I’ve spent some time seeking enlightenment.

I tried meditation. It made my butt numb.

I tried yoga. It made my jeans fit better, but the path to the palaces of wisdom is not to be found in a pair of Levi’s.

I walked the earth until my feet bled. I saw priceless works of art. I conversed with the locals. It gave me a great collection of postcards.

I read Plato, Aristotle, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard. It gave me a headache and eyestrain.

What I have found is that the truly profound moments happen in the routine of getting through from day to day.

Today did not feature one of those moments.

I picked up The Suz from work, because it was my day off and she tends to complain less about the fact that I have been at home all day and the dishes are still dirty if I am willing to stand between her and the experience of watching that guy who eats his own face on the subway.

I’ve told her and told her not to play with my stereo.

Click. “0% apr if you buy before January 2003…”
“No.”
Click. “Coming up in a minute we have 30 minutes of uninterrupted music, kicking it off with the new one from
“Noooo….”
Click. “You’re just like a pill…”
“NO!”
Click. “Glory days, well they’ll pass you by…”
“Oh, c’mon Suz. Not Springsteen.”
“There’s nothing else on. Besides, he IS the Boss.”
“Not the boss of me….”
“I knew this girl that lived up the block, back in school she could turn all the boys’ heads…”
“This is a really depressing song, you know?”
“Yes. Why don’t you change it?”
“No, listen. It’s like, I used to know this beautiful girl. She grew up. Had kids. Got fat…. Later he’ll sing about some guy who lost his stuff in a war or something…. and then there’s the guy who wants to rock. But he ends up smashing rocks in the local penti-tent-tairy instead.”
“That’s very insightful, Suz.”
“Yeah. So what do you want to do tonight?”
“I dunno. What’s on TV?”
“Nothing. We could go to the Laundromat.”
“I guess so. We got any beer?”
“Nope.”
“Damn. We can stop off and get some, right?”
“Sure.”
“Life must really suck in Jersey.”
“Which is why I’m so thrilled to be living in Boston today.”
“Yeah.”
“So why don’t you find us a new song?”
Click.

I went to London a few weeks ago because I was tired of holding my life together in the confusion of being a Grown Up. In London I am not a grown up. I am perpetually 22 years old and fabulous. I can walk around the city and eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm thirsty and sit on benches and write and look at beautiful nteresting things. In London I don't worry about the next thing I have to accomplish, and I feel like the best possible version of myself.

I told Suz I thought men should be more like London, but she said:

If men were London, we would have never had women's lib.

If men were London, we would take the orgasm for granted.

Unless there were two men who were London, you and I could not be friends.

If a man could be London, he would only be London for a second or two and
then he would realize he was London and then he would become a dick about
his Londonosity.

And then London would begin to suck.

And civilization would, obviously, have to crumble.

There would be anarchy.

Screws would fall out all of the time.

In our quest to escape the sheer Londonishishness of our existence, we would
run to whatever was different from the man who was London.

We would run to the Weaselboys and the Head Cases and the Guy From Control Who Talks
About Banging Girls And Holding It Over Their Heads just to escape the
original sucky man.

And we'd be right back where we started.

With men who suck.

But this time there would be no London to run to.

And we would go to Paris.

Parlez vous francais?