you both more than ever. You only get one family and you're lucky if you happen to like them. You have handled the hardest of years with dignity and grace and I have learned from you.
To Kate and John, How did we get so lucky? For all the fun times, we thank you.
To Jeffrey and Alisa, I may have married Julie, but I gained a brother and sister. I have spent my life being adopted by other people's families. Thanks for taking me in.
To Robert and Michael, I have spent considerable time trying to forget the past. Thank you for reminding me of the good friends and good times.
To Hilary, There is life after divorce. For me, it has been better. I wish the same for you.
To the Boys, You won't read this, but can you ever know how much I love you. Parental love is expressed in a variety of ways. Remember that I care when I get mad.
To My Wife, There is nothing better than being understood, accepted--it is the essence of love. The fireworks are wonderful and the butterflies grand, but coming home to somebody you can talk to, somebody you want to be with is worth a thousand grand finales. My life would be far worse without you and you make me want to try to be a better person.
To All, Happy New Year! Even years are always better than odd. Here's to 2012!
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 23, 2011
Men of a Certain Age
You reach a certain age and things don't make much sense anymore. You've heard similar things from enough of your friends and know, at your core, that you are not alone, the knowing of which does nothing to assuage your pain, fear, ennui, whatever the fuck it is that you can't put your finger on. There are phases in your life that have corresponded, roughly to the literary works you have poured over, memorized.
Phase 1, Tolkien:
In the Tolkien age, men believe in everything that is good and holy. At this age, you enlisted in the Army, believed, absolutely, in God and women. It was an age of somewhat reckless abandon, tempered by a sense of duty and country that only a young man can possess. You failed, on rare occasion, but considered your failures a test of your will, knowing that things were likely to improve, that you would accomplish those things you set out to: writing that novel, winning that girl, destroying the ring of evil, etc. You knew too that the world was in tune with your mission. Wizards and midgets would be there to assist you on your path; magic was real. This phase ended for you, as it does for most, in heartbreak. This phase lasts from 14 to 20 (longer for the mentally infirmed).
Phase 2, Hunter S. Thompson:
There is a phase in every reasonable man's life, when he loses his shit, takes to drinking and smoking too much, beating random people up, getting beat up by the wrong random people, puking in cars, elevators, buses, parks, too many bathrooms to remember. This phase invariably begins with the death of true love, the kind that you believed in during Phase 1, the Princess Bride variety--bullshit. During Phase 2, you put as much energy and fuel into your absolute belief that life is pain as you did into the good times of Phase 1. This phase lasts from 20 to 26.5 for the average man, though some never emerge.
Phase 3, Vonnegut:
Also known as the "so it goes" phase, Phase 3 involves an acceptance of things as they are, a lowering of expectations, a renewed sense of purpose to accomplish something, anything that will rise above the ephemera. Like Billy Pilgrim, you grow detached, obtuse at times, though your Phase 2 training has provided you with the capacity to always look like you're having a good time, which is not always a lie after all. It is in the Vonnegut phase, which lasts from 26 to 36 roughly, that you develop reasonable, if perhaps lofty, career expectations. You envision a life of worth, substance. The phase could very well be called the Fitzgerald phase too, though you're not much of a Gatsby (who was stuck in Phase 1). It may be, in the end, that all who get stuck in Phase 1 end up face first in a bloody pool, though you're not certain of this. You likely marry in Phase 3, though it's not a great time to do so for the above mentioned, "low expectations", reasons. If you do marry, and marry another Phase 3'er, it won't end well. Phase 3 invariably ends with a mild but persistent nagging, a sense that there must be more, an unwillingness to accept with quiet humility, your insignificance.
Phase 4, E.A. Robinson's "Miniver Cheevy"
You reach a point in your life, it could just as well be called the Network Phase, when you are mad as hell and unwilling to take it anymore. What you are mad at is hard to define, though there are no shortage of suspects. The post office is high on your list and this is telling. You begin to think that there is a universal conspiracy against your happiness, though you rationally know this can't be the case, because you also know, at the end of the day, that you are not important enough to warrant a conspiracy. You have more things during this period of your life, more money, newer cars, more computational capacity in your home than existed in the entire world 50 years ago, shit, more in your pocket. Though the more you have, the less it matters. Perhaps it's enough that you're not Richard Cory, but being Miniver is bad enough. You know that thinking about it makes it worse, which naturally makes you think about it, and there's the rub.
Phase 5:
To be determined
Phase 1, Tolkien:
In the Tolkien age, men believe in everything that is good and holy. At this age, you enlisted in the Army, believed, absolutely, in God and women. It was an age of somewhat reckless abandon, tempered by a sense of duty and country that only a young man can possess. You failed, on rare occasion, but considered your failures a test of your will, knowing that things were likely to improve, that you would accomplish those things you set out to: writing that novel, winning that girl, destroying the ring of evil, etc. You knew too that the world was in tune with your mission. Wizards and midgets would be there to assist you on your path; magic was real. This phase ended for you, as it does for most, in heartbreak. This phase lasts from 14 to 20 (longer for the mentally infirmed).
Phase 2, Hunter S. Thompson:
There is a phase in every reasonable man's life, when he loses his shit, takes to drinking and smoking too much, beating random people up, getting beat up by the wrong random people, puking in cars, elevators, buses, parks, too many bathrooms to remember. This phase invariably begins with the death of true love, the kind that you believed in during Phase 1, the Princess Bride variety--bullshit. During Phase 2, you put as much energy and fuel into your absolute belief that life is pain as you did into the good times of Phase 1. This phase lasts from 20 to 26.5 for the average man, though some never emerge.
Phase 3, Vonnegut:
Also known as the "so it goes" phase, Phase 3 involves an acceptance of things as they are, a lowering of expectations, a renewed sense of purpose to accomplish something, anything that will rise above the ephemera. Like Billy Pilgrim, you grow detached, obtuse at times, though your Phase 2 training has provided you with the capacity to always look like you're having a good time, which is not always a lie after all. It is in the Vonnegut phase, which lasts from 26 to 36 roughly, that you develop reasonable, if perhaps lofty, career expectations. You envision a life of worth, substance. The phase could very well be called the Fitzgerald phase too, though you're not much of a Gatsby (who was stuck in Phase 1). It may be, in the end, that all who get stuck in Phase 1 end up face first in a bloody pool, though you're not certain of this. You likely marry in Phase 3, though it's not a great time to do so for the above mentioned, "low expectations", reasons. If you do marry, and marry another Phase 3'er, it won't end well. Phase 3 invariably ends with a mild but persistent nagging, a sense that there must be more, an unwillingness to accept with quiet humility, your insignificance.
Phase 4, E.A. Robinson's "Miniver Cheevy"
You reach a point in your life, it could just as well be called the Network Phase, when you are mad as hell and unwilling to take it anymore. What you are mad at is hard to define, though there are no shortage of suspects. The post office is high on your list and this is telling. You begin to think that there is a universal conspiracy against your happiness, though you rationally know this can't be the case, because you also know, at the end of the day, that you are not important enough to warrant a conspiracy. You have more things during this period of your life, more money, newer cars, more computational capacity in your home than existed in the entire world 50 years ago, shit, more in your pocket. Though the more you have, the less it matters. Perhaps it's enough that you're not Richard Cory, but being Miniver is bad enough. You know that thinking about it makes it worse, which naturally makes you think about it, and there's the rub.
Phase 5:
To be determined
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