I’m proud to announce my epitaph. (See title.)
It may be a bit early, but why the hell not? I’m youngish and still clear-minded, but old enough to look back with some wisdom; this may be the last, best time for me to come up with a phrase that summarizes my life so far, plus what I guess will be all the rest of it. If I wait a lot longer I might forget that I need to do this, or I might still try but fail, and then end up with somebody else’s hare-brained bullshittery sprayed all over my tombstone. Nope, I can’t let that happen. So it will be: “He loved too much.”
What did I love too much? Wrong question, Diane. The better inquiry would be “What did I love too much OF?” And the answer is, “Stuff.”
I love too much music. I stopped off at the local CD store today and ended up with both volumes of the Ramones’ “All The Stuff And More,” plus a Misfits album, plus a used Obituary CD (“Frozen In Time,” a deliciously apt title, and I’m pretty sure they knew it). This is not an especially unusual shopping spree for me when it comes to music. My girlfriend taunts me about the number of Amazon.com and eBay packages I get in a typical week.* I consume. I feel like a goldfish, and someone is sprinkling little CD-shaped flakes in my bowl, and I can’t stop gorging myself.
I love too many movies. This is a more distant love of late, but like all my loves it waxes and wanes in little cycles. It will return. My best guess as to when is autumn, when Halloween nears and I am suddenly struck with the desire to watch as many horror movies as possible in the span of one month. I’ll set my DVR for constant duty on AMC (Halloween 4 again, anyone?) and I’ll set out a stack of Evil Deads and Exorcists and Re-animators (both the Re-animator himself and the Bride thereof, but not number three, which was kind of crappy). That will lead into the cold dark heart of winter, where I’ll keep watching movies to fill the endless hours indoors. I’ll transport myself to Almeria, the Spanish location where so many spaghetti westerns were shot – a warm desert wasteland so completely opposite from the bleak hell of Indiana winter. I’ll probably spin “Grizzly Man” and “Fitzcarraldo” again, two Werner Herzogs I’ve been meaning to re-watch. I’ll wet my lips for the coming summer season, only to be let down (inevitably) by Indiana Jones 4 and whatever other shit comes down the chute… please, Diane, let it not be Shrek 4, because I can’t take any more Shrek-based commercials. I’ll get burned out at some point. And I’ll move on to the next thing.
I love… not too many; let’s say, about the right amount of… books. My girlfriend laps me a few times a year in reading. But I can at least say that I usually finish twice as many books as she does when we go on vacation. This past week in Mackinac I read a Chuck Klosterman book (he’s leaking into my blog; damned if the guy doesn’t come off like another me from a slightly different time and place), a collection of travel essays by the likes of David Sedaris and Bill Bryson, and a couple of others; plus I gazed meaningfully at “The Power And The Glory,” which I will eventually read, because I loved the hell out of “The Heart Of The Matter.”
I love too few video games, but the ones I love, I love too much. I own every iteration of Grand Theft Auto and I have achieved the elusive 100% completion award in all but one of them. I own two Halos and have a beta version of a third, and I spend very many hours a week playing them. I used to also be a Madden-addict, until I realized the game was slowly driving me crazy – it turns out I’m too much of a stats nerd to shrug it off when the computer, in the waning minutes of a 35-0 blowout, decides to throw for 250 useless yards and ruin my team’s defensive ranking. When I figured out that every season in franchise mode was going to have my team top five in rushing defense and dead last in passing, I decided the game was too infuriatingly unrealistic to keep buying at $50 a pop every year.
I love the sound of my own voice too much, obviously. I really can prattle on.
But let all this serve as a preamble to, and a warning about, the posts of the next few days, which are going to delve deep into some pop culture hoo-ha that most of you (meaning “People In The World”) could care less about. I may actually turn you against things you previously enjoyed. If you find yourself fatigued and rubbing your eyes after a few paragraphs on subject X or Y, you might consider skipping ahead to the next post, or clicking a link to transport you to something less obsessive. Or hell, just hit Back to your search page of choice and look up some more LOLcats.
All of which is to say, I plan to seal that epitaph up there. I plan to own it. I plan to PWN it. You are duly forewarned.