Here & Now
When I was young my father spoke of his disappointment in The Future, his Present, now My Past. No floating cars, he said. He had a fixation. Sixties, seventies, they envisioned the ease of transport. Up and over.
Well, any man can own a helicopter if they’re rich enough, I suppose. I think the sentiment was: I thought it would be more enjoyable to be the common man. I thought we’d live in convenience and luxury. To me, it sounded like: isn’t this shit?
It is, really. It really is shit. I wasn’t ever sold on a halcyon future, really. The old man rankled at everything in the world and so did the television. The advent of the internet beamed everything you could ever want into the home and actually, everything a man could ever want was mostly bullshit. Twenty-four hours of uncut sex, violence, love, whatever you wanted. What’s your flavor of dopamine? $19.99 a month.
And I don’t know, I think maybe my head is fucked from it. My head is definitely fucked from something, I’ll tell you that. Not drugs, I was an obedient little faggot, be nice, do your homework, stay away from the bad kids. Go to bed early. Read some books. I wouldn’t say I did everything right; I never practiced the cello. But I stayed away from weed and I didn’t fuck and I only got in a handful of fights. Resolve things peacefully. Do your chores and eat your broccoli and make a better tomorrow.
Only it didn’t come, I mean, that was a lie just like my father’s vision of the future. The Daily Show told us to be better and be smarter and laugh at all the idiots with their outdated ideals. Aren’t we smart, the jeering do-nothings? Aren’t we so fucking clever in our misery? Haven’t we abandoned those wacky old ways?
It didn’t do jack shit for me. None of it prepared me for the reality of things. Death and heartbreak and handling my liquor, these things only come when you’re right and truly stuck by your own accord into the wrong spot. Got into a lot of those wrong spots, too late to really make the most of some of them.
I don’t know where I’m going with this. It’s one AM and my roommate is fucking. It’s too loud. I’m thirty years old and I feel like a thousand. I feel like I’ve failed and I made a thousand dollars today. I let down Jon Stewart, and the people who didn’t have six figures of student debt but at least they feel like they’re doing something good even though we all laugh at them behind their backs. I let down my father. I turn my phone on and check notifications across five platforms.
Would I be having a better time of it in a flying car?