Hit Me with Your Best Shot

I have accomplished certain goals in my life that I consider to be pretty major. I graduated with honors, became an extra in the local theatre's production of Fame and successfully viewed an entire presidential inaugural speech. Through the use of hard work and hard liquor I've found most things are possible. Other goals linger somewhere out in the future. I plan on getting a master's degree in an unforeseen and probably useless study, star in the one man musical adaptation of my life and impeach a president based on his views of education, wages and the pot holes on my street.

As I have aged, I have become aware that some goals will always remain just out of grasp, and that no matter how hard a person tries the prize will never be attained. What is to be done with this conundrum? Should we continue to try and reach impossible heights, or is that a waste of potential? What do we do when our best isn't good enough?

Fair Share

In America we pride ourselves on being industrious, innovative and in debt. Our houses and martinis have tripled in size in the past fifty years and won't be paid for for another fifty -- assuming we don't re-mortgage, which, of course, we will, so that we can obtain all the glorious toys that make us who we are -- TV watching, SUV driving work-a-holics who don't know the meaning of environmentally sound. I'd like to think I'm above all this, but I love my all-wheel drive vehicle and big screen television. It's not as if I'm completely oblivious to the problems of the world. I do a fair share of recycling and use ethanol gas (it's cheaper), but I'm hardly a saint.

As of late, these issues have been keeping me up at night, so I've restructured my existence to shrink my carbon footprint on the earth to some effect, but even at my best, I'm still among the worst. How can one maintain a comfortable lifestyle and remain carbon neutral? Must one be destitute or dead to be of use to the environment? What industrious innovations can be used in our daily lives to make us happy in our hearts, our homes and our habitat?

The Velvet Rope

I've known my friend Tom for some eight years now in which time we have drifted in and out of each other's life. He was part of what I refer to as the "outer circle" of friends -- someone I genuinely liked but could live without. Then, unbeknownst to me, I referred to him as one of my three, no make that four, good friends. You know, the people you can count on to tell you you're right even if you're wrong. I don't know if it was a Freudian slip on my part or if he had, in deed, made that quantum leap from casual friend to sisters in arms. Was becoming a good friend like trying to get past the elusive velvet rope? Were there a set number of years a person must pay penance to be invited into the inner circle? What makes a once casual acquaintance a true friend?

Presto Chango

Last Friday, while eating brunch with my friend Angelique, the conversation shifted from the problems of our current lives to the hey-day of times past, and since we have known each other for eighteen plus years we had a lot of fodder to choose from. We reminisced about our theatre days, chuckled over the decor of our first apartment and swapped stories about our current shrink. Yes, we had been through a lot together since the days of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Now our time is spent cleaning house, paying bills and going to therapy -- another topic we had lots of fodder to choose from.

Angelique and I have the same therapist and have for several years now, and during those years I have learned that therapy encourages much self-exploration. Well, after all that searching I came to the realization that I prefer self-gratifying as one week of inner-peace. I'm not knocking therapy or belittling finding oneself, but what if, after years on the couch, we don't like what we find? What if we aren't the person we thought we were? Can we get a new life like we get a new wardrobe? How do we change from who we are to who we want to be?

More Please

I grew up in the 70's and 80's, and as a child of the decades of excess (excessive drug use, excessive hair), I became aware of the unquenchable need for more -- why have one pair of shoes when you can have several to match all your outfits? Then, as I grew older and gained responsibility, excess became a thing of the past, and being thrifty became my new mantra. I used to spend my weekends dining and dancing, now laundry and Letterman are more my style. Still, I crave a night out, a chance to slip into my skinny jeans and drink with friends from a bottle of wine I can neither pronounce nor afford. Instead, I sit at home literally dying of poordom wondering if all the excess is worth it. Is it better to have a good paying job you hate that allows you to spend fool heartedly, or a job you love but forces you to budget in a monthly movie date? Are a few moments of excess worth a week's worth of toil? Is there a happy medium, and if there is one, will we really be happy working an okay job for mediocre cash to have a so-so time, or will we always want more.