I want to keep these blogs as casual as possible, not overthought or calculated. I’d rather they be more like vomit than the sixteen martinis and cookie dough ice-cream cake that came before it, because there is something so honest about vomit; it automatically gives any onlooker a potentially embarrassing snapshot of ones life. All of the sudden, everyone at the party knows that I ate cheerios for dinner and may deduce that I’m single, and, from their perspective, maybe, I have yet to reach true adulthood which, possibly, in their opinion, should consist of pot pies and crock pots and wine and, ya know, anything that is anti Pop-Tart.
But, and I think I’ve stumbled upon a point here – I am firmly pro Pop-Tart. I’ve always resented the concept of maturity. These rules that, once we reach a certain age, we must adopt. “I don’t watch cartoons, I’m an adult.” – “I don’t eat gummy worms, I’m an adult.” – “I don’t wear Batman onsies and watch The Dark Knight trilogy with my sister every few months, I’m an adult.” – etc.
I dated someone who would often tell me that I was immature. She'd usually say it after I'd do some kind of impression where I’d change my voice, or I’d willingly make myself look stupid, anything uppity and animated, anything silly. And that’s when I realized that maturity, to her, was ones ability to maintain a disposition of unaffectedness and calm. If you laugh too loud and for too long, you’re acting like child. If you make an inappropriate joke, you’re acting like a child. If you do anything colorful, you're acting like a child. And I thought to myself, what sort of prison has our culture constructed for our future selves? Why can’t we give in, completely, and publicly, to those nearly frowned upon fringes of the human experience – hilarity, passion, lightheartedness and the like. It’s as if, when we grow old, we are given the weight of the world, and if we aren’t dragging our feet then we aren’t properly participating in the human experience. It’s like we begin as helium balloons, as these constantly giggling morons, as babies, and then we grow old and we turn into bags of bricks - stale, heavy and immovable.
There’s this great quote from Ursula K. Le Guin – “The creative adult is the child who has survived.” And I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because, it sometimes feels like my creativity is being accosted by the demands of our culture. I find myself embarrassed to share with people that I make music, like an early teen might be embarrassed to be found playing with his old action figures. And, I here declare, this writing is my defending myself. I don’t want to become a bag of bricks. I’d rather be a balloon. But sometimes it feels like my feet are turning a rusty red, and societal expectations are their mortar, doing their best to hold me still.
Here is video of a baby laughing uncontrollably at the sight of seeds being blown from a dandelion. If being immature is being like a child, then sign me up.
And that’s it this week, just some rambling. About my projects – only a couple more songs left on the album, and I edited about 30 pages of my book today; it's my final read through.
I’ll be back next Sunday at 8PM. Until then. Protect your silliness. Don't be scared to be lighthearted. Cool kids become adults. And cool kids are fuckin' stupid.
Goodnight, and good luck.