Comedy Whirled

I haven't been around much lately, or have you noticed? Hello? Hell-oooo! Is there anybody out there?!

Ah, just as well. I'm used to talking to myself. Seem to be doing it more and more these days. Anyways, as I was saying, I haven't been on here much of late. I've been dealing with some issues. Call it mid-life crisis, existential despair, whatever. But it has kicked me in the balls, and I haven't been able to get back up again.

You see, when I was a young pup, I had dreams of being a writer. I should have at least 4 or 5 brilliant novels under my belt by now. In that alternate reality, the one where I actually had the chutzpah and ambition to turn my dreams into reality, I would be sitting in my office at some university right about now. I just gave another brilliant lecture on the creative writing process, and am gazing out the window, waiting on my next class. Sitting on my lap is some doting young coed, who hangs on every brilliant word that comes out of my mouth. She is dutifully filling my pipe, while I nonchalantly fondle her pert, young...(excuse me, I'll be right back).

But in this particular reality, I am actually sitting in my office in a musty old warehouse. There is no pipe, no young coed, not even a fucking window. Nothing about my job matters one iota. The fact that I'm 45 years old, and haven't accomplished a single goddamn worthwhile thing in my life has really got me down.

In that alternate dimension, I will be dead in five years. A massive heart attack in mid-coitus, with no less than four (count them, FOUR!) nubile young women. You see, we just got back from the top of Mt. Everest, and decide to celebrate making the summit by making the beast with five backs in our tent at base camp. After my demise, they will tearfully haul my body back up to the top of the mountain, and my well-preserved corpse will lie forever in my mountain aerie.

However, in this pathetic existence, I have the sneaking suspicion I will live for a long, long time. Long enough to spend my last few miserable years bedridden in the cheapest nursing home my daughter can find, being spoon-fed Cream of Wheat, my ass and back covered in bedsores, not knowing who the hell I am anymore, and shitting uncontrollably in my Depends.

So I'm just a tad depressed. But who do I turn to for comfort? Do I seek sustenance in a higher power? Not going to happen. I still curse the day I decided to do away with my faith. Worst mistake I ever made. But, can't go back now.

A shrink, perhaps? Tried that some years ago for another issue I was trying to deal with. First thing she wants to do is get me on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds. Thanks, but no thanks.

So, I suppose writing this blog is sort of my lame first attempt at self-therapy. That, and cracking open a bottle of bourbon. Cheers.

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Comment by MacSpruce on November 29, 2010 at 11:16am
Man, that sounded so serious; I feel like I should insert a fart joke or something just to lighten things up a bit. Ah, I know ... please see next post.
Comment by MacSpruce on November 29, 2010 at 10:29am
Thanks for sharing that, Bubba. Candid, poignant, funny. And very easy to relate to -- we've all been there, or are there, or will be. The dreams of youth tend to be so grandiose, but are seldom - if ever - realized. The figures that capture our imaginations are those who are extraordinary, celebrated in song and story, and we want to be like them, want to be them. From the earliest age we aspire to an unrealistic standard. I was going to be like Mighty Mouse and Popeye, then a little later, Superman.

But spinach didn't seem to do the trick, even when I forced myself to eat the stuff, and the cloud of red kryptonite that would magically transform me into a superman never materialized. Well, then maybe I could be the next Abraham Lincoln or JFK. Perhaps a more realizable dream. That was in turn swept away by Beatlemania. I just knew there was a fifth Beatle inside of me, trying to get out. Each fantasy fell away to be replaced by a new one - great actor, famous writer, millionaire investor. The dreams of great achievements, fame, wealth, success, perhaps become a little more realistic over time, but persist just the same.

But like the man said, life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans, and the day finally dawns when you (I) realize that you are utterly and completely ordinary. And it feels like failure. Like you've been cheated of the greatness you just knew was your destiny. But was that ever truly your destiny? And is being ordinary really such a terrible fate? Maybe accepting, even celebrating one's ordinariness is the mark of having finally grown up, of having 'put away childish things.'

No need for the meds, ditto the religion (though a glass or two of bourbon never hurt anyone). Everything you need, you already have. Self-discovery begins with discovering who and what you are not. Once you've worked that out, you're in a much better position to discover just who and what you are.
Comment by RockyDanz on November 25, 2010 at 11:24pm
I just turned 40. I don't like it much just yet. I've had nothing and I've had everything and I've had more professional success than I expected, and it continues, but damn does life suck sometimes. I've been in unbelievable places and wanted to walk into the ocean and not stop. Do what you can, I have to take the pills though. You're not doing anything wrong, your mind does what it does. And I'm not THAT fat lady, there's a whole lot of fat ladies ahead. Trust meh!
Comment by Gerhardguffaw on November 24, 2010 at 7:05am
Thank you, Bubba! I thought I was the only one going through this. I'm 53, and looking for a new job in a shitty economy. My dream was to be a comedy writer. It's still a dream....or a nightmare. At my age, what am I going to do? It's too late to start a new career. How many more New Year's am I going to see? And to top it off, I'm still waiting for the Swedish Bikini Team to make all my dreams come true.

But, wait a sec...this is America...the land of opportunity. Maybe I can be a comedy writer! Maybe I can date a 22 year old model. Maybe Viagra can last more than 4 hours and not have side effects.

I look at it this way. If I accomplish nothing in life, there is one thing I did do....I won the sperm race. Yes, my sperm came in first, thus sending me to a life filled with thinning hair, a warped sense of humor, an 8-track collection, seeing The Beatles on Ed Sullivan and maybe, just maybe, still getting that shot at comedy nirvana.

Remember, Bubba, it's never over till the Fat Lady sings. She may be warming up, but she still hasn't made her entrance. Until she does...ONWARD AND UPWARD, my friend!!!
Comment by mellowpuma on November 23, 2010 at 2:36am
Sitting in a warehouse, feeling sorry for yourself? Want some attempt at achievement to redeem the tattered embers of your self image? Why not help us. and participate in "let's write a tv sitcom pilot".

Phony sounding sales pitch aside, Yup, I get where you're at. I think it was Tolstoy who said that sarchasm is the last desparate attempt of the burgouis mind which feels it is being assaulted at every juncture (or something like that, I can't remember the exact quote). And with the economy like it is right now, assaulted at every juncture seems pretty on the mark. Basically, what I'd like to do on this site with my contests and such is resteer the general direction of the site into a "creative collective" of sorts. I've encountered a little bit of resistance to this notion, but hey, you can't make an omlet without destroying the souls of baby chickens.

Humor is a great tonic, but why just put a band aid on unhappiness? Make stuff dammit! Also, college professors only get laid on cinimax movies shown after 1 am.

Also, it takes more muscles to frown that it does to launch a nuclear missle. I'm guessing a nuclear missle takes maybe 3 muscles at the most.

Best Regards, mellowpuma.
Comment by Ian on November 22, 2010 at 10:44pm

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