my strange ambition to be glamorous

isn't it funny that i have never read anything yet by john updike, and now he is dead?

no. it isn't funny.

there is a great deal that i have not read. and he lived to the age of seventy-six and won almost every literary prize available, including two pulitzers.

when frank sinatra died, i did not feel sad, even though i was much better acquainted with him than i was with john updike. he lived to the age of eighty-two, was married four times, danced and acted and sang. he had a huge network of friends and spent at least two decades being paid to goof around with them on a stage.

to be honest, i feel sad for myself, that i have reached 30% of the age of john updike and achieved nothing like a percentage of his published work.

the man reportedly suffered from asthma, psoriasis, and a stammering problem during his youth, nonetheless nurturing "my strange ambition to be glamorous" among a normal family content to be normal. there must have been a point of self-assessment in his life, where he either redefined the glamor he sought, or else gave up trying to wear that particular shade of ambition.

why do we seek glamor, anyway? glamor only gains us envy and mockery. there is a certain shine that classic beauties wearing classic designers uniquely unearth, to be sure, but does that shine make you want to spend time with them? or just to be them? if we all want to be that way, we'll all wind up enjoying our own selves so much that we won't feel any need to have friends.

frank sinatra, unquestionably, was glamorous, and far from psoriasis, he had melting blue eyes; he didn't stammer, either. but his glamor was the company he kept. the man was friends with everybody, because that was what he spent his time on--giving gifts, caretaking, connecting, going to people's shows, going to people's restaurants, marrying people. whether or not he put them together, the pieces of his business plan work--if you want to have a devoted following who will keep coming back to hear you sing, you have to devote yourself to your following. people worship nothing so much as something that seems, at key moments, to worship them.

the eidos of the punk movement is to take liabilities and turn them into assets. if you can't sing on key, scream and growl a little. if you can't play very well, use a lot of aggressive distortion. it says a lot about the universal craving for god-likeness that even within that world there is a certain type of glamor that its sycophants pursue...the hilton sisters of the punk world, if you will permit me. but it gained a following--even the status of a musical genre--because the outcasts felt they were being given some attention, some validation, by the screaming voices.

what are you trying to say? who are you trying to reach? whether you enjoy or despise your self-consciousness, indulge in it rarely and only momentarily. there is too much to do. if you can't think of anything to do, i suggest you start by either calling a friend, or else writing some books.