Will Hines just asked me, “For fun, take this moment and imagine if the world, right now, were exactly as you’d like. Your life, that is—if your life were going exactly according to your wildest dreams.”
It made me think of a Dan Clowes strip in Eightball (which might have been “My Suicide” but I’m not sure), which is typically pessimistic. I think the take on it was “our pathetic imaginations seem so limited trying to imagine ‘the best”—it’s all cartoonish and shallow group sex and Richie Rich piles of money. Lame.
Despite being made of forboding and unhappiness, I made an honest brainstorming attempt and here’s my cartoonish and shallow take on it:
I think I’d like to be making films or working on a TV show or something with people I like, doing a comedy show that we are proud of and is popular enough (not too popular, though… that leads to crash-and-burn Hollywood endings and Chevy Chasism)
I’d have a nice apartment by myself in Manhattan (where I live now) or a nice part of Brooklyn close to a decent subway line (no fucking JMZ). Bigger. Own not rent. On a lower floor… less walking up.
My neighbors are interesting and friendly…like, eccentric old museum curators or scientists or salt-of-the-earth NY Jewish stereotypes who are concerned about my well being, but aren’t all up in my business. Maybe one is a doctor incase someone tries to commit suicide (not me, since my life is aces) in my apartment as in the movie The Apartment. None of these neighbors rehearses their drag cabaret act at 4 AM as my current downstairs neighbor does.
I don’t want to say “I want to be a trillionaire and take a bath in gold coins” because I think that would be a.) boring and b.) too guilt-making because, if I was a trillionaire, I’d feel obliged to like, do a lot of charity events and give my money away, which would be a lot of work. Or else I’d have to trust someone else to run my foundation and then I’d worry that they were being dishonest, with the temptation of my millions (it’s my ideal life, but people are still human).
Plus, I don’t like shopping or anything, so I’d never really buy anything with it. Money also makes people go insane. In this fantasy word, I’d travel a lot, but I’d somehow have my own plane because flying commercially is bullshit. Now more than ever. Fucking delays and missed connections and fucking awful cramped seats. That would be my most luxuriant, impossible indulgence. I would have a relatively normal life and go to work everyday, but also my own private Concorde to fly on whenever I wanted to.
And also a time machine.