Let me explain myself. All summer long, through all that's occurred, the underlying unspoken has been the sound of wedding bells. Even things that had nothing to do with Annie's wedding were colored by the event, at least, in the back of my head.
But now, that's over, and I can relax just a bit (well, relax as much as I'm biologically able to), having broken through the "I'm now the father of a married woman" hurtle. Yes, yes, of course, now I will have other things to think about, such as that day in the future when Annie announces she's pregnant. But that's all for a future day, and right now I'm content to enjoy a week of vacation time, leisurely prepare for the kids to go back to school, work on my story (one page a day, at least...which isn't really much at all), and try to sort out whether I want to direct next year or not.
Oh, and work on that divorce, although, from my end, everything's all set. I've submitted all my paperwork, and it's just a matter of the attorney receiving Josie's final paperwork, and then we meet to sign everything and schedule a meeting with the judge. Who knows, maybe that will all be set by the end of the year?
Not having a big thing to worry over allows me a bit of time to meander. I like meandering.
Have you ever started writing things in your head as you're driving? I do it all the time.
Like today, I started thinking about the age that we live in, prompted by a week-long fight I've been having with Ashes about "Rehab/The Bartender song." Every time I hear it, it sets my teeth on edge, and I want to change the channel. Ashes, of course, loves it.
I think it's just another example of the skinny white boy's obsessive descent into a trailer trash culture. Which I don't mind, really, but in this case, there's nothing even remotely interesting about this particular descent. It's not like Eminem, where at least you can actually find some wit and lyricism in the writing. The lyrics are humorless and one note, and the music is about as limp as Jim Morrison's exposed flaccid cock, back in Miami in 1969.
I almost wanted to sing "they just don't write 'em like that any more," but that woke me up like a slap in the face, and it got me wondering: as you reach a certain age, is it human nature to see previous generations as more witty and articulate than the one that you're currently enduring?
I think that it is, and I'm sure that there are many reasons for this. It's kind of like when you're in high school as a senior, and take a look at the new crop of freshman and see them as hopelessly infantile.
The truth of the matter is that today's culture is probably about as articulate as it ever was, and probably even more so. We just don't see it like that, living in it, because history is a tale told that features only the best and brightest, or at least, stories of the infamous as told by the best and brightest.
From our perspective, of course the past seems brighter, wittier, smarter than the world we're presently living in. The patterns and banalities that make up ninety percent of a life lived in any age have been removed, leaving us with only that pieces that shine to examine.
Really, pick your period. Elizabethan times, the Age of Enlightenment, the sixties, the late 1800s...most of what took place on any given day was probably barely coherent, and probably on the same level as "so I jacked the keys to her xxxxxx car and crashed that piece of xxxx n-then stepped away." We just have more creative media and an obsessive need to fill that media up with new content. Let's face it, you can't get "Great Expectations" each and every time.
So, I started writing all that up in my head. Of course, what I ended up typing doesn't bear much of a similarity to what I was writing in my head, which actually seemed sort of pompous, a few hours later. Even so, I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. The other day, I was laying in bed and I wrote out a whole page of my new story before I even woke up. Most of that stuck, too.
The week long vacation has also given me a chance to watch the Democratic National Convention. Just as Chad's mother liked to curl up to the Olympics on her couch and smoke weed, I like to curl up on my couch and watch the DNC. My opinion? Hillary and Bill have so far been the best speakers, but that's no big surprise. And, while I'm okay with the current ticket, I'm not even close to wildly enthusiastic. I kind of feel like a bottle of soda that's been left opened for about a day. There's very little fizzle, there, for me. Then again, I wasn't overly thrilled with Kerry or Gore, either.
So, I guess I'm part of that Hillary base that is still discontented, even if she's made peace with the whole thing. I think not choosing her as a vice president was a big mistake, although I guess it's understandable, given the male ego.
I will not vote for McCain, under any circumstances, and I'm hoping to feel a bit more excited about things. I like all the talk about treating the breaking of our dependence on oil through alternative energies as the next big frontier. That makes sense to me, because all the talk of offshore drilling that McCain and Bush have been belching forth seem to me to be a huge load of horseshit, and totally off point.
I'd like more of the "brave new frontier talk", please. We desperately need something good to believe in. Time will tell, I suppose.