The Eye of the Artist

An artist acquaintance was showing a group of other friends and me his latest adventure in painting; traditionally he used photography as his medium of choice, but you can't blame a guy for wanting to branch out -- at least that was my feeling before I saw his painting. Color me old fashioned, but I just don't find a solid blue canvas particularly artistic -- especially one entitled Blue Canvas. It is the first in a series of colored squares meant to express the basic elements of emotion -- or so I'm told. They look like overgrown paint samples to me, but I'm not an emotional kind of guy. I lied and told him I found his work brilliant and truly worthy of adoration for it is pleasing to both the eye and the soul.

Later that night, craving some real art, I opened an old book containing works by the masters: Degas, Monet, Picasso and so forth. Upon closer examination of these supposed geniuses, I realized I didn't like a lot of their work either. They say life imitates art and vice-versa so I wonder, is life like a Monet painting -- all jumbled up close but beautiful from a distance? Or is it more like a Picasso -- weird and full of nonsense? Is life, as with art, what we see in it?

Hat Trick

I love hats, I always have. There's something about a head topper that not only completes an outfit, but also makes it feel a bit costume-y. A lovely notion considering all the world is a stage and with all my hats, I'm surely the star player. I have different hats for different occasions -- a top hat for formal occasions, a beret for poetry night at the coffee shop and a ball cap for sporting events. The problem with owning so many headpieces is finding a place to store them. Some of them stack nicely on top of one another while others require a shelf of their own. When I am feeling down, I find that if I rummage through my collection of caps, I will most certainly come across one that brings back a particularly jolly memory and I can't help but smile.

My hats are like my personalities -- sorted, varied and not easily stored. And like my hats, I have different personalities for different occasions. I can be sophisticated and drink scotch while reading Town and Country, or I can throw back a half dozen beers before vomiting in the town and country. We all have a certain amount of malleability that allows us to switch hats between work and play, but with all the changing, how do we keep track? How can we stack our personalities so we can obtain the right one at the right time? How do we know which hat fits us best?

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.