The Accounts Man
I have never seen Mad Men. I know I would love it, which is why I have never watched it. I have tried to temper the amount of time I watch television over the years. I have largely drawn a line in the sand when it comes to committing to new shows.
I still watch too much TV, so the embargo must continue. Especially since I have not achieved my goal as far as reading is concerned. I still spend a lot of time on the news and with periodicals, but I have not put enough time or effort into reading books these last couple years. The time I have spent watching TV is partially to blame.
Back to Mad Men... Well, not really, since I have already confessed to never having seen the show. More specifically, back to The Simpsons send-up of Mad Men that aired originally last season. It is one of the better of the modern episodes in which Homer finds himself being accidentally talented at schmoozing customers. It just so happens the old "accounts man", (voiced by the aptly cast but still one of my least favorite actors, John Slattery, who plays a character on Mad Men), is retiring. Homer is tapped to take his place.
The "accounts man" is savvy, sophisticated. He is glib and weary of the meaninglessness of his life, of the constant travel, of the small but significant chunks of his soul he has left behind in the pursuit of doing business. He has an omnipresent cigarette and low ball filled with what one presumes to be single malt scotch. He lives in a retro-fab high rise penthouse overlooking the waterfront. He is single and alone. He is a shell.
Homer is dumpy and stupid and lacks most of the graces of his predecessor. But he makes up for these shortcomings by being earnest and working hard to fulfill his duties. He soon finds it impossible to balance work and family, (and say what you will about Homer Simpson - he loves his family). In one scene, he comes home, bedraggled and exhausted, choosing to have another drink alone in the dark rather than going to bed in his own room next to his wife. He quickly grows weary of the travel and the never ending show. The final act is a classic comedy of errors scenario where Homer is trying to be what he needs to be for work, while also being with his family on vacation where the two worlds collide. Homer realizes he would rather be a half-assed dad and husband to his family than be a success in the business world. The old accounts man comes back after realizing there is nothing left in life for him to enjoy and he just can't go on without his work.
I am Homer Simpson doing the accounts man's job. I have spent a lot of time traveling lately. Networking and schmoozing. Looking for the next score, as it were. Last night was a charity casino night on the waterfront across from Belle Isle on the Detroit River. The venue, 50 years old this year, is a retro-fab place that gives a clue to the former glory of Detroit. It was not unlike the renderings of the animated accounts man's apartment in The Simpsons.
I was having a drink, Dewar's unfortunately at this open bar... no Glenfiddich to be found here, and yucking it up with perfect strangers, treating them as though they were lifelong friends. Pretending to be interested in their work, their family, their lives. I so deeply and thickly congratulated the recipient of the main award of the evening that I thought I was going to give the man diabetes.
And I felt like the accounts man. Unfortunately, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror... from two angles, actually. I realized I may feel like the accounts man, but I sure look a lot more like Homer Simpson.
As for work-life balance? Well, I manage. And I have grown comfortable with the fact that I get paid to gamble, drink, flirt and build relationships with people. It's a pretty cool job, actually. I just wish I could look a lot more like John Slattery and a lot less like Homer Simpson.
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A Place of One's Own
I am the worst type of personality. I am obsessive-impulsive. Not to be confused with obsessive-compulsive. My house isn't as clean and I'm not as organized as someone with OCD, but I am a lot more fun at a party. My newest obsession is a little cabin in the woods in northern Michigan. It's a log cabin. In the woods. It's been a dream for a long time.
I want it. I certainly don't need it, can't afford it, shouldn't have it, but I definitely want it.
When my cousin, Nicholas was a toddler, he would say "I need it" whenever there was an object of his desire. "I need it" came out of his mouth so many times, we began aping him. He had no idea we were making fun of him. My uncle, his father, said "You've got your wants and your needs mixed up, kid."
As do I. I spend far too much time obsessing over that which I think I need, (but really only want), and not enough time working to keep the things I have. Being obsessive-impulsive leads to a less-than-stable life.
So, I am talking to my friend, Greg, showing him the listing for my shangri-la in the woods and he does nothing to dissuade me. Instead, he points out the good value, the great property, the proximity to resort areas, all the things I would love about it.
And I, trying to be circumspect say, "But I don't need it. I can't handle another project. It's the last thing I need."
"Yes," replied Greg, a licensed and practicing counselor, "but that's what you do. You need projects. They provide your motivation."
Good point.
Now I have a therapist telling me to buy this thing.
Therapy is expensive indeed.
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