One of my primary concerns in starting a blog is that I’ll probably spend more time trying to think of clever or erudite titles than I will actually writing. Nothing save a beret and a black cigarette says true literary talent like an obscure reference. Well, I suppose pretension is another important piece, but that’s just a rose by another name.
I’ve just been rejected for my summer Burch fellowship. Spirits remain high, although I’m debating at what point one crosses from self-confidence into self-denial. All that’s really necessary to stave off all manner of emotional setbacks is a boundless ego and the will to delude oneself. Liquor never hurts either. I’ve so far moved through numerous reasons for my rejection, ranging from the (poorly aligned) personal preferences of the selection committee to some form of general contempt among administrative figures for those they perceive as overly ambitious. I’m not certain that even from an objective standpoint I would entirely discount these reasons; my impression of their prior selections is that they’re long on feel-good, short on do-good.
I’m tempted to write some sort of off-handed self-deprecatory remark, like “But who am I to know?” The truth is, I am the one to know. I recall in a burst of pretension deciding to read Gogol over a fall break; I was struck poignantly by the brief autobiography, which indicated that he’d always fancied himself “different,” always assumed there were big plans somewhere distant. I think these sorts of notions have more potential for self-fulfillment than most people realize. Megalomania and delusions of grandeur can only end in success or suicide, and at least if you suicide you don’t have to deal with being unsuccessful. Thus, win/win?
I think that really smart people (notice my tremendous leap of ego here?) spend a lot of time thinking about dying. Death seems like one of those very practical considerations – you could spend a long time worrying about what you’d do if you ever won the lottery, and without the benefit of a statistical anomaly never have anything to show for it. I’m pretty sure the odds in favor of actually dying are much higher – of course, it varies on a case by case basis (1:infinity, if you’ve got brown hair, a beard, and a couple of two by fours) to almost 1:1 in the case of most people, housepets, etc.
It confuses me that when I die, all of the cells (well, most of them) that used to make me will still be alive. Furthermore, most of the cells in me now weren’t with me when I started in this world. I’m no biologist, but I presume that means that brain neurons stay with you throughout your life. Maybe they can copy themselves before apoptosis? Uncertain – bears further research. What does that imply for a cosmic understanding? If cells are recycling and souls are real (which I don’t believe, but for the sake of argument and tradition, we’ll assume that they are), then either souls are copied like DNA or they’re stored exclusively in your brain. This either means your soul is replaceable or that every time you bump your head a little piece of your spirit dies. I’m pretty sure that also means that anything neurotoxic (drinking, drugs, anime) is actively destroying your soul.
Think about that the next time you have a beer.
