Up Till Now, by the Has Been

When you're not feeling well, you can't read just any book.  I don't know about you, but I reach for things which have at least the potential to make me laugh.

So, on the way back from the doctor, we swung briefly through Barnes and Noble, where I was drawn straight to WHY WE SUCK by Dr. Denis Leary.   Problem with that book? It was too funny, which sent me into excruciating pain whenever I laughed.

So today, while browsing through the stack at Audible.com, I came across the latest autobiography of William Shatner, Up Till Now: The Autobiography, read by the author.  I'm a Shatner fan from way back, from the syndicated Star Trek episodes I absorbed as a kid to the rerun of those Twilight Zone and Outer Limits episodes he made memorable, and bought multiple copies of his album - vinyl - Captain of the Starship, which was part dramatic reading, part personal monolog, part Star Trek mini-convention - all the way to his current tour de force as the Mad Cow-addled Denny Crane on Boston Legal and his surprisingly excellent and moving biographical album Has Been, which he initially offered for free - in QuickTime audio format - on his new website in the late 1990s.

I'd read several of his earlier books, but this one seemed different.  It was more self-revealing, from his early childhood, his introduction to acting, his long-standing struggles with his marriages and his ability to translate accolades into a steady paycheck.  He also delves into what may be the darkest moment of his life: finding his third wife, Noreen, at the bottom of the pool, dead.

There is much to laugh with in this (abridged) audiobook, but I was also brought to tears on multiple occasions as he relates the loss and struggle he endured on this and other occasions: the death of his father, the final lap with a beloved show horse, his efforts to court his now-fourth wife.  And he points out that those moments which are frequently seen as the worst and most mockable in the history of entertainment ("Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds", "Rocket Man") later giving him new opportunities, not just in the Priceline commercials but in his new record deal for Has Been.

Needless to say, it was six hours or so of sitting down in a comfy chair on a balcony, smoking cigars, swilling scotch, and sorting out the meaning and the whimsy and the value of life.  Though my swill was DayQuil, my stogie was an inhaler, and the balcony was only in my fevered imagination.

This guy wasn't too fond of the book, but in the comments a surprising number rose to Shatner's defense.  I know his reputation.  The list of fans and even "lesser" celebrities who have been dissed by the man is long and distinguished.  Me, I've been in the same room with him but have never approached - I've appreciated the distance that lets him entertain me however he chooses, and which keeps me free of disappointment.  My fandom is not a gateway to friendship, and I've never thought otherwise.  The running gag on the spoken book is Shatner repeatedly plugging merchandise and his own website.  I see my relationship with the man in the same way - a transaction, beneficial to us both.  I buy his stuff, he keeps entertaining me.  His eccentricities entertain me as much as his most serious work - and let it not be forgotten, in his earlier years Shatner was considered a brilliant young actor - and I'm fine with leaving it at that.  He doesn't have to call me up and invite me to his balcony for me to value him.

Because he already has.  Thank you, Bill Shatner, for comforting me on a miserable sickday, for the measly price of one Audible credit.  As always, you give good value.

Christmas on Olympus

Last night we attended a Christmas party in one of Riverside's newer and higher-elevation neighborhoods. We arrived late thanks to the weekend parking lot that is the 91 freeway, so it was after dark. The home was gorgeous...and huge. It didn't just have a driveway; it had a parking lot. Several pools, one lagoon. A tiki bar. A peristyle garden. And a moat. These friends are older, around retirement age. It's the sort of dream home at which they can host their large family reunions, or just sit out front and view the entire inland empire from a wicker love seat.

Some of our friends of decent but not vast means look at a house like this and wonder "what have I done wrong?" My wife and I tend to look at the same house and think "nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to clean it." It's natural, perhaps, to want more than what you have. But at Christmas time, I am more likely to look with gratitude on what we have. For many years, I wallowed in stuff while living alone, and wanting nothing more for Christmas than a year-round companion. When I finally married a few years ago, my already-dwindling Christmas wish list became a chore to fill, because I really don't want for much.

Would I like to be a debt-free homeowner? Sure. Would I like a palace on the seashore? Meh. I've lived all over the world, worked in some exotic locales, and enjoyed most of them, at least for a time. I could live in a mansion or a cardboard box, if the company is good and the Internet is reliable. I don't envy those with more or better stuff than I have; I just appreciate when they invite me in for some hot cocoa and singalongs around the piano.

I've spent several Christmases in the last fifteen years as a recently laid-off worker, wondering when the next job will come along. And I'm mindful of those who are in that position this Christmas. I'm mindful of those who have given up time, health, even their lives to serve our country and its citizens, the grateful as well as the hostile, and the families who gave them leave to serve. I'm mindful of those who will spend this Christmas far from home and from those they love. The Internet can close that distance in many ways, but there is no substitute for a hug and a kiss.

I saw an article this week about a soldier who returned home, severly wounded. The sign on the hospital room door announced in no uncertain terms that this was a pity-free zone. Hope and love cast out fear, and even in the midst of great trial, there is room for hope and happiness, if we'll allow it...just as there can be despair in the heart of luxury, if we allow it.

Wherever you find yourself this Christmas, look for something that makes you happy.

What to expect

I read a lot of blogs. My favorites tend not take themselves too seriously. Most of my ex-favorites forgot that simple formula. Seriousness has its place, but self-seriousness is rarely anything but dreary.

I can't promise unrelenting apathy. But if I do stray into passionate sincerity, know it is a momentary lapse, and the merriment will resume shortly.

Obligatory welcome

Welcome to my blog. It contains my thoughts on stuff.

Yeah, like you care. I'm the author and I can barely be bothered.

But that could change; Passion is a fickle mistress. When the Muse gets frisky, I get wordy in a hurry.