Yesterday became all about socializing and I wound up spending way too much money. Between brunch with the ladies and drinks in the evening, all I managed to accomplish was conversation. And drinking. And spending. Gah.
I also came to the conclusion that I’m not really achieving anything with all my newfangled goals. So I sit for 20 minutes and try to think of nothing. I’m about as successful at that as I am at everything else. At least it offers me a few moments of opportunity at epiphanies. Which I do actually have. Guess that’s a situation where it really isn’t better than “nothing.” I feel like I wind up wasting my days. My cousin wrote a song about wasting days. Called, coincidentally, Wasting My Days. Fuck, she was (is) so talented.
I gotta say, sometimes it is a constant struggle not to feel bitter and disappointed. Yesterday, between bloody marys at brunch and spiked milkshakes after dark, I was telling my friends about my first two jobs, creating graphics for what became the internet. I wasn’t just in on the ground floor, like the way that guy pitches plastics to Dustin Hoffman’s character in The Graduate; I was in the fucking BASEMENT! I try not to think about what my life might’ve been like if I’d stayed on that course rather than coming to New York City and pursuing a career in advertising. (We all know where that got me.) While flying home on Virgin America, without the complete selection of TV channels (grrrr!), I wound up watching BoingBoing TV (or whatever it’s called) and saw Xeni Jardin co-hosting. I could’ve been her. A decade earlier. No, two decades earlier. If anyone had been even remotely interested in the “internet” back in the ’80s. Or ’90s. Reading “in 2002 she began contributing to Boing Boing after Mark Frauenfelder met her at a party and invited her to be a co-editor” made me a bit ill. I’ve been waiting forever for someone to meet me at a party and invite me to be a co-editor. I feel like I’ve been a decade ahead of just about every trend. And am now too old to be trendy about anything. Nerve has an opening for a Managing Editor. The job posting blathers about how their readers are “a group of more than a million smart, culturally plugged-in men and women in their twenties and thirties.” So they’re looking for someone who is a “rising star”: “We’re not kidding about the rising-star thing. Maybe you’re toiling away at a big media company, and you’re ready to make your own mark.” This is a job I would be absolutely perfect for. But how do you convince a 30-something that you’re just as “hip” or “with-it” or whatever as they are when you’re over 50? I doubt it is even possible. Because how could I possibly be? In their eyes, I am OLD. OLD OLD OLD.
Okay. I’ll stop feeling sorry for myself now. I’m gonna go put on some clothes and get outta the house and drink. DRINK, I tell you!
1. 20 minutes of meditating