A Talk With George

Sometimes, it's the little things that make you realize life is worthwhile. Jonathan Coulton, known mostly for anthemic nerd rock, wrote a song called "A Talk With George" which is ostensibly about an older relative telling you about how much "the good old days" were better than today. Us young-uns! We never know what we have unless someone explains it to us. A few parts of the song break from the comedic overtones and really drive home the point: "Love your friends/and miss them when they go."

Maybe it's the music, maybe it's the lyrics, maybe it's the earnestness with which the words are sung, but that part always gets me. I recently wrote a piece called "Our Nintendo Life," detailing how the relationship I have with my brother is defined and reinforced by videogames. It may seem pathetic and it may seem counter-intuitive, but what my brother and I have works. "Perfect" is the not the first word I would use to describe it, but we have a relationship. We have what many siblings do not: a functioning dialogue informed by something more than a genetic bond. So what if it is defined by something materialistic? So what if, when we decide to hang out, we talk more about the Playstation 3 than our personal lives? We have something. It's delicate and volatile and the cause for consternation. But it brings us together, and it is important to us.

On a personal level, I'm petrified that someone will discover that I spend my lunch breaks writing jokes or that when I get home I play a few rounds of Street Fighter. While these may not define me, they certainly inform my persona. Is that really so bad? I like comic books and music and movies and videogames and stand-up comedy. At what point did this become unacceptable? When did I stop doing what mattered to me and start doing what I thought was acceptable?

Our society is based solely on image, both physical and metaphysical. Strangely, it means more to be about something than to be something. Many of my contemporaries, from which I learn volumes daily, have learned this lesson before, and will be quick to pat my head and say, "Oh, son..." But when you spend your whole life living it as someone else, to please someone else; well, these things can come as sort of a revelation.

Every time I attempt to define Adam Robinson, I'm surprised to discover something I didn't know. I like cooking, I like drawing. I like things about myself that I had thought I hated. Personal journeys of discover are supposed to be personal and embarrassing and, in many situations, kind of tragic. But when you discover what you are all about, what's not be incandescent about? This is pretty joyous. I feel joy. I still have no idea who I am or what my place in this world is, but it's fun to try things. Living a life filled with regrets is what is expected. While scary, the unexpected has a tendency to be so much more fun.