So Be It
Mood disorders are not becoming, I’m getting the message. It may have worked for Brad Pitt in 12 Monkeys but he’s insanely handsome with a staff of writers and a team of people designed to ensure he looks great crazy. Not so for Rango, baby, he’s just unsettling and somewhat vapid. But the older I get the less I care, and as the prognosis and the symptoms progress I’m finding I just want to give into it and more and more.
From “I’m afraid to tell you how I really feel” to the poor girl from next door who left here terrified after seeing Into the Snow to the gorgeous single woman that actually loaned me her lawnmower (oh god LAWN MOWER ACCIDENT) and then politely told me to leave it by the side of the house (just leave it god forbid do not knock and say hello just mow your grass so you look less creepy), I’m getting the message loud and clear.
My response? On the one hand it’s very upsetting because I’m literally one of the most gentle people I have ever met. I’ve never so much as spanked my children and I would never hurt anybody that didn’t immediately threaten me or somebody I love (in which case I reserve the right to savagely murder them with my bare hands, put their head on a stick, and write a novel about the experience). I get it from my dad. He was a southern gentleman. I’m not, to be sure. I’m generally polite but I’m also an ADD-poster child: loud, obnoxious, hard-headed, opinionated, distinct lack of filtering in and around the vicnity of the mouth. ALSO: Dresses like an idiot, stages shows to nobody in his basement and prone to cuing up the lights and singing show tunes at 3:00AM despite the fact that people have called him a fag for 30 years in an effort to assert their superiority and compensate for their lack of nutsack and talent. Sure, all of that, but at the beginning and end of the day I’m extremely gentle. I’ve been misconstrued because I’m overenthusiastic and frequently too dry for words and people just don’t get the comedy, or possibly because I remind them of the homeless man they saw talking to the Stop sign on the way to work.
On the other hand, I don’t care. Maybe that’s just the sickness talking, but like Rango says in Into the Snow, “I warned you about this”. Indeed. The love of my life used to live here and I was ready to get married to her, but she walked out of this house in October of last year and took her checkbook and her family with her. My finances finally collapsed, my daughter left shortly after that, and a few months later my son. So be it. Left to my own devices and a dismal future, what did everybody expect would happen, that I would sell my guitars and start ironing my pants? Fuck it, Rango is what you get. Smokehouse is what you get. Temple of Zither, Liberteria, Into the Snow, and so on and so forth, unbridled. I’m going to finish what I started here and then watch it play out. It’s going to take me another six months to wrap it up and then it’s either a) going to work or b) i’m gone, off to sell my guitars and iron my pants.
That I can do. I can do that. So be it :-D.
\m/ (-.-) \m/