Thursday, November 30, 2006

The Last of the Angry Man

It’s Thanksgiving morning. While my mother and I chat away, detailing the outcome of the three pies I’ve baked with her cross-country assistance and the preparations of my Weber grilled turkey, she asks me if I’ve heard from the Angry Man.

I ponder the question. “Well”, I respond, “it is Thanksgiving. That’s usually the time we break up”.

Actually, (and you will be surprised and amazed… and maybe a little doubtful), my relationship with the Angry Man ended over two months ago, a feat I justly rewarded myself with by purchasing a new hat to commemorate the occasion.

To put it delicately, The Angry Man is indeed, angry. Some might say even “Very Angry”.

I had been repeatedly told this, and during the thirty-second tirade that ended it, I thought about why I stuck it out with this man instead of listening to good friends’ advice. My lame excuse is that I secretly harbored a fantasy that he was soul mate to Henry Fonda’s character in “On Golden Pond” but instead of being the nasty curmudgeon to everyone but worshipping me, he was, in fact, the nasty curmudgeon to everyone, including me.

This is going to sound crazy, but he was probably the most stable man I had dated. After all, I always knew what I was going to get. And most of the time, I could handle his mood swings. Our banter became an old Nichols/May routine, so perfected and broken in, we could have registered a patent. However, routines take a lot of energy and getting yourself psyched up for repartee meant to pacify one person, but leaving the other a little worse for wear can get tiresome.

The end of the game, the straw that broke the camel’s back, was over Woody Allen’s, “Play it Again, Sam”. I had fond memories of watching it with my parents as a kid and TiVo'd it for another go around. But for some reason, I couldn't get into the predictable, dated jokes. Personally, watching substandard Woody movies really makes me yearn for the best of him and I wistfully thought of “Radio Days", "Broadway Danny Rose”, and "Stardust Memories” to name a few as I switched the channel. I brought this up to Angry, thinking he might offer some thoughtful insight to Woody, as he usually does, instead receiving a riotous lecture that went something like this:

“I can’t believe you would say something like that to me! That movie is one of my favorites! It’s about being single and relationships and dating! Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me that "Annie Hall" is terrible, oh and what about “Manhattan", that’s a crappy movie! I can hear it now! Jesus, what is wrong with you! You say things like this just to piss me off!”

And my stunned response went something like this: “FUCK OFF!”

It’s pretty impossible to slam a cell phone, but I tried my best.

Somehow this film marked road’s end of a three-year on again, off again relationship. The scale tipped, and the delicate balance that weighed bad behavior against charm, wit and devotion had become overloaded.

So, with grace, dignity and a calmness voice even I was suprised to discover, I called his bluff over a plate of roast beef hash at the Pacific Dining Car on 6th Street remembering something Maya Angelou said during one of her Oprah appearances, “When people show you who they are, believe them.” My efforts to influence or perhaps even inspire him to alter his negative outlook on life, people and current events went in like a porterhouse steak and came out, well, like the cubed hash sitting in front of me.

And the naked truth is, while we sat facing each other in those oversized leather club chairs, I realized that love was no longer on the chopping block. When emotions reach that finality, there is no going back. The slate has been wiped clean and the rooms that you kept open to this potentiality are resealed, as if they never existed.

It was fitting that this rant should arise just as we had concluded negotiations for a reconciliation, which would include long-term settlement. His few, wonderful qualities I had sought in a mate would be hard to give up, including the mostly unused apartment in Tudor City and my plans for a bi-costal lifestyle, but I quickly recalled a few similar gems, highlights of his three-year bluster fest and felt instant relief that I had once again, dodged a bullet.

I didn’t set out to become one of those people who continually return to something that doesn't work. I either have magnets in my genetic makeup or I'd conjured up a potential, and dangerously seductive fantasy life with Angry, causing a blurred reality. Most likely it was the challenge that in my cloak of womanhood, I possessed superhuman powers; powers that would quench his enraged soul and allow me the right combination to dismantle the chain that kept his core compassion locked up.

Thinking on that, it is fitting that Woody would seal the deal. Maybe it’s because he is symbolic of failed relationships and unrealistic hopes for ones doomed to begin with.

So here it is, Thursday evening. As I lie in bed counting my gratitude list, I mark that I’m thankful that the week started off on a quiet note, that the ritual of slamming phones, frustrated tears and drama is finally over.

It’s 7:45 PM. I’ve fed 16 people, baked three pies and cooked a turkey on the grill. And I no longer love The Angry Man.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Wait? Wait for What?


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Originally uploaded by artthrobb.
Way back circa 1990, pop author Bret Easton Ellis penned a New York Sunday Times article titled “Generation X”, a moniker my age group had recently acquired as part of a Fortune 500 marketing campaign seeking to identify and target new consumers, precisely young adults whose teen years spanned the ‘80s. The piece claimed “X'ers” to be a bunch of spoiled boobs who tooled around on mountain bikes, recycled and contemplated getting a job, thus, the slacker profile was born and movies like “Reality Bites” were made.

Incensed at Ellis’s self-important opinion, I fired off a letter to the editor including his counterpart Jay McInerney in my rebuke. The duo had been dubbed the de facto voices of my generation, writing characters I didn’t identify with; rich, bloated white people who snorted cocaine and hung out at New York hotspots like Nell's. I certainly didn’t endorse them speaking on behalf of me or my friends, most of whom were holding down two jobs just to be able to live in Manhattan and pay back student loans. It wasn’t all work; we did have a great time; and while most are married with children, the debt moving from Fanny Mae to mortgages, these friends, from childhood, college and those I’ve met along the way, continue to actively vote, voice their opinions and participate in their community.

