What Happened to You? — Spillenger's Commonplace Book

Diego

Late last year, during my 15 pseudo-minutes of quasi-fame, I was interviewed by my grade school's alumni newsletter. This was followed by an invitation to tell a story -- semi-Moth-style, I was told -- at an alumni get-together in January. I was torn. I like telling stories, but I don't like alumni events. I almost never go. I am terrified of a single question: What Happened to You?

This is a question I have no answer to. Even if no one asked it, I would wonder myself what happened to me. I wonder every day what happened to me. I have spent money on therapy to discover what happened to me. I have meditated to find out. I have discussed the matter with my spouse (of all my bad ideas, this was the worst). In short, I so don't know what happened to me that I would prefer not to be asked anymore. It just rubs it in.

But I do like telling stories, and I do like performing. I am neurotic and afraid, but I have always been drawn to performance: teaching is performing, playing music in a working band is performing. Long ago I did a bit of acting, and I liked it.

Then there's that part of me that is old, stodgy and rigid. Every year I am more this way. I cling. I cling to opinions and ways of seeing things and doing things. Every year I expend more energy trying to keep things out, things that make me uncomfortable or freak me out or do not jibe with my world view. Perhaps this is what happened to me. I got brittle. Who knows? Anyway, I like to fuck with my rigidity. It pleases me to take the old Jewish man out into the alley and kick his ass. Somehow, don't ask me how, it helps me that occasionally I step out of my comfort zone and do something wild and crazy.

Okay, so you may say: Bungee jumping is wild and crazy. Spending the night at the Ramrod Cafe is wild and crazy. Attempting a serious debate with a libertarian is. Not telling a story to a bunch of people in a room. That's greasy kid stuff. Well, to me it is wild and crazy. I am something of a hermit. Possibly a misanthrope. I often like to be with people, but often I want to run away from idiots and posers. It's not easy for me to get up on stage and do something I've never done before.

Anyway, I went and told my story. I invited many people I knew to come watch me humiliate myself. Only two old Jews came. The rest -- and there were about 75 or 80 in attendance -- seemed mostly WASPy with a few Catholics thrown in just to be nice. I was the last one on the program. They said they expected me to "bring the house down." I felt like Brother Theodore. They said I was the "show-stopper" -- only, I assured them, in the sense that I was the last one on the program.

I told my story. It was about a parrot. People usually laugh at parrots, or so I'm told. I preferred laughing to crying, or screaming. So a parrot it was. I won't tell you anything else because it's all in the recording (above). But I had fun. Actual fun.

So, the event is over and I'm schmoozing with the organizer. One by one, people come up to me, people I don't know. Many people. They are smiling and chuckling. They want to know if I'm a stand-up comic by trade, they want to tell me how funny the story was. No one asks me: What happened to you? I think that's because this is the first time they've met me. They think I've always been like this. Whatever this is. My story is a success. People want my card. I don't know why, do they want me to tell the story at their child's Confirmation party? I've only got the one story. But I give out cards, and I bask in the positive glow of not having completely embarrassed myself. Then I go out in the rain with the other two old Jews, and we drink Bass Ale and Dark & Stormies on St. Mark's Place and order pizza from across the street. They don't seem too impressed with me. But I'm okay with that.

No one can really understand what's happened to them. How they ended up being who they seem to be now. They may like it or not, or they may like it sometimes, but usually they are a little uncomprehending of the situation they find themselves in. And this is probably as it should be. Show me someone who understands precisely the path that led to this moment, and I'll -- well, I don't know what, but I don't think I'd buy it. We're not really supposed to be able to answer that question. We can try, but it's pointless, because we don't really have the equipment to discover who we were, who we are, and all the intermediate shit. It's just one of those questions that should have an answer, that people say has an answer, and that we really want to have an answer, but it just doesn't.

Sorry.