The word worth 1000 pictures
I've spent the day in a staring contest with my laziness, and it looks like Mr. Laziness blinked first. I've somehow managed to work up enough energy to actually sit down and write a blog.
Mind you, my lack of blog writing isn't explainable by a lack of time, but rather a multitude of it. Since returning from Lee's bachelor party two weeks ago, I've resumed the retirement that'd been so blatantly interrupted by work the past few months (culminating in my last project at an ad agency in Connecticut that required a four hour commute each day. That is as far from retirement as I've ever been. Subway to Grand Central, train up to Westport, CT, bus to the agency, and do it all again at the end of the day. The only noteworthy element of this experience was the "professional advice" i received from my Creative Director upon completion of my project. In an email, he said i'd done an exceptional job and the client had singed off on a concept, but he felt compelled to tell me that "i needed to watch the IM'ing and internet video stuff" as a freelancer. Apparantly, as a freelancer, IM'ing is insulting to your employers. Fair enough. I'm sure I can make it through a day without IM'ing dragonhair what a chubi he is).
In any event, as I soak up my temporary retirement, I find myself crippled by the immense amount of time in my day. Each small task, such as filling out a new passport application, somehow takes a mountain of energy to complete. As a result I spend my days watching the Telemundo version of "Jerry Springer" (it is a true joy to attempt to figure out what all the Mexicans are so mad about) and not writing blogs. There is a small amount of guilt at the end of each day that I should have done something constructive, such as work on that inevitable screenplay every "writer" has to complete so he feels legitimate, even though he knows he'll never sell it, most likely because it isn't really all that interesting. But writing a screenplay requires time, dedication, and talent. Time I have copious amounts of. It is the other two elements that always seem to be in short supply, like the Alaskan King Crab legs at a Vegas buffet. Plus, this Onion thing took the thimble-sized burst of wind I had out of my sails. As most of you know, I got to the third round of interviews for a new team of writers The Onion is starting up. I got past the initial one page script filter, past the panel interview, and stalled at the five-page script that would've secured entry. As usual, I came up one step short. Granted, I haven't officially heard the "no" from them, but silence is as loud an answer as words.
Once again, I am left to grapple with the upper mediocrity that is my life. I am forever locked in that 88th percentile that has defined my existence since birth. On the PSAT, SAT, and every other SAT, I would peform well, but there was always someone there to perform better. On the basketball court, if could make 8 of 10 free throws, someone was there to make 9 of 10. In college, I could get an A-minus on an essay, but someone was there to get the A. Good, but not great. And unfortunately, the world is defined by the great. Good is in abundance, like the lumpy mashed potatoes at that same Vegas buffet. Great? They are on a different path. And so it was with the Onion. Good go me three levels deep. Great gets the job. I'm funny, but not funnier than the three other dudes in New York who beat me out. I was faced with that on the interview with them. What are my awards? What improv group do I perform with? What shows have I written for? Well, how can I do all those things when I am busy watching Telemundo? People who do those things are in the 96th percentile, and I'll leave the real achievments to them. That is why I have this blog. Nobody can edit it or tell me it isn't great. Actually, dragonhair does both of those things. So does K-Ro. And nobody else reads it. They are busy reading what the 96th percenties are writing.
That is, for the record, why I am in advertising. Advertising is filled with 88th percenties who arrogantly claim they could be 97th percenties if they really wanted, but of course know they can't. There is a reason I am writing ads for Mercedes and not jokes for Conan 'O Brien. Real writers can hit that 9th free throw and remove the minus from their A. I never could.
The other way to go, of course, is to be in the 15th percentile, because for some reason Americans are fascinated with those people as well. The thinking goes if you can't be on the top, you might as well be on the bottom. What do you think Flavor Flav got on the SAT? You think he even took the SAT? But he has a hit show filled with hoes, all of whom classify for below the 15th percentile. The Telemundo Jerry Springer show? Not even sure if they classified for any percentile as all. But at least they are on TV, cause they are something worth watching. We want to see the fringes of the bell curve, no matter which side it is on. Unfortunately, I am the very middle of the bell, along with most everyone else in the world. Nothing interesting to watch, read, or listen to, at the middle.
Oh well. Fuck it. You'll find me at Perdition, where your very own 88th percenty will start drinking with all the other depressed 88th percenties, all of whom work very hard to become a 99 percenty alcoholic. Unfortunately, there are even people who beat me at that.
Regardless, I truly believe there is indeed something out there for all of us. You just have to embrace it.
Or, in my case, drink it.