Enter John Mayer’s new single, “Waiting on the World to Change”, hitting the airwaves almost two decades later and stirring the gumbo pot of controversy from the Mayfield estate to members of his own age group. The song muses about his peers facing criticism about doing nothing, but since the world is so fucked up, they are paralyzed, and therefore waiting for the world to change when they will be old enough to take over. The lyrics struck a chord in me, and I felt compelled to act in response.

I’ll give John this, when the CBS Morning show correspondent told him that he was the voice of his generation, he shook his head. Apparently, according to a Boston Globe interview, he’s just the messenger.

"I don’t read it as depressing. It’s honest," says Mayer, who co-headlines a concert with Sheryl Crow at the Tweeter Center on Tuesday. "Why aren’t people marching in the streets? The song is supposed to kind of come off a little irresponsible. I’m sure some people will say it encourages not doing anything. I’m an observer, and sometimes that’s the most damning evidence. It’s not in my drive or my skill set to want to write a song telling people to wake up and change."

Which seems a little hypocritical considering that the music video features a graffiti artist spray-painting the words “WAKE UP!” on a New York City building.

And if Mayer were really an observer, he would note that there are people all over the world, including more than a few of his music industry contemporaries, actually doing something so that others' future won’t be so fucked up.

I thought about the AmeriCorps and Habitat for Humanity volunteers manning the trenches in St. Bernard's Parish/Camp Hope with an average age of 25. I didn’t think they would appreciate being lumped into a catchy tune about apathy, just like I didn’t like being lumped into an article about idleness.

Given the exorbitant amount of work they’ve undertaken coupled with the meager support they were getting from the outside world, one can’t help but stand in admiration at the enormous rebuilding effort they are determined to pull off. They are the light at the end of a long, long tunnel, taking charge of organizing and orienting the hundreds of volunteers that may come in any given day (the week before we arrived, there were 23, our week brought 350), supervising transportation, housing, meals, work loads, obtaining and keeping track of tools, and maintaining the sketchy power supply.

Even with their weary attitude, something Mayer sings about, these “Y’ers” are truly committed people, members of his generation without his means, doing something meaningful with their time, living their ideals. It takes a lot of gumption and perhaps a little insanity to forfeit hanging out with your friends and working towards a career; instead living with strangers in less than comfortable conditions and shoveling out other people’s crap for free, but these are the actions that plant the seeds to a thoughtful future.

It’s hard work, being an activist. High profilers like Al Gore, Neil Young, the Dixie Chicks, Bono, the Flaming Lips, even Marilyn Manson face scrutiny on a very public level for tirelessly working to reignite voters of all age groups into caring about the democracy we live in and the earth we inhabit.

With a swelling population fused to easily accessible information on a global scale, the negative can be overwhelming. I’m not blind to the general malaise shrouded over society, but in this winter of discontent, it’s a damn shame that a Top 40 song melodically lamenting your contemporaries as hopeless is being touted, words that counter a course of action, in fact, inspiring disaffection.

Someone once said “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem”. And then you get to write a pop song about it. I applaud Mayer for saying he is what he is, John Mayer.

But I’d love for him leave the 100 pairs of sneakers, 200 guitars and 150 watches he's amassed behind and follow the advice of Mahatma Gandhi: “You must be the change you want to see in the world.”

Think of the inspiration someone with his talent could create.


P.S. My friend Jon writes: “It’s too bad that people like Mayer & Ellis are celebrated for the kind of glib generalizations that brand whole generations of people as greedy or lazy. Every generation has it’s own slackers and it’s own heroes”.

So for your information and continued reading pleasure, I’ve included some links to a few of my cross-generational heroes. After all, as my brother Phil puts it, we’re all in this together:

Katherine Brengel, organizer of Peace Vigils

Deirdra Serego, co-leader of LA's District 30 chapter of the Peace Alliance Initiative

Leonardo DiCaprio, eco-activist.

Lisa Snyder, a lobbyist for affordable housing.

Mark Zupan, Paralympic Gold Medalist

Ed Norton, founder of GreenBuilding.Com

Nancy Dolan, who consistently gets on the phone encouraging people to vote.

Tom Morello and Serj Tankian, founders of Axis of Justice

Pearl Jam, longtime activists for the Surf Rider Foundation

Barak Obama

Dr. Julie Crosby, Producing Director of Women's Project, an off-Broadway institution for women playwrights and directors.

Medea Benjamin, founder of Code Pink

Bono, Founder of One

Members of The Actor's Gang who aren't afraid to produce politically charged theatre.

Bill Clinton, founder of Global Initiative

Neil Young

Gorbachev, founder of Global Green

My parents, who worked tirelessly for Equal Rights for all people.


I encourage you to add your own!

Shameless Crushes...

find life experiences and swallow them whole.
travel.
meet many people.
go down some dead ends and explore dark alleys.
try everything.
exhaust yourself in the glorious pursuit of life.
-lawrence k. fish

Yoga For Peace

read much and often

Cleopatra: A Life
Travels with Charley: In Search of America
Never Let Me Go
The Angel's game
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Bel-Ami
Dreaming in French: A Novel
The Post-Birthday World
A Passage to India
The Time Traveler's wife
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Catcher in the Rye
One Hundred Years of Solitude
The Kite Runner
Eat, Pray, Love
Slaughterhouse-Five
Les Misérables
The Lovely Bones
1984
Memoirs of a Geisha


read much and often»