Insomniactive Productions, 1630 Cullom Street #2, Birmingham, AL, 35205
If I should pass out in the middle of this column, would someone do me a favor and call a doctor? I've never had heatstroke before, but I think I might feel it coming on.
I don't want to sound like a big whiner or anything, but I'm [filk]ing hot. I mean, hot like you cannot believe, and it's 1:45 AM. There is no cause for me to be this hot at this time of night -- well, except that apparently our air conditioner is not working. On July 17th. The day where heat indexes crept over and above 100 degrees. I would tell you that there's humidity to match, but I honestly can't tell, due to the massive amount of sweat I'm losing by the gallon.
Crikey, this is not fun. And the leather chair isn't helping matters much.
Thing is, it's not fun to be uncomfortable. We as humans in this modern day and age grow used to things being within a certain range, and most of us have the means to adjust our surroundings as necessary when faced with discomfort. If we're too hot, we turn up the AC; too cold, build a cozy fire. If the Food we're eating gets tepid, pop it in the microwave. Don't like your third wife? Get a quickie divorce and start looking for number four.
Physical discomfort sucks. I'll not deny that, especially at this moment, as my skin prunes from it's own moisture. But it can be strengthening, too. Imagine that you are suddenly transported into the world of Stephen King's The Stand : there's no electricity because no one can run the power stations. No cars because no one is left alive to pump the oil or convert it to gasoline. No telephones, no new movies, no Internet. You are in an environment that redefines life, and comfort is now the least of your concerns.
You know who will be the survivors of this world? The poor, the homeless, the blue collar worker who is happy to afford a six-pack every few weeks. They're used to going without. They're used to adapting to whatever comes their way, because they have little say in the matter. They'll carry on as before while you're sitting around complaining about how hungry you are, how cold or tired or how much you miss The West Wing .
When you're faced with a hardship, enjoy it for what it's worth. And then remember that you might not have the solution a phone call away.
It's not just the physical world that we find ourselves seeking comfort in, though. It's entertainment and art, too. I've mentioned in the past how much people moan when their favorite TV series or comic title comes to an end. I've been there, and part of what I hate is that my comfort level drops. It's nice to know that once a month I can pick up Transmetropolitan and read it, or that I can sit down every Tuesday night and watch Buffy no matter how bad my day was. But what happens when I quit comics, or lose my TV? Uh oh...
There's also the issue of refusing to try something because it's different, not the norm, or outside of what you'd usually enjoy. In other words -- it's a little scary, and scary things are uncomfortable. Now, I'm not saying that you should take in art that doesn't entertain you, although I won't necessarily disagree with those who say there's more to art than sensual pleasure. But let's dumb down the playing field: you don't want to go to museums, or watch period movies about the bitter hardships of lost romance, or read Dickens on weekends. I can't blame you. Don't do it. If you don't enjoy it, don't do it. But give things a chance before you make up your mind. Just because the idea doesn't naturally fall into your comfort zone does not mean you won't end up liking it.
People that know my reading habits know that I read very little outside of Stephen King books. Those are easy reads for me, somewhat predictable, and 99% of the time good. The thought of picking up another author is not horrifying, but it's not my instinct. And yet, I do it from time to time, based on recommendations of friends, good reviews, or cover art (yes, cover art). It was this way that I found Mark Danielewski's brilliant House of Leaves . Even once I picked it up, it was a challenge; the style is unique, bordering on avant garde, and the story itself is built of intertwining stories that were not meant for people with attention deficit disorder. Yet I plowed ahead, and after fifty pages or so, I found that I had no choice but to finish, and as quickly as I could. It's since become one of a handful of books that has not only terrified me, but changed the way I view the world.
I'm not a fan of fantasy. Piers Anthony bores me to tears (when I'm not laughing at the idea of a rabid fan base), as do all the other fantasy authors who I don't even know. But something told me that I should pick up Neil Gaiman's Sandman , so I did. And when the series ended some six years later, I was genuinely sad. There were times when some issues were a bit dull, or wordy, or dealing with subject matter that didn't interest me, but in the end, every word of the series was worthwhile. And even now, years later, I want to create something as lastingly powerful as Gaiman's Endless.
I'm not a big fan of independent film, but Memento simply astonished an inspired me. I dislike theater, for the most part, but my wife turned me onto Christopher Durang's plays, and I find myself needing to write better dialogue and humor. Classical music bores me to tears, but when I finally found Vivaldi's cello works, I found myself revived, musically. Visual art? Escher and Dali, H. R. Giger and Dave McKean make me want to create.
Dicomfort is not pleasant. It's not fun. It's certainly not a way of life. But every now and then it's good to challenge yourself, whether physically, mentally, emotionally, or artistically. You may find that the unpleasantness didn't pay off; fine, so be it, chalk it up to experience. But you may find that you've got a new source of inspiration, a new place of solitude or escape, a new muse or security blanket.
Or you may be one step closer to surviving the coming plague. And that can't be all bad, either, right?
Unless, of course, the discomfort involves being stuck in the South in mid-July with no air conditioning. That's not preparation or inspiration at all. That's just downright wet.
Agh, I'm melting, I'm melting...